by Anthony King
Fifteen minutes into Matt Cimber's Butterfly, I was all but convinced this was going to be the worst movie I watch for this series. And then something happened. I can't tell you what that exact “something” was, but while the film didn't get any better, per se, it got interesting. And by interesting I mean bonkers. Take, for instance, this exchange of dialogue between a man milking a cow and a young, promiscuous woman.
“That ain't gonna be cold.”
“I like it warm, with foam on top of it.”
On second thought, maybe that was the exact moment where the film moved from being dull to melting my brain.
Butterfly stars the great Stacy Keach as a sexually repressed and strictly religious man who lives in the dusty foothills of the Nevada mountains where he works as the caretaker of an abandoned silver mine owned by the richest and most-feared man in the state. His daughter, played by Pia Zadora, the cause of my liquified brain, shows up at his doorstep and says she's his daughter. They, FATHER and DAUGHTER, strike up an affair, and as more is revealed about this young woman's life, Dear Old Dad starts to suspect her good-natured efforts to reconnect with her father are a cover for something more sinister. Other cast members include Lois Nettleton, Edward Albert, Ed McMahon, and Stuart Whitman playing a character not unlike the Jim Jones-esque role he played in Guyana: Cult of the Damned a few years prior. Also included is Orson Welles who, I have to assume, was offered a nice sandwich piled high with fatty, Italian meats and cheeses, a case of scotch, and a million dollars to come and work for three hours. Clearly inebriated, Welles plays a judge who presides over the court hearings of the incest charge against Keach's and Zadora's characters. Welles is so gross-looking and sloppy here that if you didn't know any better you'd have thought the filmmakers just found a homeless, drunk person out in the alley and told him to mutter some words while drinking on screen.