Kantemir Balagov showed talent in his 2017 debut, Closeness, about a kidnapping in a North Caucasus town, then delivered fully on that promise with his stunning second feature, Beanpole, about two traumatized women in post-WWII Leningrad. Both those films centered on women whose grim worlds were closing in on them — a tomboyish auto mechanic in Closeness; a nurse and the frontline friend who turns on her in Beanpole. The Russian director’s first film in English, by contrast, is testosterone-driven, a father-son story in which the constricting codes of masculinity lead to senseless loss.

The milieu of a small swathe of New Jersey with a close-knit Circassian community is drawn in sketchy fashion. Balagov originally intended to make the film in his hometown of Nalchik in the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains. But after publicly condemning Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, he self-exiled in 2022 to Los Angeles. 

That might partly explain why the characters here, while not lacking in dimension, seem to exist in isolation. The texture that should have been provided by a broader view of the community and by interactions with Americans outside the family’s immediate circle is missing. That said, the actors kept me engaged, and the visuals are intoxicating thanks to gifted DP Jomo Fray, who brought such vitality and bruising intimacy to Nickel Boys.

Azik (Barry Keoghan) immigrated to the U.S. as a youth, along with his older sister Zalya (Riley Keough), with whom he runs what his American-born son Temir (Tahla Akdogan) in an angry clash calls a “shithole diner.” Azik serves as the chef, taking great pride in his delens (Circassian potato and cheese pies), which he and others tout as the best in the world. But the business is failing, forcing Azik to consider going after a chef’s position at a high-end restaurant being opened in Newark by an ex-lawyer acquaintance.

In truth, Azik’s hopes and dreams are pinned largely on 16-year-old Temir, nicknamed Pyteh, whom he talks up to his card-game buddies as “my beautiful son … future Olympic champion.” Pyteh has shown skill on the high school wrestling team, winning one trophy and next going after the state championship. Shy first flickers of romance spark up between him and Alika (Jaliyah Richards), another wrestler, whose progress is held back by a skin condition that makes her too embarrassed to strip down to practice gear.

Despite being at an advanced stage of pregnancy, Zalya works tirelessly to keep the diner in order, shouldering responsibilities in ways for which her brother just seems unequipped. Or too lazy. She chafes at Azik bringing his deadbeat friends in to mess the place up. 

The worst of them is Marat (Harry Melling, playing the direct opposite of his Pillion character), an abrasive, scrappy prankster who reveals himself to be a complete dick from his first moments onscreen. His cockamamie scheme to boost revenues by installing a broken-down cotton candy machine in the diner makes more symbolic sense than a bizarre subplot involving the theft of a pelican whose rare appearance in the area made local news.

The screenplay, co-written by Balagov with Marina Stepnova, fails to give satisfying development to any of these strands and sorely under-uses the movie’s most interesting character, Zalya. Keough is terrific in the role, weary and impatient from having to exceed big-sister responsibilities from an early age. Despite having too little to do, Keough gives the movie’s standout performance, which perhaps speaks to Balagov’s nuanced handling of women characters.

The film struggles to find its focus, coming closest in Temir’s growing recognition of his dad’s shortcomings, particularly the minimal effort he puts into grasping the opportunities that America ostensibly presents. Keoghan’s boyish physicality makes them seem more like brothers at times, notably so in a lovely moment when Azik accidentally triggers a car alarm and the two of them then set off the alarms of every vehicle parked in the street, getting a high off the cacophonous noise. But Temir wants a bigger life than Azik has ever even imagined.

The turning point comes when Temir, in the middle of an argument, calls his dad “weak,” perhaps the worst label you could slap on a man from such a patriarchal family background. Softness and even open expression of feelings between fathers and sons are not part of the male Circassian factory model. That slight brings out Azik’s insecurities. 

In one of the film’s most quietly powerful moments, he asks Zalya, “Am I weak?” She responds with silence, her face remaining out of the frame, letting us see only one arm with which she’s furiously mopping the floor. When Azik tries to rid himself of the stigma, calling someone else weak as if to offload the physical weight of the insult, a startling act of violence occurs. But the movie’s tragedy ultimately just kind of hangs there.

Balagov is indisputably a filmmaker with his own distinctive vision, ideally matched with Evgueni and Sacha Galperine’s glowering score and with Fray’s nimble shooting style, which often takes its cue to get in close from the knotted bodies on the wrestling mats. Story-wise, however, Butterfly Jam is too diffuse to measure up to the brutally transfixing Beanpole.