Viking Night: The Fly
By Bruce Hall
October 26, 2016
BoxOfficeProphets.com

Did that spider just say 'Come into my parlor?'
Let’s say you answered your phone and it was me, telling you that I was going to write a column about The Fly this week. What would you assume, other than I was some kind of creepy weirdo for having your phone number? No doubt Jeff Goldblum would come to mind, and he certainly Jeff Goldblumed the hell out of the 1986 remake. No crime there - it’s a classic, and so much so that you might not even realize that it WAS a remake. THAT is the actual crime you have committed, and to be perfectly honest, it’s probably the worse of the two.

So, shame on you. That was most uncool of you.

But hey, come on. How many of us, at this point in history, have - or will - sit down and intentionally watch an almost 60-year-old film in any context other than the ironic? Well, if you’re reading this at all, you already know the answer to that. You either know me, and are doing it because you’ll feel guilty if you don’t, or you’re one of those weirdoes who digs deep into the things that entertain you, to the point where it becomes a part of your personality. To the point where you’re willing to spend a perfectly good Tuesday night writing about it.

Welcome aboard, psychos. It’s a complicated world we live in, and sometimes only the imagination can make sense of it. From there, it’s not much of a leap before you realize that life’s a whole lot more fun inside your head than on the outside. That’s not just the kind of person who writes stuff like The Fly; it also describes the maniac who came up with the film’s marketing. The Fly holds the unfortunate distinction of being one of the few films whose publicity campaign completely spoiled the central plot of the story.

I guess, for the sake of journalistic purity, I will act the way people do when someone they admire says something racist. I will bravely stand fast in the face of reality, and blithely pretend the 800 pound pink gorilla is not really sitting right behind me. And you can pretend with me.

The Fly is based on a short story that originally appeared in Playboy Magazine. It would take a whole other article to explain to most of you what that means, so let’s just say that Playboy was the same thing as Maxim, only invented in the 1950s and run by the time traveling duo of Lady Gaga and David Bowie. Okay, no - it was actually run by a cross between Rupert Murdoch and the undeniably charismatic cab driver your Aunt Laura once ran away with.

That’s no lie. In one of the great paradoxes of history, Playboy was more than just a lowbrow rite of passage for teenagers looking for a gateway into vice. It was also a great place to read quality work by legit authors like Isaac Asimov and Chuck Palahniuk. That’s probably how they got equally legit horror legend Vincent Price to play the lead in the film adaptation of George Langelaan’s short story. Because of all this, the “plot twist” was pretty well known from the beginning, but if you’ve never seen or heard of this film (or the Goldbum-y remake) you owe it to yourself to go in cold.

Seriously. I know people who genuinely have no idea what I’m talking about when I mention the Plot Twist in the original Planet of the Apes. I know you’re out there, and this is one of those movies where if you are somehow fortunate enough never to have heard of it, just GO WATCH IT IMMEDIATELY if you want a great example of a quality plot twist. The Fly was marketed to its already informed contemporary public as a horror movie, because it was the 1950s, so...obviously.

But the story begins as a rather arresting murder mystery, when wealthy socialite Helene Delambre (Patricia Owens) is observed murdering her husband Andre (David Hedison) in a hydraulic press. She willfully turns herself in by confessing to her kind-hearted brother in law Francois (Vincent Price). It turns out that the Delambre brothers ran a successful electronics company, and were up to their stiff upper lips in cash. But where Francois was content to live the refined life of a businessman, his brother was more interested in pushing the boundaries of science.

What’s so great about The Fly - and why I remember the first time I saw it as a child - was that it starts out as one kind of drama before successfully morphing into another entirely - and the change is only part of what makes it work. One minute, Francois is simply a bewildered playboy (zing), trying to make sense of how such a close knit family could come so unhinged so quickly. It’s obvious that Helene is hiding something, in an attempt to somehow protect her late husband’s dignity.

But Francois doesn’t truly become suspicious until Helene and her son Philippe (Charles Herbert) become obsessed with a particular housefly that’s been buzzing around the house lately. That, coupled with his brother’s ever more complicated scientific pursuits, lead Francois and Helene to the horrifying truth all but maybe one of you already know about. Still, I insist it’s worth the experience if you can get it, and this is the kind of experience you need to actively seek if you really want to get the most out of life.

The Fly is one part police procedural, one part “mad scientist” tragedy, and one part super crisp screenwriting (none of which, by the way, are likely to ever go out of style). At one point, Helene asks her nurse whether or not the doctors think she’s insane, the nurse acridly responds that doctors never tell her what they think about anything. At another point, when Francois and Philippe (are these all not just the Frenchiest names in the history of All Things French, ever?) are discussing Helene’s obsession with house flies, the child seems to readily concur with his mother’s assessment, while also wanting to look strong in front of his doting uncle.

“You know how women are,” he drolls on, in the inimitable way of a seven-year-old, sipping a glass of wine through the gap in his front teeth.

It’s not the casual sexism I’m trying to point out here. It’s the way a woman can feel exploited and underutilized in a male dominated environment, and the way children sometimes display maturity beyond their years in situations that leave the adults around them witless. It’s the way Andre is totally the Dad from Powerpuff Girls. These are the flourishes of a gifted ear, and noted screenwriter James Clavell (The Great Escape, Shogun) was just that. In part thanks to him, and in part to some genuinely steady performances by Price and Patricia Owens, the whole movie transcends its police-procedural / mad scientist-thriller roots and becomes something far greater.

It’s that rarest of indulgences in life, and now I know why I haven’t seen it for years and I won’t watch it for many more years. Like the most truly kickass piece of wedding cake you’ve ever had, or the one piece of jewelry you insist on wearing even though you’re not a jewelry person, The Fly is simply a goddamn treasure. It’s such a nearly seamless blend of mystery, horror, parable and high-society-hubris that is so successful at what it does, I can barely justify my recent use of the word “nearly”.

So, yeah. I kinda like this film.