The
Fly is a true Cronenbergian landmark and an
appropriately adult reworking of the eponymous camp film starring Vincent
Price. Faithful to his binary conception of the world (science vs. nature, male
vs. female, intellect vs. animality, etc…), the director articulates the narrative around a cathartic but
destructive love story between an enterprising journalist (Geena Davis as one
of the weakest female characters of the entire Cronenbergian canon) and a
reclusive scientist (Jeff Goldblum, in one of his many such roles). Thanks to a great turn by the two leads, who get some help from Howard Shore’s majestic
orchestral score and some really effective monster effects, The Fly still remains one
of the most accomplished, most memorable horror efforts from the 1980s.
The story focuses on Seth Brundle and Veronica Quaife, who first meet
in a scientific convention where he promises her a glimpse at an invention that
will change the world as we know it. The invention in question, a pair of
teleport pods (or “telepods” for short), immediately amazes Quaife, but it fails to impress her editor, and former boyfriend Strathis Borans, who believes
Brundle to be a con artist. Quickly grabbing the fumbling ball in a bid to
prevent Quaife from publishing an article about his unfinished invention,
Brundle proposes a professional association that soon turns into a romance.
Allowing the young woman into his laboratory, which doubles as a homely loft, he also allows her to document his ongoing work. But the
mutually beneficial nature of their relationship doesn’t end there as it is
Quaife who helps Brundle decode the mystery of flesh, allowing him to finally
perfect the teleportation of living things. Being the first human subjected to
that process, Brundle inadvertently steps into the telepod along with a house
fly, creating a half fly/half human hybrid in the process. That is how the mad
scientist gets his come-uppance, by seeing his body quickly disintegrate and
enter the realm of insects, all the while compromising his enriching
relationship with Veronica.
Some great triangular composition, helping us understand
how the telepod will come between the two lovers.
In trying to appraise the screenplay, one
cannot fail to notice its total lack of scientific realism, with no real
attempt being made at explaining the basic principles of teleportation other
than saying that it involves the breaking down and reconstruction of the
subject. The computer interface of Brundle’s invention may be colorful, well
designed and a crucial plot device, but I’m sure that it will fail to capture
the heart of any true science buff. As in all Cronenberg films, “science” is
merely a theme to be used in opposition with nature, its primordial
counterpart. Here, the narrative rather proceeds from a certain notion of
“amorous realism”, allowing both main characters, as well as the invention in
between, to evolve (and regress) simultaneously with their relationship.
Hence, we are first introduced to a man who
fails to understand “the flesh” (another thematic concept), which in turns
impairs his ability to break it down and recreate it in the process of
teleportation. It’s only after a sexual encounter with Veronica that Seth
finally “gets it”, thus gaining the ability to teach his computer how to “go
crazy” for the flesh. All of these are great plot points, but they have little
bearing on the actual exercise of scientific know-how. They rather imbue the
narrative with a well-fitted sense of tragedy. After all, it is those very
“liberating” carnal desires that also prove to be Brundle’s downfall as he
takes a “penetrating dive into the plasma pool” in a moment of drunken
jealousy, uncaring as to the physical effects of such a dive. This happens
moments after Veronica witnessed the successful teleportation of a baboon, and
nearly convinced Seth to enjoy a well-needed vacation by her side. Momentarily
noticing a package sent by her ex-boyfriend the editor, Veronica elopes under
the pretext that she must “scrape off” the remnants of her past life, leaving
Seth alone with a bottle of champagne and some deep dark thoughts. Insecure
as any first time lover, the man immediately suspects foul play and thus decides
to try out his invention in order to drag his ego up to where it needs to be.
That is how he becomes Brundlefly, an accidental new self more akin to what he
perceives to be the essence of masculinity, as further exemplified by Stathis
Borans, a self-centered and unapologetic sex fiend.
Brundlefly towers over Strathis as uber-masculinity
brazenly proves its worth.
Brundlefly is the “manly” (read
self-assured) version of Brundle, at once the byproduct of gene-splicing and
sexual awakening. Right after emerging from the mist sweeping out of the
telepod (itself a rather potent device to help heighten suspense as to what is
about to come out), the hybrid seems fully human. But then it quickly gains a
manic self-confidence and a newfound sense of corporeality, two qualities that
were found completely lacking in the scientist alone. This is fine at first as
it allows the man to revel in his own perceived Godhood. But then, every
dramatic character since the beginning of time has been swiftly punished for
such an access to Godhood. And Brundle is no exception. His rapid regression into
the world of insects is actually quite disturbing to watch, but we shall get
into that later. For now, we must concentrate on the transforming power of sex and its relevance in the character's access to Godhood. At once the cornerstone of scientific advancement and scientific regression,
sex is herein depicted as a powerful catalyst that subverts nearly all
binaries, transforming the protagonist from a purely intellectual entity to a
brutal being of violence and sugar. As the Cronenbergian maieutics operates, it
liberates Brundle from all of his hang-ups, allowing all the hidden secrets of
his mind to seep into our world. In the end however, his obsession with
masculinity will consume him whole, making him the uber-male, or the “beast”, which quickly transforms the standard male hunter into the hero.
Seth’s elaborate transformation from
ethereal scientist with a terrible fashion sense to monstrous man-sized fly
certainly accounts for most of the film’s notoriety. Resulting first in the
apparition of unsightly boils on the protagonist’s face, the ongoing process of
hybridity eventually contributes to the integral disintegration of his body. In one famous scene, Brundle realizes that his teeth and nails can now be
pulled off with the fingers, and that pus is squirting from all over his
battered hands. This nightmarish take on the horror of puberty hits home mostly
as a cringe-inducing common ground, climaxing on one hell of a freaky close-up
featuring a nail being slowly removed from atop a finger oozing with pus. Soon
after, the process of hybridity becomes more akin to the process of aging as we
see a staggering Brundle moving forward pathetically with the help of crutches,
needing to break down solid food with a corrosive acid in order to better
digest it. This later common ground also helps give a human dimension to the “disease”,
making it all the more intelligible to the spectator and all the more
contrasting with its later stages, which see a rejuvenated Brundlefly walking
on walls and eventually shedding his human skin for that of an insect. The
immaculate plasticity of all those scenes and their seamless integration to the
“reality” of the narrative help create some unforgettable imagery that have
since earned their place in the pantheon of horror. They have also helped Chris Walas and Stephan Dupuis earn a well-deserved Oscar for Best Makeup.
The common ground of puberty helps us understand
the plight of awkward, boil-covered Brundle.
Heavy on tragic twists and turn, the film
finds resonance in the memorable orchestral score by long-time Cronenberg
collaborator Howard Shore. Being the two men’s fourth collective effort, it is
one of pure collaboration, with the composer heightening the dramatic power of
nearly every scene and the director using just the right amount of restraint
not to overwhelm his own material. The soundtrack actually gives a certain
nobility and credibility to the film, one that is found lacking in similar
horror efforts. And so, despite some grotesque imagery, the film always manages
to avoid campiness, choosing drama instead in a bid to heighten the sense of
horror deriving from that grotesque imagery, using it not for shock value, but as a testament to the protagonist's plight in experiencing the drawbacks of passion.
With Cronenberg’s dynamic direction helping
the narrative unfold at a brisk pace, there is not a dull moment in The Fly, starting from the intriguing,
retro-looking credits (featuring a plethora of chameleonic moving shapes) to
the gore-drenched finale. There is no lengthy exposition scene at the
beginning, just a quick plunge into the engrossing relationship between Seth
and Veronica. This quick plunge then becomes a quick segue into the heart of
the matter, namely the ongoing dynamic of attraction/repulsion that
characterizes the relationship between the two. After being “seduced” by
Brundle, and brought back to his place, Veronica is asked to remove an item
that is “uniquely hers”, either a piece of jewelry or some other memento for
use in the telepods. Sure enough, she decides to remove one of her stockings in
a surprising display of mundane eroticism. From then one starts a mechanic of
attraction that goes awry after Seth’s transformation, thus becoming something
much more elaborate, at once a mechanic of emotional attraction and physical
repulsion, which finds its emotional crux in Veronica’s monstrous pregnancy.
The hypothetical son of Brundlefly (and the titular character of the inferior
sequel) is indeed a source of pure repulsion, as exemplified by a memorable
dream scene in which the director himself (in the guise of a masked
gynecologist) removes a large wiggling larva from Veronica’s womb. The whole
issue of a monstrous pregnancy is actually what prompts the confused mother to
seek refuge back into her ex-boyfriend’s arms, choosing disgusting normality
over repulsive integrity. Being the story
of a love triangle highlighting the transformative power of sex, The Fly thus prefigures other major
works from Cronenberg, namely Dead
Ringers and A Dangerous Method,
both of which are subtler and more psychological in nature.
As in Dead Ringers, the womb is source
of horror and fascination for Cronenberg.
Simplistic in nature, but befitted with
strong turns by the three leads, a dynamite score, some Oscar-winning makeup and
the sheer mastery of Cronenberg at the helm, exploring in the process many of his grandest,
resonant themes, The Fly is an immense success. It’s also a fascinating film from start to finish, an endless series of vibrant
scenes full of passion, filmed with passion, and able to draw the viewer right into its dark
universe. The absence of any identifiable landmark from Toronto (where
the film was shot) further helps the narrative appear universal, thus pointing out to its intrinsically human nature. After all, The Fly is basically a love story, one so honest and psychologically realistic that it
manages to inscribe emotional distress right into the flesh, depicting the
corroding aspects of passion-laced relationships in the nasty boils, endless twitches and self-destructive antics of the protagonist. A true, albeit fantastic testament to passion and the immense pain that derives from it.
4/5
An essential film for both Cronenberg completists and casual genre fans alike, but also a tragic love story elevated to unbearable heights by Howard Shore’s
majestic score and the repulsive makeup by Oscar-winners Walas and Dupuis.
P.S. It is a rather strange coincidence
that Geena Davis’ character bears the name Veronica here, for I presently lust
for a Veronica of my own. Being the liberated woman that she is, and me the
reclusive weirdo that I am, I doubt that we can ever be together, lest the
magic of cinema seeps into our own boring reality. All I can do now is not let
the sting of rejection turn me into a monster. And most importantly, not let it
impair my current inspiration.
