It’s a film full of allegory, as well as being a fascinating science fiction story (although the film is usually classified as horror; I think the two categories can easily meld together – just like the scientist in the film melds with a fly). I identified with the main character, Seth Brundle. He was a socially awkward, obsessive scientist, who was willing to ignore danger and consequence in pursuit of knowledge and control of the material world. Or something like that. Also, he was really drunk when he jumped into the teleportation pod accompanied by that sneaky fly (it’s never a good idea to drink and teleport). I don’t identify with him quite so much now that I’m more mature and sensible – however, just to be safe, I don’t keep teleportation pods in my home.
I imagine a lot of people will have dismissed it as a shocking special effects film. And it is shocking, and somewhat stomach-churning. But a lot of the ‘shockingness’ and horror comes from the viewer’s emotional involvement with the characters and their story. It was an incredibly sad and tragic tale, and at its heart was a doomed love: for once Seth became the Brundle-fly he could no longer be with the woman he loved, as she was completely human.
After seeing the film I would often find myself in sombre contemplation of it, even to the point of tears. I think it made me sad because I’d begun to realise that I was also part-fly and that my boyfriend (who was my first true love - though not really - it's just that the expectation is that you have to have a first true love) was completely human. So I had to end the relationship. Though, to be fair, I also had to end the relationship because he was kind of sexist and narrow-minded and conservative and a little bit patriarchal and maybe somewhat controlling. Actually, now that I think about it, there were many, many reasons to end this relationship.
Many years later I met someone who seemed to be part-fly. Initially, I was so happy to have found someone seemingly like me that I didn’t notice how much of him was fly. Or how little of him was human. Or that his fly part was more bot-fly than house-fly. The relationship ended badly. I’m much more cautious now. (I think this blog entry itself has just delved into the murky waters of allegory).
I think the real tragedy of Seth Brundle is that he didn’t fully accept what he’d become or, possibly, was meant to become. Perhaps it was his destiny to merge with an insect; maybe the fly had been hanging around him on purpose, knowing that Seth was spiritually and emotionally part-fly. And it was waiting for an opportunity to make a physical union with Brundle – I’m completely serious; flies are strategic creatures, very cunning.
It’s a shame the Brundle-fly didn’t take some time out, reflect on his new existence and its possibilities. If he’d done some travelling, say to Prague, he might have run into that other well-known part-insect, Gregor Samsa. Then he’d have had a buddy; someone else who knows what it’s like to be part-insect in a world of humans.
(Gregor Samsa: painted by Migvel Tepes)
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