Sarah Thompson
Few films capture the tensions between scientific ambition and the fragility of the human body quite like The Fly. Released in 1958 and remade by David Cronenberg in 1986, both versions of The Fly are tales of transformation. Each film tells the story of a scientist whose teleportation experiment goes horribly wrong, leading to his fusion with a fly. These transformations are not just horrifying spectacles; they reflect the highly specific imaginings of their respective eras. As Xavier Aldana Reyes observes, body horror is “time-sensitive and culturally bound” (4). The Fly films embody this idea, using body horror to explore the scientific discoveries of their time and their cultural resonance within the public imagination. The 1958 Fly has been read as a response to the atomic bomb and, more broadly, the volatility of the 1950s, shaped by rapid technological progress and social change (Langberg). In contrast, Cronenberg’s 1986 remake has often been understood as a metaphor for illness, particularly the AIDS epidemic. Cronenberg himself described the film as “an allegory” for these anxieties. Adam Fleet, in his review of Cronenberg’s Fly, wrote, “Body horror, it seems, was an ideal vehicle for helping the world come to terms with the real-life horrors.”
Both films use their transformative narratives to force viewers to confront what happens when scientific ambition outpaces human understanding. Speculative science is central to The Fly films, as they imagine technological advancements like teleportation and genetic splicing and then push them to extremes. By amplifying the fragility of the body and the unpredictability of progress, the films explore how scientific discovery can destabilize our understanding of identity and physical integrity. Through their depictions of bodily transformation, The Fly films ask viewers to confront the existential terror of losing control over who—or what—we are becoming in a world shaped by scientific progress.
DNA’s Double Helix, Atomic Theory, and The Fly (1958)
In the 1950s, biology was undergoing a transformative revolution. Just a few years before The Fly (1958) hit theaters, in 1953, James Watson and Francis Crick, with crucial contributions from Rosalind Franklin, uncovered the double helix structure of DNA. This discovery revealed the molecular blueprint for genetic inheritance, offering profound insight into how traits are passed from one generation to the next. However, much of the detailed mechanisms of genetics—such as the exact functions of genes and the processes underlying mutation—remained poorly understood. At the time, mutations were often thought of in relatively simple terms, imagined as sudden, isolated changes to specific traits. Scientists knew chromosomes carried genes and could sometimes rearrange or mutate, leading to visible changes in organisms, but the intricate dynamics of molecular genetics were still a mystery.
This early understanding provides a scientific backdrop for The Fly (1958), although the film makes no direct reference to DNA. Instead, it was advertised with the tagline, “The First Time Atomic Mutation on Humans Has Been Shown on The Screen” (Stewardson). This reference to atomic mutation feels ironic when viewed through the lens of today’s scientific knowledge. The fundamental unit of matter, an atom, is far smaller and unrelated to the scale at which DNA or chromosomes operate. The film’s portrayal of André Delambre’s transformation—a swapping of body parts with a fly, including his head and arm—doesn’t align at all with the concept of an “atomic mutation.” Instead, this kind of swapping would more accurately be described in chromosomal terms, involving the exchange or rearrangement of genetic material between André and the fly.
This distinction is significant because it ties The Fly (1958) to the chromosomal knowledge of its time. The groundbreaking work of Watson, Crick, and Franklin had propelled conversations about genetics into the public and scientific spheres, and The Fly seems to respond, albeit indirectly, to these discussions. Body horror, as depicted in André’s catastrophic accident, becomes a vehicle for a speculative imagining of the rapid pace of technological and scientific change in the 1950s. His failed teleportation experiment serves as a cautionary tale about the futurity of scientific discovery—specifically, the idea that a seemingly small error—like a fly entering the teleportation machine—could trigger catastrophic and uncontrollable consequences.
Notably, André is not the film’s main voice of caution. Instead, his wife, Helene, articulates the broader ethical concerns about the rapid pace of technological progress. “I get so scared sometimes,” she confesses, “Everything’s going so fast. I’m—I’m just not ready to take it all in. It’s all so quick.” Her words show her anxieties about grappling with the suddenness of advancements like rockets, satellites, and André’s teleportation device. The film reinforces this sense of unease through Helene’s growing terror, culminating in a pivotal moment where the audience is invited to see the world through André’s fly-compounded vision. Her fragmented, multiplied reflection hauntingly mirrors André’s transformed vision, emphasizing the disorienting and fractured pace of scientific progress. For Helene, the future feels like it has already arrived, overwhelming the present with its speed and consequences.
Fig. 1. Helene as seen through André’s transformed vision
Recombinant DNA, the Human Genome Project, and The Fly (1986)
While the 1958 Fly explored visible transformations tied to chromosomal knowledge, David Cronenberg’s The Fly (1986) shifts the focus to molecular transformations, reflecting the burgeoning fascination with recombinant DNA technology. At the heart of this version is Seth Brundle, a brilliant yet flawed scientist who believes his teleportation device will “change the world and human life as we know it.” His invention, the “telepod,” represents humanity’s enduring desire to master the physical world—an ambition that has often been explored in science fiction as a metaphor for control over the body and nature. But Brundle’s technological ambition ultimately leads to an uncontrollable unraveling when his DNA is fused with a housefly at the “molecular genetic level,” resulting in his transformation into something entirely other.
Cronenberg’s The Fly is often read as a metaphor for illness, particularly the AIDS epidemic, as Cronenberg himself has suggested. While this reading is compelling, the film also reflects the burgeoning scientific fascination with recombinant DNA technology. By 1986, recombinant DNA—a technology that combines genetic material from different organisms to create sequences that wouldn’t naturally occur—had gained significant attention, earning a Nobel Prize in Chemistry in 1980 (Jackson). This technology made it possible to insert specific genes into host organisms, paving the way for revolutionary advances in medicine, research, and biotechnology.
The accidental fusion of Brundle and the fly draws on the concepts of recombinant DNA but frames them in a chaotic, uncontrolled context. Unlike the careful precision of laboratory experiments, Brundle’s transformation unfolds in a speculative space where science veers dangerously out of control. His computer, serving as both a narrative device and a reflection of mid-1980s technological limitations, confirms what he fears: his body has merged with the fly’s at the genetic level, creating a new hybrid organism: BrundleFly. This unintentional splicing mirrors the real-world uncertainties surrounding genetic engineering at the time. Recombinant DNA promised innovation but also sparked fears of unintended consequences—what might happen if we pushed too far, too quickly?
Fig. 2. Brundle is fused with a fly
After a failed attempt to teleport a living monkey, Brundle reflects on his shortcomings: “Computers are dumb, they only know what you tell them. I must not know enough about the flesh myself; I’m going to have to learn.” This moment highlights a dilemma of the pre-Human Genome Project era. Although scientists could manipulate DNA and perform groundbreaking experiments, their understanding of genetic systems was incomplete. Without a map of the human genome, progress was constrained, and gaps in knowledge left room for catastrophic errors (International Human Genome Sequencing Consortium). Brundle’s transformation from man to hybrid mirrors the speculative dangers of genetic manipulation. His gradual physical disintegration visualizes the potential horror of scientific ambition unchecked by ethical considerations.
Where the original Fly (1958) dramatizes external, visible consequences—instantly swapping body parts to depict the chaos of technological experimentation—Cronenberg’s version internalizes these consequences. Brundle’s transformation is more gradual and molecular, reflecting the scientific knowledge of the 1980s, when the focus had shifted to the unseen: genes, viruses, and the mechanisms of life itself. By grounding Brundle’s transformation in the speculative possibilities of recombinant DNA, the film asks its viewers to consider the ethical and existential implications of tinkering with the basic elements of life. Ultimately, The Fly (1986) is not just a film about transformation but about the tension between ambition and understanding. To me, Cronenberg critiques the hubris of scientific progress, urging viewers, specifically the scientific community, to ask what it means to create without fully knowing the consequences.
Speculating the Future of The Fly
The Fly films have always been grounded in body horror’s ability to force audiences to confront the fragility of the human body and the terrifying implications of its transformation. Both the 1958 and 1986 versions of The Fly use grotesque metamorphosis to explore cultural imaginings about scientific progress, showing how advances in technology destabilize ideas about identity, humanity, and control. But body horror isn’t static—it evolves alongside our cultural phenomena and scientific advancement. A future Fly film could take these themes in a new direction, asking how the genre speaks to today’s post-genomic world’s ethical and existential dilemmas.
Drosophila melanogaster, the common fruit fly, offers a compelling entry point. For over a century, Drosophila has been a cornerstone of genetic research, from Thomas Hunt Morgan’s early experiments to today’s CRISPR-driven projects. With CRISPR, scientists now insert human genetic material into fruit flies to model diseases like cancer and neurological disorders (Charpentier and Doudna). These genetic hybrid flies challenge the line between human and non-human, raising questions about the body’s boundaries and the ways we define life itself.
A reimagining of The Fly could draw inspiration from this scientific reality, flipping the transformation central to the original films. Instead of a human becoming a fly, what if the story followed a genetically modified fly gradually exhibiting human traits? This fly, designed to mimic aspects of human biology for research purposes, could begin solving logic problems or displaying emotional responses. The horror wouldn’t stem solely from physical grotesqueness but from the eerie familiarity of its behavior. A genetically modified fly, imbued with human traits through CRISPR, would serve as a reminder of how speculative science destabilizes the boundaries of species and identity. Where the 1958 film externalized fears of atomic mutation and the 1986 film internalized these imaginings about molecular manipulation, this version could probe the possibilities of CRISPR, where the threat is externally different but internally similar.
This isn’t just a thought experiment about transformation; it is a way to consider how body horror evolves to reflect our fears within a rhetorically specific scientific imagination. The Fly films have always asked what happens when scientific ambition outpaces humanity’s ability to comprehend advancement. A future iteration should push this further, using the beloved story to explore how advances in science force us to reimagine our identities in new ways. Body horror doesn’t just ask what we are becoming—it emerges from the speculative potential of science to disrupt the body and its boundaries. The Fly films compel us to question whether humanity can reconcile its relentless pursuit of progress with the terrifying consequences it might unleash.
Works Cited
Aldana Reyes, Xavier. Contemporary Body Horror. Cambridge University Press, 2024.
Charpentier, Emmanuelle, and Doudna, Jennifer A. “The New Frontier of Genome Engineering with CRISPR-Cas9.” Science, vol. 346, 2014. DOI:10.1126/science.1258096
Cronenberg, David. The Fly. 1986.
Fleet, Adam. “The Fly: 96 Minutes of Grotesque, Vomit-Soaked Bedlam – and David Cronenberg’s Best Film.” The Guardian, 30 Aug 2022.
International Human Genome Sequencing Consortium. “Finishing the Euchromatic Sequence of the Human Genome.” Nature, vol. 431, 2004. https://doi.org/10.1038/nature03001.
Jackson, D.A. et al. “Biochemical Method for Inserting New Genetic Information into DNA of Simian Virus 40: Circular SV40 DNA Molecules Containing Lambda Phage Genes and the Galactose Operon of Escherichia coli.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America, vol. 69, no. 10 (1972): 2904-9.
Langberg, Eric. “The Fly (1958).” Medium, 8 Oct 2015.
Neumann, Kurt. The Fly. 1958.
Stewardson, Christopher. “Review: The Fly (1958).” Our Culture, Our Culture, 28 July 2024.
Watson, J. and Crick, F. “Molecular Structure of Nucleic Acids: A Structure for Deoxyribose Nucleic Acid.” Nature, vol. 171, 1953. https://doi.org/10.1038/171737a0.
