In the flickering glow of 1950s drive-ins, a monstrous hybrid buzzed back to life, proving some horrors refuse to be swatted away.

Forty years before the cursed curse of modern reboots, Return of the Fly dared to revisit one of cinema’s most grotesque transformations, blending the original’s tragic pathos with a sequel’s inevitable escalation. Released in 1959 by 20th Century Fox, this black-and-white chiller picks up the shattered pieces of Andre Delambre’s infamous experiment, thrusting his son into a web of scientific hubris and corporate espionage. For retro enthusiasts, it stands as a testament to the era’s unyielding fascination with mad science and monstrous mutations.

  • The film’s intricate plot weaves family legacy with industrial intrigue, amplifying the original’s body horror into a tale of reluctant inheritance.
  • Practical effects and Vincent Price’s commanding presence elevate a modest budget into a memorable genre entry, echoing Cold War anxieties about unchecked technology.
  • Its enduring legacy influences creature features and collecting culture, from VHS tapes to modern Blu-ray revivals cherished by horror aficionados.

The Web of Inheritance: From Father to Son

The original The Fly of 1958 left audiences reeling with its shocking finale, a tale of atomic-age ambition gone catastrophically wrong. Andre Delambre’s matter transporter fused man with fly, birthing a creature both pitiable and terrifying. By 1959, producer Ivan Tors and 20th Century Fox sensed untapped potential in that grotesque imagery. Return of the Fly emerges not as a direct continuation but a spiritual successor, shifting focus to Philippe Delambre, Andre’s grown son portrayed by Brett Halsey. Living in Paris, Philippe inherits not just his father’s scientific genius but the dusty disintegrator device hidden away since the tragedy. This setup masterfully exploits sequel conventions, promising familiarity while injecting fresh peril. Retro collectors prize the film for its packaging art on lobby cards, where the fly-man’s compound eyes gleam with eerie promise.

Contextually, the movie rides the crest of 1950s sci-fi horror, a subgenre fuelled by post-war fears of radiation and genetic tampering. Titles like Them! and Tarantula had already giant-ized insects, but Return personalises the mutation, making it intimate and hereditary. Director Edward Bernds, known for his economical style from Three Stooges comedies, tempers the horror with restrained pacing. The film’s monochrome cinematography by Brydon Baker enhances the lab scenes’ claustrophobia, shadows pooling like spilled haemolymph. Fans dissecting prints at conventions often note how the sequel avoids colour, preserving the original’s gritty authenticity amid Technicolor’s rise.

Cultural ripples extend to toy aisles, where Aurora models capitalised on fly-man kits, complete with glueable wings and telescopic heads. These plastic horrors mirrored the film’s dual nature: plaything by day, nightmare by night. Nostalgia buffs collect these kits today, their raised seams evoking the era’s hands-on hobbyism. The movie’s release coincided with a boom in monster merchandise, cementing its place in 80s revival circuits via late-night TV syndication.

Disintegration and Deception: A Synopsis Spun in Silk

Philippe Delambre, a promising engineer, unveils his new invention: an advanced disintegrator that promises safe molecular transport. Unbeknownst to him, his uncle Francois (Vincent Price) has preserved the original machine, stashed in the family chateau’s basement. Corporate spies from a rival firm, led by the slimy Ronald ‘Beulah’ Hines (John Sutton), infiltrate Philippe’s life through his fiancée Helena (Constance Forslund). As Philippe tests his device on small animals, success breeds overconfidence. A botched experiment merges him partially with a fly, sparking a rampage that pits man-beast against human foes.

The narrative escalates with espionage twists: Hines steals the machine’s formula, only to meet a gruesome end in its clutches. Francois pieces together the horror, echoing his brother’s demise. Key sequences pulse with tension, like Philippe’s gradual degeneration, his voice distorting into buzzes, hands swelling with chitin. Helena’s desperation adds emotional stakes, her screams piercing the laboratory’s hum. Bernds films these with deliberate close-ups, the fly-head mask’s grotesque seams visible yet convincing under Brydon Baker’s stark lighting.

Climactic confrontations blend action and pathos: the fly-man’s pursuit through Parisian streets, smashing crates in a warehouse frenzy. Francois confronts the creature, pleading for recognition in a heart-wrenching standoff. Resolution arrives via the original disintegrator, reducing the abomination to atoms in a blaze of redemption. This detailed arc, clocking at 80 minutes, packs economical storytelling, rewarding rewatches with foreshadowing like Philippe’s absent-minded fly-swatting.

Supporting cast shines subtly: Herbert Ellis as the bumbling inspector, David Frankham as the aristocratic villain Ronald Ashby. Their period accents ground the fantasy in Euro-noir flair, a nod to French co-production influences.

Price’s Potion: The Unkillable Charm of Vincent Price

Vincent Price’s reprisal as Francois Delambre anchors the sequel, his velvet timbre conveying grief and resolve. No longer the frantic brother, he embodies weary wisdom, guiding Philippe toward doom unwittingly. Price’s scenes crackle with gravitas, his monologues on scientific ethics delivered with theatrical poise. Retro horror lovers replay his final plea to the fly-man, a masterclass in restrained hysteria.

Beyond performance, Price elevates the film’s production value. His star power drew crowds, posters billing him prominently despite supporting role. Collectors seek autographed stills, where his arched eyebrow hints at the campy delight awaiting.

Chitin and Circuits: Special Effects That Stick

The fly-man suit, crafted by Ben Nye, refines the original’s design with bulkier shoulders and articulated proboscis. Actor Edward Lanphier inhabits the monster, his lurching gait amplified by oversized boots. Disintegration effects rely on practical sparks and matte paintings, the era’s ingenuity shining through budget constraints. Slow-motion crashes and buzzing soundscapes by Harold Stein create visceral immersion.

Compared to The Fly‘s starfish arm, this sequel’s hybrid boasts fly legs protruding from sleeves, a detail praised in Famous Monsters of Filmland for tactile terror. Model work for the machine glows with vacuum tubes and whirring reels, evoking real 1950s labs.

Atomic Anxieties: Themes That Sting

Return of the Fly amplifies the original’s warnings against tampering with nature, now laced with industrial sabotage. Philippe’s hubris mirrors Oppenheimer’s regrets, corporate greed as the true monster. Themes of inheritance question nurture versus nature, the Delambre bloodline cursed by genius.

Gender dynamics emerge in Helena’s agency, defying damsel tropes by aiding the cover-up. Amid Red Scare paranoia, spies symbolise foreign threats to American ingenuity, though Parisian setting softens jingoism.

Nostalgic lens reveals consumerism’s undercurrent: science as product, sold to the highest bidder. This resonates in today’s biotech debates, the film’s prescience uncanny.

Studio Swarm: Production Hurdles Overcome

Shot in 18 days on Hollywood stages doubling for France, Bernds navigated Tors’ tight $200,000 budget. Script by Edward Bernds and George Langelaan (original novella author) balances fidelity with novelty. Fox’s distribution leveraged the first film’s scandalous buzz, trailers teasing “the fly returns… worse than before!”

Challenges included mask discomfort—Lanphier endured hours in latex—and coordinating miniature effects. Yet efficiency prevailed, wrapping under schedule. Marketing emphasised Price, drive-in double bills with The Alligator People.

Trivia from set logs: Halsey improvised Philippe’s twitches, adding authenticity. Post-production honed the fly buzz, sourced from real insects amplified.

Reception’s Sting: Critics and Crowds

Critics dismissed it as cash-grab, Variety noting “familiar formula lacks bite,” yet audiences flocked, grossing modestly. Over time, reevaluation in fanzines hailed its sincerity. Box office success spawned Curse of the Fly (1965), cementing the trilogy.

Today, home video cults thrive; Criterion essays praise its B-movie heart. Collector forums debate loose ends, like surviving flies.

Echoes in the Hive: Legacy and Revivals

Influencing David Cronenberg’s 1986 remake, Return inspired grotesque sequels like The Nest. Merch endures: Funko Pops, comic adaptations. 90s VHS boom revived it, laser disc editions prized for clarity. Modern streaming nods to its DNA in shows like Stranger Things.

Conventions feature fly-man cosplay, panels dissecting ethics. As collectible, original posters fetch thousands, their bold graphics timeless.

Director in the Spotlight

Edward Bernds, born 12 November 1905 in Chicago, Illinois, rose from sound engineer to prolific director, shaping B-movie history across decades. Starting at Columbia Pictures in 1928 as a boom operator, he engineered effects for early talkies, honing technical prowess. By 1937, he scripted and directed Three Stooges shorts like Calling All Curs (1939) and Micro-Phonies (1945), mastering slapstick timing on razor budgets. His versatility extended to Bowery Boys series, helming over a dozen entries such as Angels in Disguise (1949) and Jungle Gents (1954), blending comedy with light adventure.

Transitioning to sci-fi, Bernds directed World Without End (1956), a post-apocalyptic yarn praised for matte work. Return of the Fly (1959) showcased his horror adeptness, followed by Queen of Outer Space (1958) with Zsa Zsa Gabor, a campy Venusian romp. He tackled Westerns like Thunder in the Sun (1959) starring Susan Hayward, and comedies including Space Probe Taurus (1965). Bernds’ final credits include The Brothers Rico (1957) and Stooges swan song Have Rocket, Will Travel (1959).

Influenced by silent era masters like Buster Keaton, Bernds authored memoirs Mr. Bernds Goes to Hollywood (1992), detailing Stooges chaos. Knighted by fans for economical storytelling, he retired in 1975, passing 20 May 2000 at 94. His canon exceeds 100 credits, embodying Hollywood’s unsung workhorses.

Actor in the Spotlight

Vincent Price, born 27 May 1911 in St. Louis, Missouri, epitomised suave horror from stage to screen. Educating at Yale in art history, he debuted on Broadway in Victoria Regina (1935), segueing to films with Service de Luxe (1938). Breakthrough came in The Song of Bernadette (1943), earning Oscar nods. Horror icon status solidified with House of Wax (1953), his wax-melting villainy chilling.

Price voiced The Fly (1958) and reprised in Return of the Fly (1959), later The Tingler (1959) and AIP Poe cycle: House of Usher (1960), The Pit and the Pendulum (1961), The Raven (1963), The Masque of the Red Death (1964), The Oblong Box (1969). Comedies balanced macabre: Champagne for Caesar (1950), His Kind of Woman (1951). TV triumphs included Thriller host and The 10th Kingdom (2000).

Awards eluded but cultural cachet soared; he narrated Disney’s The Great Mouse Detective (1986) as Professor Ratigan. Philanthropist for arts, authoring cookbooks like A Treasury of Great Recipes (1965). Price died 25 October 1993 at 82, legacy buzzing in parodies and revivals. Filmography spans 200+ roles, from Laura (1944) to Edward Scissorhands (1990).

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Bibliography

Bernds, E. (1992) Mr. Bernds Goes to Hollywood. Scarecrow Press.

Hardy, P. (1986) The Film Encyclopedia: Science Fiction. Aurum Press.

Mank, G.W. (2001) Hollywood Cauldron: 13 Horror Films from the Genre’s Golden Age. McFarland.

Price, V. and Farr, I. (1999) Vincent Price: A Daughter’s Biography. Hodder & Stoughton.

Scheib, R. (2001) The Fly. MJS Books.

Warren, J. (1982) Keep Watching the Skies! American Science Fiction Movies of 1950-1952. McFarland.

Weaver, T. (1999) Double Feature Creature Attack. McFarland.

Famous Monsters of Filmland, Issue 65 (1968) Warren Publishing.

Variety (1959) ‘Return of the Fly’ review. Variety Inc. Available at: https://variety.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).

TCM Archives (2015) Edward Bernds Interview Outtakes. Turner Classic Movies.

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