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The Return of the Fly (1959) is a monster mad scientist shocker feature guinea pig hands and feet sequel effort from hell that is mild in noir relevance, so mild in noir relevance that the owners apologise, and here we argue that in fact this film's flyness and expected shock moments scientifically double effect a tale of industrial espionage, if indeed there is any hovering narrative to this atomic age sequel, and give it little reason to be here.
A minor creature, buzzing at the margin of the sublime, a mote in the cathedral of science, this film describes like no other the moment when the man and the insect pass through the molecular eye together, the universe commits a grammatical error, and republishes cheap. What emerges is not human, not fly, but a grotesque synthesis: the moral algebra of hubris incarnate. A catalogue entry in worst sequels?
