By 1965, audiences had already been treated to The Fly (1958), a chilling tale of science gone wrong, and Return of the Fly (1959), which at least gave us a giant bug head worth laughing at. Then came Curse of the Fly, a film that bravely asked, “What if we made a Fly movie… without the fly?”
Spoiler: the answer is boredom, disappointment, and a skeleton in the front seat of a car.
The Plot: Soap Opera with Teleportation Machines
Instead of buzzing mutants or grotesque bug‑men, we get a family melodrama about the Delambre clan — three generations of Canadian scientists who apparently learned nothing from Andre’s tragic experiment with teleportation. The twist this time? Forget flies. The new horrors are:
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Disfigured lab assistants locked in the stables like unwanted pets.
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A first wife locked in the dungeon like a Gothic romance reject.
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A hero with “recessive fly genes” who doesn’t sprout wings or mandibles — he just ages faster. Basically Benjamin Button on layaway.
It plays less like a sci‑fi horror flick and more like a really bleak Dynasty episode with teleporters.
The Romance: From Mental Asylum to Honeymoon Suite
Martin Delambre, our leading man, picks up Patricia, a young woman who has just escaped a mental asylum, while she’s running around in her underwear. They fall in love instantly and get married.
That’s not romance. That’s a Dateline NBC special.
The Horror: Locked Doors and Lectures
There’s plenty of Gothic atmosphere — crumbling castles, shadowy labs, whispering servants. But the horror itself? Toothless. Instead of a giant fly head, we get:
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Teleporter accidents that look like someone mashed two action figures together.
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An old inspector lying in a hospital bed, rambling about the past movies.
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Martin slowly aging until he dies in his car like a man who forgot sunscreen.
By the end, you don’t fear the Delambres’ science. You fear the runtime.
Brian Donlevy: Mad Scientist or Tired Uncle?
Brian Donlevy plays Henri Delambre, and he looks like he’s about five minutes away from asking someone to bring him his slippers and a whiskey. His delivery is less “mad scientist” and more “grumpy pensioner.” You half expect him to shout at the disfigured assistants to get off his lawn.
The Fly Trilogy Without the Fly
The biggest insult? Curse of the Fly doesn’t even try to connect with the central gimmick of the series. No buzzing insect heads. No claws. Not even a pair of compound eyes glued onto somebody. Just a couple of aging scientists who can’t manage their teleportation project.
It’s like making a Jaws sequel where the shark never shows up and the horror is just city council meetings about boat permits.
Final Thoughts
Curse of the Fly (1965) isn’t scary, isn’t fun, and isn’t even memorably bad — it’s just dull. The horror lies not in the experiments or the cursed genes but in the sheer waste of a once‑entertaining franchise.
The first Fly gave us nightmares. The second gave us unintentional laughs. The third gave us nothing but a long, buzzing silence — the cinematic equivalent of a fly trapped against a window, smacking itself pointlessly until it drops dead.
If there’s a curse here, it’s the curse of sequels that don’t know what made the original work.
