I first saw David Cronenberg’s “The Fly” when it came out in 1986. Hot damn, did they know how to make horror movies back then.

I’ve rewatched it a few times over the years, most recently with my mom about a week ago, and I’m pleased to report it still holds up as a masterpiece of body horror.

The film is, as many know, a remake of a schlockier, 1950s Vincent Price film, in which the lead character switches heads with a fly. There were shades of Kafka’s “Metamorphosis” at work in the original, but Cronenberg wisely chose to use a DNA swap in his version. Thus Jeff Goldblum’s scientist Seth Brundle, after accidentally letting a fly travel with him when he tests his teleportation pods (Hey, we’ve all been there, right?), gets “infected” with fly DNA and the fun begins.

At first, Brundle experiences nothing but the positive: increased sexual function, the agility of a trained gymnast, and a kind of euphoria. But the downside of bug DNA swapping shows up soon enough as the man slowly mutates into something hideous, his human nature replaced by the cold cunning of an insect.

Back in the eighties, all-out gore and grossness was standard issue in horror films, but “The Fly” still took things up a notch. I can remember squirming at the (relatively benign) scene when Brundle peels away his fingernails. Or the shocking conclusion to his arm wrestling with a bar jerk. And, of course, the “birth/abortion” scene.

Of course, the last fifteen minutes are just ghastly/wonderful.

What makes it all work, though, is the Greek tragedy woven into the story. Brundle falls in love with Gina Davis’s reporter character and, had he not messed with nature, it would have all worked out well. It’s only when Brundle lets his jealousy get ahold of him that he throws in motion the hands of fate.

From what I remember, the sequel wasn’t bad either.