The original version of The Fly was a solid film about man acting without thinking. It told a good story and had some memorable images, but it left a lot of questions -- the metaphysical ones -- untouched. What are the philosophical ramifications of teleportation? When a body is broken into its constituent molecules and reassembled, can we really say the result is the same person? Better yet: If a person fuses molecularly with, say, a fly, is the outcome the same person with a physical difference? Is it an entirely new being? This remake takes these questions and explores them in all their gory complexity.

Just like the movie it is based on, The Fly is about a man, Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum), who creates a teleportation device. It works by disassembling all the molecules of the object and reassembling them in a receiver. Eventually that inevitable point is reached at which he decides he must try sending himself through. The good news is it works. The bad news is a fly found its way into the device, too, and, unnoticeably at first, caused its DNA to fuse with that of Brundle. Slowly but surely does Brundle become more and more fly-like, and at the same pace a climax builds into one of the most visually dynamic (and gross) ever.

The first thing viewers recall about this movie is how absolutely disgusting it is. This is to be expected, judging from the rest of director David Cronenberg's portfolio. I would like to be able to see how 1950s audiences would have reacted if they were affronted with this movie. Vomiting, of course, would be first, and I imagine outright rejection of the film would have been next. Even watching it now, decades after its release, there are plenty of moments that poke right around the gag reflex. The first of these images is a monkey turned inside-out in a demonstration of the teleporter's initial inability to teleport living things. (A bug could have probably proven the point much more cleanly, but that wouldn't have the same impact, I guess). It is the first shocking scene of the film, and the shocks only get better (or worse, depending on your squeamishness) from then on. As Brundle, or "Brundlefly," as he begins calling himself, approaches fifty-fifty fly-human morph completion, he becomes increasingly fleshy, bloody, and deformed. But Cronenberg doesn't stop there. Even after the morphing is complete, it is taken a step further as he fuses yet with something else, which would be a small spoiler to explain. Along with this, the film also has a short but disturbing abortion scene (in which Cronenberg himself plays the doctor), which has to be one of the most surprising ever filmed. This movie is definitely not for the weak-stomached.

These moments, as difficult as they are to watch, have an importance thematic place in the film: they question the meaning and the importance of flesh. What role does the flesh really have in the identity of a person? Does Brundle -- Brundle's soul -- remain intact and autonomous when his flesh begins its metamorphosis? This film suggests that it might not. As Brundle's body and DNA transform, so does his personality. At first he is irritable, later he goes mad, and finally, there seems to be no trace left of him whatsoever. Don't try telling that to his girlfriend, though, who always (understandably) tries to protect him from himself, even after he is apparently fully diffused into another being.

Ultimately, however, this movie is about man fusing with his technology. It demonstrates the connectedness between technology and flesh. We don't simply invent things, sit back, and watch them work. They affect our lives, our selves, and our bodies. In a final analysis, this movie is about technology's relation to the flesh (an idea that is also explored, in only slightly less graphic detail, in Cronenberg's Videodrome), and in the end they do momentarily combine to one, in a final scene that tops everything the film has offered yet.

Making even fuller use of the visual nature of The Fly, Cronenberg also plays with colors -- particularly red and blue -- to an effective end. When the monkey is inverted near the beginning of the movie, the remains are distinctly bright red, and throughout the film, Cronenberg gives particular objects -- an uncooked steak, a lamp, and a jacket for example -- the same vibrant red color, reminding the viewer, at carefully chosen moments, of the inherent violence of the teleportation machine. Even when it does eventually teleport living matter successfully, it has to break it down molecule by molecule to do so. More generally, this also keeps the concept of flesh right on top of our minds. Likewise, the film's stand-out blues tend to remind us of its other main element: technology. There is one conversation between Brundle and his girlfriend in which the camera cuts back and forth to each character's face. Brundle's face is reddish, and there are red hues in the background. The shot of his girlfriend, though, is predominately blue, due to dim lighting and a dark background. With the colors' symbolisms, the conversation becomes an example of the interplay between technology and the body. They are not isolated entities; they have a distinct effect on each other.

Why are these questions important? Because they tell us who we are to the world and who we are to ourselves. It is doubtful that these questions could ever be answered in an objective manner. When they are presented on-screen, though, we have to assess our own beliefs about identity, the flesh, and their effect on each other. Then again, you don't really have to think at all while watching this film. If all you're in the mood for is something visually crazy, The Fly works well for that, too. Whether you want to exercise your brain a little or just put it on cruise control, The Fly is a movie you can always put in and enjoy ... as long as it's not close to dinnertime.