Horror Movies Inspired By Household Fauna
So here’s my concept for a movie: a horror film about a brilliant scientist who, experimenting one winter in his laboratory, accidentally exchanges genetic material with a fly. Over the next few weeks, he slowly transforms into a hybrid man-insect with spiky hair, bulging eyes and a repulsive, buzzy voice. What distinguishes my movie from previous versions of this classic horror tale? This time, the brilliant scientist switches genes with Pollenia rudis, the cluster fly. Instead of developing a voracious appetite, he spends most of his time clinging to the ceiling in a torpid state. Instead of developing super-fast reflexes, he becomes increasingly clumsy, bumping into walls and windows.
As in other “Fly” movies, there will be a romantic subplot, involving the man-fly’s girlfriend who tries in vain to help him. The crisis in their relationship comes when, needing some alone time, she curls up in bed with a novel. He buzzes around her head, repeatedly crashing into her lamp.
In a later scene, the girlfriend goes into her basement to do laundry (“don’t go into the basement!”) where she finds the man-fly lying upside down on top of the drying machine with his legs twitching. She tries to pick him up with a tissue. He woozily flies up to the ceiling as she curses and throws her detergent bottle at him.
I haven’t worked out the ending yet. I’m considering two concepts. In one, the man-fly, by this point shrunken to insect size, is swallowed by the girlfriend’s cat. Alternatively, the girlfriend may chase the man-fly outside with a hand held vacuum cleaner. He soars into the sky, but just as the audience thinks, “well, at least he has his freedom,” his wings ice up and he drops like a stone. The last image is tiny crater in the snow, the man-fly’s fate implied but not confirmed.
What’s good about this second ending is that it sets up the premise for a sequel: “Cluster Fly II: The Buzz is Back.” In this film, the man-fly crawls up out of the snow, sneaks back in the girlfriend’s house and falls into her orange juice.
But wait, I have more ideas. How about, “The Spot-Men.” This movie tells the story of spotty shelled beetle mutants who originated from an ill-considered USDA importation experiment. Unlike overachiever “X-Men,” the Spot-Men represent today’s disaffected youth. They wear baggy pants, communicate via cryptic text-messaging and shrugs (these are subtle; shrugs are hard to detect under beetle shells), and clump together in sunny spots. Their superpowers likewise reflect their slacker status. They fly – but not very well. They crawl up walls – but slowly, falling frequently. When threatened, they squirt yellow liquid.
Ooh! One more concept: “The Stinking.” This creepy film tells the tale of a writer who moves his family to a remote mountain resort with a scary history. The writer’s small child insists he hears squeaking and other rodent sounds, but no one believes him. Then a mouse dies in a wall, creating an awful stench. A second mouse dies, this time somewhere behind the radiator in the hotel kitchen. Whereupon the writer loses his mind and becomes an axe wielding maniac.
As perceptive readers may suspect by this point in the column, I am having house fauna challenges. Alas, I have no cat to swallow insects and hunt mice. My dogs are no help. I’m not much help, either. My swatting aim is poor and I’m reluctant to use my hand held vacuum because of the ensuing moral dilemma: once the cluster flies and Asian ladybird beetles are inside the vacuum, what am I supposed to do with them? Leaving them in there seems cruel. It’s also disgusting because their little bodies shake around like seeds in a maraca. The other option is to release them outside, but this also seems mean as they will surely perish from the cold. Either that, or they’ll sneak back in the house, where they will annoy me again and/or become food for the rising mouse population.
I’m thinking about this too much. If I don’t stop, I may become an axe wielding maniac. Which is why I’m going to put on my coat, strap on my snowshoes and go enjoy nature as it was meant to be: outside.