“We are scientists… we have to do things we hate, that even sicken us!”

Canada, eh? So much easier for British filmmakers to portray on-screen than the US. And yet similar-sounding enough to that country to appeal to its huge potential cinema audience. Not that I’m cynical or anything. And by setting it there, we can also dispense with any suggestion that people have to have a specific accent. Come one, come all… whether its “generic American”, plummy British, a bit French or weirdly Scottish-sounding. Clearly no-one in the 1960s had a clue what Canadians actually sounded like. When WE all know that they end every sentence with “eh?”, apologise a lot and ask “what’s it all aboot?”. Yet of this brilliantly observed and not-at-all stereotypical language there’s not a sign in Curse Of The Fly. They’re all too intent on going mad and teleporting themselves across the ocean to worry about portraying Canadian culture correctly on-screen.

So, in case you hadn’t guessed – we’re in “Canada”. And clearly not the south of England with a couple of imported American cars (perish the thought). A window smashes and out climbs a young woman in her underwear (Canadians, eh?). This is Patricia Stanley (Carole Gray), a remarkably well-turned-out former inmate (as of 30 seconds ago) of the Fournier Mental Hospital. She runs off down the road and bumps into Martin Delambre (George Baker), who seems to believe her half-arsed tale of escaping from a writer and her husband, and says he’ll help her find a room until she gets fixed up. His altruism clearly unaffected by her attractiveness and lack of clothing.

Before you can say plot expediency, they’re married (ah, the old “helped her escape from a mental institution” meet-cute, classic) and he’s moved her into his rambling Canadian pile. One thing we DO know about Canadians is they love their Chinese home helps, and true to form, this house has a couple in residence. Unfortunately, as we also know there was only one Chinese actor working in Britain in the 1960s – Burt Kwouk. And although he’s present and correct as expected, it was imperative they had two Chinese housekeepers, as this is the Canadian way. So step forward Yvette Rees and a not-at-all-offensive bit of harmless yellowface.

Martin’s home also has a laboratory, where the equally obligatory shady goings-on are going on. And some stables, which may, or may not be (but are) now being used as a makeshift prison of some kind.

Those shady goings-on in the lab are, of course (this being a fly movie), related to teleportation. Martin is holding the fort in Canada whilst his father Henri (a clearly off-his-face Brian Donlevy) and brother Albert (Michael Graham) are busy perfecting the system in London. Father is in London having teleported himself there. But there have been side effects…

Before we go any further, I’ll just point out that this is a film where quite a lot happens. For instance, in addition to the above there are attempts going on to find the missing Patricia, who has a whole backstory explaining her nervous breakdown. It seems that Henri isn’t the only one to be experiencing side-effects from the teleportation, as Martin has a tendency to put himself to bed and go all lumpy, then suddenly being fine again (“Sorry Pat I must’ve fainted or something”).

The teleportation technique is clearly somewhat flawed, and I for one wouldn’t be that keen on being disintegrated at one end and then having to wait for someone to make a long-distance telephone call to the other end to tell them “re-integrate now!”

But that doesn’t stop Henri, who makes his way back to Canada after hearing a woman’s voice (Patricia’s) on the radio and being unhappy about it. Martin sensitively explains to his angry, pissed-up (as I said, Donlevy was clearly on the sauce during this production) dad that  “her parents are dead, she has no friends, no-one will come looking for her!“ and that seems to placate him.

Now then, did I mention that this isn’t some kind of cheap cash-in on the name of a previous film, but an actual, genuine sequel? A threequel, if you will? Or to use modern parlance, part of a cinematic universe? Because that’s what it is. And yes, it is depressing to see those terms written down. Have we actually come to this? When did adults start going to the cinema – without kids – to watch kid’s films? Honestly, I hanker for the days when grown-ups smoked, drank whisky, wouldn’t entertain watching anything at the cinema that wasn’t an X and died at 65 from a heart attack. Good times.

But I’m forgetting what I’m supposed to be doing. Which is chronicling this shabby old film, not railing against 21st century culture. Let’s all forget about the meticulously created hundreds-of-million-dollar cinema spectacles of now, and concentrate on a shit film made more than half a century ago for tuppence featuring a drunk leading man and a white woman pretending to be Chinese for literally no reason I can fathom. Yer millennials don’t get it, but we do. Don’t we? Don’t we…?

So yes, this is actually the third film in The Fly series of films. The Delambres have featured in the previous ones (apparently… look, I can’t have watched and remembered everything, it’s difficult to keep track of the British stuff without having to know all about the American ones as well). They are known to the police, due to “the case of the fly”, and what with the ongoing investigation into the disappearance of Patricia, you’d assume at some point someone might put two and two together (and not make Flyve).

Much more plot is heaped on now, as Patricia finds out the terrifying secret Mark and his family have been sort-of keeping hidden, which has links to her own murky past. And involves a piano.

There’s a tremendous bit of 1960s “you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about this” gaslighting as Patricia, nearly there with her amateur detective work re her new husband’s pseudo prison, just takes his word for it that it’s fine and dismisses it with a wave of her housewifey hand.

And then it all goes Daphne Du Maurier, as we find out there was a previous Mrs Delambre and she may still be haunting the place (told you there was a lot of plot going on).

Things have been ramping up nicely and now they go rampety-nuts as Henri decides he needs to clean house and get rid of the evidence of his failed experiments, resulting in a particularly nasty bit of body horror. Yes, even worse than the unnecessary yellowface.

Then it all rushes towards what is, unfortunately, a bit of a confused ending. But it was fun getting there.

A real oddity, this one. A British sequel to two American films, made without the stars of the originals but with enough callbacks to please fans of the original (even a “help me”). There’s some almost-shocks and a surprising amount of grue as all the Delambre’s plans (such as they are, it’s not exactly clear) come to nothing.