The Fly (1986) and The Fly II (1989)

David Cronenberg’s nightmare love story horror flick “The Fly” is mad genius, sickly twisted, and lets Jeff Goldblum spin gold as a loner nerd scientist named Seth Brundle who wants to change the world as we know it. He doesn’t, but sure as hell changes his own corner when a teleportation experiment goes wrong and he zaps himself and a house fly from one souped-up self-built transport pod to another, two go in, one comes out. Cronenberg fires on all bloody cylinders, starting with a romance between Goldblum and Geena Davis as a reporter, then sci-fi fantasy, then body horror as Seth morphs to a superman assured he has jumped the evolutionary ladder to mad man when his body starts falling apart, and becoming ... another. Twenty-six years on “Fly” still shocks with Goldblum’s transformation under makeup, and then the stop-motion creatures that replace him. The lines are cheesy – “Be afraid! Be very afraid!” – but the visuals burn deep, as does Cronenberg’s obsession with dying and disease. Last note: Mr. C must release a director’s cut soon: Check out a cut scene on YouTube, as Seth makes a monkey-cat as part of his own healing scheme shown later. Insane. A

In “The Fly II,” Cronenberg buzzes off to better films, and we’re stuck with Chris Walas – the makeup guy on the first film – as director of a “Like Father, Like Son” spookfest. Let’s give it points: “Fly II” flies in a different direction as Martin, the mutant flyboy of Goldblum’s scientist and Davis’ reporter, is raised inside a mega-corp lab, and as a 20-year-old (really 5) falls in love, all flowers and dancing sweet. Sure as hell, though, we get a grisly transformation and all goes to shit fast with bad visual effects and a LOL “Alien” rip off as Marty McFly (tee-hee!) goes on a bender against his surrogate Mr. Burns daddy, so boring bad, he could be a 1970s Disney villain. Lee Richardson is the old man, and Eric Stoltz – he did “Mask” before this – is young Martin. It’s all a maggot baby so unworthy of Cronenberg I wanted to take a rolled-up magazine and … well, you know. C

House (1986)

“House” is a cheap horror movie with its tongue firmly planted in cheek, sure to scare a child but keep an adult laughing. William Katt, he of “The Greatest American Hero,” is a Stephen King-like novelist hell bent on writing his Vietnam memoirs. For some solitude, he chooses the house of his late aunt’s, also the home where he grew up, and years later saw his own young child disappear. Nothing will go well, and I just don’t mean the seemingly unemployed neighbor played by George Wendt, he of “Cheers.” Goblins and a massive grasshopper thingy with sharp teeth appear, the medicine cabinet isn’t a medicine cabinet, and Richard Moll – he of “Night Court” – is a dead and angry war pal returned. “House” is a dumb guilty pleasure, a nostalgic trip for those of us raised on 1980s TV and pre-CGI flicks where we jumped at the first sign of a guy in a rubber suit with claws. B

Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (1990) and Rubber (2010)

“Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer” and “Rubber” are two miniscule-budgeted films about serial killers that couldn’t be more different, or more outside the mainstream Hollywood horror genre of overly hip and witty masked killers. The former is a disturbing minor masterpiece that’s unshakable; the latter, a pop blast of avant-garde cinema that made me think Andy Warhol and David Lynch.

Made in 1986, unreleased until 1990, the $100,000 “Henry” stars a young Michael Rooker as a soulless serial killer roaming Chicago. His housemate is a seedy bisexual redneck (Tom Towles) with a much younger sister (Tracy Arnold) with a checkered, troubled past. The trio all go horribly, terribly wrong, and director/writer John McNoughton not only doesn’t flinch from some of the most gruesome violence ever put to film, he dives in head first. The shock of the slide toward the bloody end is purposeful. Should not all horror films hit this way? How does this compare to, say, “Saw” or “Friday the 13th” where slaughter is treated as a joke. The acting is rough, bad rough, and the dialogue unnaturally natural, but, damn, it’s a difficult sight to shake. B+

“Rubber” is all satire. It opens with an actor cracking the fourth wall and telling us, the audience, what we are about to watch is fully ridiculous. But, he asks, what movie isn’t? From there we follow two stories: A mass-murdering tire rises from the ground and stalks the American West, crushing bottles and cans before moving onto birds and rabbits, and then … people; the second track is an onscreen audience watching the tire kill, each member of this chorus a stereotypical movie fan. Director/writer Quentin Dupieux takes a stab at the horror genre, even his own film as his audience yawns and dubs it “boring.” Crazy thing: The guy makes you care about this tire. Not care, but take an avid crazed interest in its every roll. “Rubber” is fascinating, perplexing, weird and damn funny. At 85 minutes it’s too long, but it opens a sequel that would terrify a preschooler. B

Highlander (1986)

“Highlander” is a freakish 1980s fantasy action flick turned cult hit. It is absolute cheese, funny in all the wrong places. Queen provides the rock opera music score. To a film with sword fights. The casting alone is mind-boggling. Dig it: French actor Christopher Lambert plays Scotsman Connor McCloud, a 16th century warrior who rises from the dead after battle. Banished as a devil of sorts, he eventually learns of his status as an Immortal from an Egyptian-born Spaniard played by Scotsman Sean Connery, wearing red pajamas and eye liner. That’s not a misprint. Russell Mulcahy directs, and Clancy Brown – all razor-wire voice, and bug eyes – is the Immortal villain. Much of the film takes place in 1980s New York. It’s a sloppy film, with hokey macho dialogue, crap cinematography and strobe light editing. But damn if it isn’t ridiculously fun when the action swings, with sword battles that play like killer video games back when Atari was still cool. Lambert does well. Connery is an acting disaster run over by a fashion train. I think his character inspired Johnny Depp’s Captain Jack. B-

Mona Lisa (1986)

The crime noir film “Mona Lisa” put writer/director Neil Jordan on the map, giving him the power to make “The Crying Game.” The latter is a classic tale of an IRA terrorist who meets a woman not … well, you must see it. It’s mesmerizing, erotic, shocking, violent, bold and completely unforgettable. “Mona Lisa”? It’s all of those adjectives, but at half pace. Bob Hoskins is a Z-grade mobster just released from prison, and expecting gratitude from his boss (Michael Caine) and family. He’s wrong on both counts. George is instead stuck driving a high-class call girl (Cathy Tyson) to and from appointments. Of course he falls for her. And, of course, she has a heart of gold. Even art-house movies have rules. Hoskins kills. No other actor can do seething angry Limey as well as Hoskins. Tyson’s Lady of the Night is so kindly, I just did not buy her. So to speak. Jordan employs a great music and a gritty dark humor. I know every critic loves this film. me? Eh. B