What happens to Jeff Goldblum in The Fly is objectively bad. I want to get that out of the way right at the top, so you know that I know. Body parts fall off, and there are all sort of nasty bodily fluids going on, and then he, y’know, turns into a giant mutant fly and is shot. One of the effects of him dying is that he will never again get to gaze upon Geena Davis’ sweet-ass velvet pants or her assortment of truly excellent oversized blazers, which is a fate I wouldn't wish on anyone. It’s just a tragedy all around.
Before all that.
Jeff Goldblum? He f*cks.
This guy f************cks.
If you haven't seen The Fly, one of the effects of Seth Brundle's genetic experiments is that, before the aforementioned falling-off-of-limbs and such, he gains! the proportionate sexual prowess! of a fly! Which I hadn't known about before seeing The Fly. Apparently the flies are the Wilt Chamberlain of the insect family? I don't know why we don't talk about this more. Why, instead of "hung like a horse," do we not say "is possessed of the sexual stamina and potency of the common housefly"? Except for the fact that it's kinda clunky. If you're gonna die — and we all must, one day, probably, I guess — why wouldn't you want a few days of Jeff Goldblum-in-The-Fly sexual godhood first? I mean, I really can't see the downside.