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I watched Manos last night.

Oh, I was the cocky one, intrigued by all the attention Manos receives, even though it is, after all, 40 years old. Sure, I thought, it'll be a laugh to investigate the claim that this might be the worst film ever made. Why, if its that bad, there must at least be comedy value in its awfulness? And in consolation, it is only an hour long.

No, the warnings are true and serious, this is bloody terrible.

After twenty minutes, I had stopped sniggering at the unimaginable ineptitude. I only realised that twenty minutes had passed when i flicked on the timer on the DVD; I honestly thought it was closer to forty-five.

After forty minutes I was shifting uncomfortably in my chair and I wanted to cry.

After an hour, I was submerged in despairing, pointless anger. I was angry with everyone involved in the film, angry with my cup of tea, my flat, the world, even God Himself (or Herself).

You will lose faith in humanity watching this film.

Imagine any conceivable measure for any possible aspect of film-making, and Manos still gets zero out of whatever. This "film" fails so utterly in every way, you'll wonder if anyone involved in its creation had ever seen or even heard of films or television. No, more than that, you'll wonder if they'd ever even spent a day on this planet. There isn't one single moment that you forget that these people are standing in front of a camera, ineptly executing one of the most awful scripts ever imagined.

I've never been so insulted by any form of "entertainment". I lost count of the number of times I was beaten over the head with a totally obvious point. I lost count of the number of times completely random stuff just *happened* with no genesis or consequence. I certainly didn't lose count of the number of locations used, or the number of musical cues, you could count those on one hand, after a circular saw accident. It baffled me that they never realised that you can't shoot film at night without some form of lighting. And the music itself... oh God.

I don't need to warn you about spoilers, there's plenty to complain about without resorting to inconsequential detail. Like the way that every time it cuts to the family, they're just standing, for no reason, in the same spot, waiting to talk to the camera. Like the absolutely shocking and disgraceful editing. People jump from awake to asleep and back, from one spot to another, from happy to sad, instantaneously. The awful acting... I don't know, its like everyone was given a piece of paper with some emoticons for happy, sad, scared and angry, and told to learn them off. The dialogue... well, technically it *is* dialogue, in the same way that McDonalds is food. Well, some people might enjoy McDonalds. See, I can't think of a parallel awfulness; "Manos" is to "bad" as... you can't finish that sentence.

Good Lord, I could go on, and on, and on, but I won't. This film cannot warrant anything but a 1/10 on IMDb. I haven't seen any of the other bottom 100 as of today, but i'm willing to bet that they are at least a rough approximation to what we call a "film". This is not.

Seriously, you really, really need to be in a masochistic kinda mood to see this out. I had to leave the screen timer on after 45 minutes just so I could keep reminding myself that, second by second, it *would* end. Because Hell itself might just be never-ending Manos.

The leading man is a Frank Zappa lookalike with only a fraction of the talent Zappa (being dead) has.

However, the real star of the film, Torgo (a goat-man), performed in some of the best walking-from-one-end-of-the-set-to-another scenes I have seen since 1950s Corman films.

Finally, the fights (or are they orgies?) between Manos' wives, which we are asked to believe to be deadly, are utterly hilarious.

The MST3K version of this incredibly dreadful bit of late 60s trashola is one of Joel and the Bots' best, but even their antics fail to make this movie wholly tolerable.

Rated: For Insomniacs Only.

I should note here that I sort of like bad movies. If it's amusing and campy, I'll cut it a break.

But Manos is different.

My god. What can I say about a movie so bad that it makes Plan 9 From Outer Space look like Casablanca? What can I say about a movie that has endless looped scenes of driving, the worst evil henchman in movie history, the lamest dialouge this side of my first grade hebrew school play, a movie that seems to have put together by people with utter contempt for the audience's intelligence? All I can say is this: it seems The Master's prayers to Satan have been answered. This movie is pure hell.

Equaled in clarity of vision and flawless execution only by the greater works of Orson Welles and Alfred Hitchcock, brilliant independent film auteur Hal Warren's ‘Manos: The Hands of Fate' transcends its genre to do everything that it should and even more. Not only is it riveting edge of your seat entertainment, it also boasts a psychological depth unequaled by any other horror movie, achieved mostly through John Reynold's Oscar-worthy, divinely subtle performance as the tormented, tragically misshapen caretaker Torgo. Part Quasimodo, part Hamlet, this gentle soul's noble end, in which he is massaged to death by a group of terrifying succubae in luscious robes, is unarguable one of the most poignant in motion picture history – it is both a tragedy and a triumph of the human spirit. Oh, was I alone with a tear in the eye at the end!

Indeed, Hal Warren's masterpiece achieves the perfect balance between the heartrendingly sad, the refreshingly sardonic, and the chillingly satanic. The Master and his hellbeast are as much evil personified as Margaret is the embodiment of goodness and chastity. In a way, this is the definitive modern-day equivalent of Goethe's Faust, though even more sublime in the simple poetry of its dialogue. When Torgo describes his master as being `not dead the way you know it' and `with us always' he is speaking for all of us, how we truly live on through the memory of our words and deeds in the minds of those who follow us, be they righteous or malevolent.

Hal Warran not only changed the face of the Texan film industry by encapsulating such a grand story in less than 75 minutes, it also helped usher in a whole new perspective of looking at film, discovering different forms which never would have been conceived. Also, it's obviously a very personal film for Warren, who allows us to share his love and devotion to the project, and it is a truly moving, cathartic experience.

It will make you laugh, it will make you cry, and maybe – just maybe – you'll learn a little bit about yourself.

This isn't a movie. This isn't even a home video. It's a home video that aspired to be a movie but crashed somewhere in-between, and plummeted through the abyss to depths unimaginable by the mainstream. Coherence is the film's greatest foe: bizarrity and incompetence its watchwords. This is it, bad movie buffs. This is Manos: Hands of Fate.

Years ago, in the dusty desert outside El Paso, an unknown fertilizer salesman decided to craft a horror film with the assistance of friends throughout the El Paso area, and a legend was born. Armed with $19,000 dollars, a cheap 16mm camera, and absolutely no knowledge of the art of film-making whatsoever, Hal P. Warren set out upon his masterpiece.

There is absolutely no redeeming quality about Manos. There is no directing, the editing appears as if it was done by a blind member of some mud-crawling insect species, the artwork is a stain upon the name of art, the script is a poorly cluttered and illogical joke masking the director's fantasies, the dialog will have you tear out your eardrums with your fingernails, and the acting is so atrocious you will feel as if the movie has violated you. It isn't as bad as Monster-a-Go-Go, but it almost manages to snatch the sorry laurels of worst movie ever made from that Lovecraftian abomination.

Manos must have put good directors like Kubrick or Capra in convulsions during its production: so powerful is the elemental force of badness flowing from every stinking pore of its perverse form. It is the polar opposite to the good movie, the parameters of its illogicity and non-acting existing to defy the borders of taste, and ultimately, sanity. Every grainy, scratchy, blurry frame of the muddy color palette and every sound byte of the poorly synchronized and terribly dubbed dialog offers an entrancing glance into a deeper, darker world of madness that is Manos the Hands of Fate. It is not of this earth. It is not of our dimension. Surely Hal P. Warren was some malfeasant alien god from a realm far removed from our own, hurtling across the icy chasms of space with a vile mission in store for the unsuspecting members of the cinematic world.

Its legacy, however, lives on in the form of Mystery Science Theater. The acid-tipped barbs flew fast and furiously, striking the venerable beast in its countless weak points, crafting from the chaos a comedic gem that approaches cinematic perfection stamped into the world of movies in its own stinking ichor. This is Manos: Hands of Fate. This is the purifying baptism of fire that scourges the detestable vestiges of mediocrity and normalcy from the mainstream viewer and forever makes them a member of the cult world, the world of bad movies and weirdness that cannot be imagined. It is the cornerstone, the figurehead, the mighty totem representing everything that Mystery Science Theater and the legions of bad movie sites across the Web hold dear to their hearts.

Rejoice, connoisseurs of bad movies! Fall upon the dark altar of Manos to pay homage to Torgo and the Master, and forever remember the twisted legacy they wrought from the tangled celluoid! Imitate Torgo's stumbling walk and high-brained drawl, until it fuses with the very core of your being!

...... I was age 16 back in 1966 attending Andress High School in El Paso, Texas and heard about the WORLD PREMIERE of the movie "Manos: The Hands of Fate" .... there were write-ups about it in the two major papers and coverage on the local TV stations. I did not attend the WORLD PREMIERE, but I checked the newspaper listings and went on a Saturday afternoon.... I thought it was going to be a scary movie, and after about ten minutes or so I started to giggle a little. I noticed others at the downtown El Paso theater were laughing a little too. Well, I can't recall what the exact scene was, but suddenly it was so funny I had tears rolling down my face! The movie was worth the ticket price (probably a Dollar) but I thought I was going to see a scary movie and it turned out to be a comedy. Long before the media called it the worst movie, I knew it was the worst for me even before the movie was over! People were laughing and smiling as they left the movie; and, I and they did not know that years later it would be famous -- but not in a way the cast and crew would have ever envisioned. Perhaps the movie was too misunderstood my many. God Bless all of those -- living and dead -- who were involved with the movie "Manos: The Hands of Fate" back in 1966.....

I don't want to spoil this fantastic movie's amazing... I don't even know what to call it. It's certainly not a plot. There's memorable characters such as making out couple, dead dog, demon child and the most beloved Torgo. There is a wife brawl consisting of 6 wives that goes on for way longer than you'd expect.

There's constant Ed, Edd and Eddy music, the best being Torgo's themes. Torgo's them is almost 1 full measure of doots played on loop. I'm not joking there's no better way to describe the looped measure of music played 3 different times. It's not beeps or honks, it's doots.

I highly encourage anyone who doesn't mind 10 minutes of total nonsense as an intro to watch this epic.

If it wasn't for MST3K, I wouldn't have seen Manos: The Hands of Fate. I knew I had to see it to see if it really was that bad. The negative criticisms and those slamming it as the worst movie ever do not lie, Manos: The Hands of Fate is as bad as all that. There is such thing as a terrible movie that has novelty comic value, but there is also such thing as a movie that is too inept to take that into consideration. Some will disagree, but I consider Manos: The Hands of Fate as a good example of the latter. To call the way the movie is made amateurish is being too kind, the camera work and editing are all over the place and makes anything that happens incomprehensible. The visual effects are dated and make everything even more artificial than it already is, while the bizarre and often out of sync sound effects and a score that is shrill and monotonous are enough to make your ears bleed. And even when your poor ears are suffering enough, they are assaulted even more by dialogue that is stilted, insultingly cheesy and too talky and some of the worst and annoying acting ever in film history. The villain is quite possibly the most laughable and underwhelming villain ever and you'd be hard pressed to find one that is worse-acted than here. Torga is the best thing about Manos: The Hands of Fate, but that's saying nothing as he's still irritating. The direction is so flat that you have to look hard to find evidence of any direction at all, while the story is incredibly thin and is so plodding that you're dying of boredom. In conclusion, hopelessly inept. 0/10 Bethany Cox

Manos: The Hands of Fate, currently ranked #5 on IMDb's Bottom 100, is a rite of passage for serious fans of trashy horror movies, marking the transition from 'merely bad' to 'completely and utterly inept in every way imaginable. It's a test of fortitude that sees many fall by the wayside; however, those who do manage to go the distance can wear their achievement as a badge of pride, knowing that they have taken the very worst that z-grade horror can throw at them and survived the ordeal (albeit with possible mental scarring).

The one-and-only film from Harold P. Warren, who obviously realised thereafter that film directing wasn't his forté, Manos opens with a family driving through the desert on their way to Valley Lodge for a vacation. Unfortunately, father Michael (Harold P. Warren, proving that acting wasn't his forté either), his wife Margaret (Diane Adelson), and daughter Debbie (Jackey Neyman) soon find themselves lost, eventually pulling up to a strange desert hostel where they are greeted by twitchy manservant Torgo (John Reynolds), who looks like he stores bags of popcorn or cotton wool down his trousers.

Torgo warns that his master (Tom Neyman) won't be happy if they stay the night, but they won't take no for an answer; their stubborn insistence puts them in serious peril, for the master is the head of a Satanic cult and he wants to add Margaret to his collection of brides.

To list everything that is wrong with this film would take longer than it took me to watch it (including the times where I fell asleep and had to rewind), suffice to say that there are fewer examples of poor editing, dreary pacing, atrocious direction, woeful acting, and diabolical dubbing. Quite how Warren and company managed to mess up in all departments is one of the great mysteries of cinema, ranking right up there with the inexplicable popularity of Seth Rogen, but it has ensured the film a notoriety that means it will never be forgotten.

This movie should serve as warning to anyone who tries to make up a movie as you go along. An overused concept (family gets lost) meets a cliche (wierd guy who talks of a master)and then degrades into one big mess. The couple's little girl vanishes during filming or seems to be and a wierdo shows off his girl collection; they may or not be vampires or zombies, you never know. The story is missing, the flow is ambigous and it moves like words in an alphabet soup. Nonsense and confusion are the result. Thank you, but no thank you, Doctor Forrester.

"I take care of the place while the master is away" That line will forever burned in my mind as the worst line in cinema history. I'll just go over this step by step.

1- Story Manos: The Hands of Fate is the worst story ever. Its absolutely ridiculous, yet somehow it is probably one of the better parts of the movie.

2-Directing The directing is probably the worst part of the movie, I don't know how any person could put so much filler and actionless situations in a movie.

3-Editing Wow. That is the only word to describe the editing or lack thereof. People will be standing one moment, and sitting the next. They didn't even bother making clips look similar, the movie is not smooth at all. I couldn't tell if the actors were purposely repeating this over and over, or if the editing was just so bad they forgot to take out the second line.

4-Acting The acting is one of a kind. In this case, that is not a good thing. The acting is extremely forced, especially in the case of Torgo. All of the actors are incredibly phony. Torgo's repetition of his lines, the delayed reactions, and Torgo's drunk motions are simply awful. I swear at times I thought the actors were mentally retarded.

When you put all of these together, and add a master with a weird cape and a black dog, you get the worst movie of all time. Its so bad you really must see it to appreciate it.

Directing: The direction in this "film" reminds me of one of those people who simply cannot, for the life of them, hang a picture straight on a wall. The problem is not that the person is too close to the picture, and therefore cannot see the mistakes he's making. The problem is also not an inability to make necessary adjustments after stepping back to look at one's work. The problem with this film's direction is much deeper. Do not be fooled into thinking that this film was bad "on purpose," because if there is a God, this cannot be true. In the history of the world, no manure salesman has decided to make a crappy (pun intended) movie for the purpose of defining "the crappiest movie." No. The problem here is about the complete and utter failure of humanity. The word "never" had not yet been defined until this movie was "made." In the end, there's no reason to consider that this movie had a director.

Editing: When you were a child, you probably tried to shove two mismatched puzzle pieces together -- I admit, I've even tried this -- but you and I eventually learned that this is wrong. The editor of this film did not learn this valuable life lesson. The credits at the end of the film are the centerpieces of the editing. I only now understand that, quite possibly, editing did not occur in the production of this film.

Writing: This movie despises its writer, hates him in fact. In truth, there is no reason to think that this movie was actually written. I babysat an autistic child once. Even HE couldn't have written this tripe.

Acting: I understand that some people don't really get what it means to be in front of a camera. This is not the problem here. Although they have human faces and voices (all dubbed, of course), these "actors" are unable to even imagine themselves as being in a film. The uniqueness of their ineptitude is overwhelming at times.

This is a horror flick. The actual film isn't the horror; the horror isn't even filmed in fact. The true horror is this movie's sweeping destruction of the elements of film -- direction, editing, writing, acting, etc. Even the title, which translates to "Hands: The Hands of Fate," would baffle the Sphinx. I know that Duran Duran named themselves twice, but this title is something else entirely. It is a sucker punch to everything linguistic and meaningful.

Why this movie took 2 and a half months to film is beyond me. This movie is 74 minutes long. There is no reason to believe that this movie took more than 74 minutes to film. After all, without a director, editor, writer, or actors, it's truly difficult for me to say that this is a film. There are those who want to find genius in such a deconstructive expression. Make no mistake, this movie is not smart, is not clever. The deepest meaning one can glean from manure is to never again step in it. If you value anything even remotely artful, you will keep yourself oblivious to this "movie." This movie will scar you and shape the rest of your life, I guarantee it.

It's just...breathtaking, almost. See it just to know that there are movies of this caliber in existence! Please, though, watch the via MST3K, as the commentary will keep your mood uplifted enough to get through it and laugh. Torgo is absolutely, fantastically bad as lackey to "The Master," and the latter's wives seem like they're cold reading from the script. The um, "quarrel" scenes between the wives redefines choreography as a practice, and the transitions between scenes...er, doesn't really exist. The movie, though scarcely 70 minutes long, seems willing to devote 15 of those to POV countryside watching, random make-out scenes, and cops who harass the love birds without any seeming relevance to the plot.

I will always remember Torgo, though. I think he steals the show, if only because he's the only thing that may end up embedded in your mind when all is done.

The sad story of a philandering master and his spurned male companion...

Tall, dark and handsome Manos is the satanic version of Hugh Hefner complete with the ever-present robe and scantily-clad harem of interchangeable women of low morals... he flaunts his cheap, gullible trophy wives in the face of his lovable sidekick.

He is a cruel and unfit master; abusive! Belittling!

Why does Manos continue to court susceptible ingenues when he has a perfectly good ManSlave at home?

One cannot help but feel sympathy and a freakish attraction to the exotic yet subtle Torgo. The big knees, the stuttering voice, the floppy hat, and the utter eroticism of his manservant status...

When I found out he was actually supposed to be a SATYR (insert squeal of delight here!), I wept at the yummy thought of brushing his furry goat-like legs, polishing his hooves, trimming his beard, even flea-dipping him if necessary...

But instead, our godly goat is led like a lamb to the slaughter :(

Curse you Manos Hnds of Fate for robbing me of this fantasy!

WHY, MANOS? WHY?

I've long been fond of horror delving into America's weird interior. The spectacle of city-folk burrowing unknowing into uncharted realms where all their order, their civility means nought, where even sanity has made little purchase, these journeys fascinate me. So it is the case with Manos, a notorious film and one of the stranger examples of its genre. It tells of a happy family, Michael, Margaret and daughter Debbie on their way to a countryside lodge, one which may not even exist. They lose their way and end up at a mysterious domicile run by the anxious, strange walking, staff bearing Torgo, and as their tale unfolds they come to know the nature of the place and regret ever stopping there. Manos wields a strange power, and I think it comes from the way in which the fearful foundations of the plotting find their oddity echoed in the construction of the piece. The film dwells on primal fears of the unknown, of dislocation from ones usual milieu and ultimately of the break from ones one control. Whilst other films might array a number of editing tricks and a spot of meaningful dialogue to convey such fearful atmosphere Manos relies on guileless amateurism and succeeds precisely because of its lack of control. The audience knows anything can happen, that the film lacks reason and control, so the perfect conditions are established for the films effect. Which is not to say that there aren't some legitimate qualities at work here. The score mixes simple but menacing riffs with good looser moments, piano that sometimes ripples and sometimes spikes and some tensely thudding percussion, it has quite a potent presence. There are interesting images too, Torgo approaching with his staff penetrating the frame from bottom left, Torgo holding his master at bay, his staff playing back and forth in front of the Master's face, wives bound to pillars like living statues and so on. Best of all comes when the wives arise, their depiction has a playful art to it, they are something like an insane Greek chorus. Performances are decent too, Hal Warren has a perfect stolid and dull presence as Michael, Diane Mahree appropriately perturbed as Margaret, while Tom Neyman is wondrously campy yet menacing as The Master. Best of all though is John Reynolds as Torgo, his pained and fretful weirdness exerts a powerfully strange hold. Production design is simple yet weird, and the dark cinematography works well in creating a bleak, unsettled atmosphere. I guess this one has put a lot of people off since it currently holds the no. 2 spot in IMDb's bottom 100 but to me it was a real treat. It might best be called anti-art since it was made by a fertiliser salesman for a bet, but whatever its genesis I think its something of an off the wall gem with only a few moments of blatant ineptitude (like a visible clapper-board) to spoil the fun. Not for everyone, but a happy 8/10 from me.

First I saw this movie, I thought this would be the worst movie has ever been made. Reason I gave 7* on this was : Low budject movie, Good actors, Horrible (but good) background music. I really enjoyed watching this movie, sadly Harold P. Warren killed himself after the movie had been done. Tom Neyman acted very well on this movie, even he looked bit strange.

Seriously, watch this movie closely and try feel the magic of it! I'm wondering how so good movie can be on bottom list #26 (11.1.2009).

Please, don't understand me wrong. Watch the movie again and try feel it!