Manos: The Hands of Fate

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.

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!

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

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.

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.