Professor Creature's B-Movie Revue

The B-Movie genre is rife with films that are described as “so bad they’re good.”

“Manos: The Hands of Fate” is not one of those films. Simply, it is bad. Emphatically, unequivocally bad.

“Manos” is not the sort of film you watch with your buddies to laugh at the strings holding up the UFOs and chuckle at the wooden acting.

It is the sort of film you trick someone into watching to exact revenge upon them. It is the sort of film that would be mentioned in the Geneva Conventions.

It is the sort of film you would expect to be directed by a fertilizer salesman on a bet. Oh, wait, it is.

“Manos” was written by, produced by, directed by, and starring Harold P. Warren, a fertilizer salesman from El Paso, Texas on a bet with a local talent scout that he could make a horror film on a limited budget.

Unfortunately, the bet included no provisions regarding quality.

The movie follows a family taking a long road trip to a hotel.

After an eternity wandering aimlessly through the Texas desert, the family is trapped at a lodge maintained by a polygamous pagan cult, where they attempt to escape as the sinister cult plots their demise. I think.

The plot isn’t really clear. Suffice to say, the longest coherent plot line is the several minutes spent showing the rolling countryside outside of the family’s window.

Once the dialogue and acting begins, the film descends into a dark, deep place, an abyss human eyes weren’t meant to behold.

Deciphering the plot of “Manos” is like trying to map the bed of the Mississippi River with a flashlight and a pencil: dark, muddy, and inconsistent.

The plot constantly shifts from the main story to one or two completely disconnected, irrelevant subplots.

The main story is baffling and inconsistent, and the film is peppered with long, awkward periods of little to no dialogue or character development.

Finally, as a sort of testament to the bubbling mound of wretch that is “Manos,” not even the B-movie geniuses at “Mystery Science Theatre 3000” could make this film palatable.

They made it better, sure, but better in the same way a couple of packets of sugar would spice up a steaming mug of bear dung.

The movie still ended up being boring and incomprehensible, almost physically painful to watch.

In the end, not even the wisecracking silhouettes of the MST3K crew can distract from the undying horror that is “Manos.”

I recommend staying far away from this movie at all times.

I also plan to write a letter to my Representative, urging Congress to pass a law requiring a warning label on all copies of the film.

However, if you are feeling daring, I would recommend watching only the MST3K version.

Watching “Manos: The Hands of Fate” without the protective cover of wisecracks and puns would probably lead to unfortunate viewers being melted like Nazis in “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

Professor Creature can be reached at professorcreature@gmail.com.

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