We close this issue with something a bit different. Some of you may be familiar with Mystery ScienceTheater 3000, which appears on the cable television network Comedy Central. It's a show about bad movie, mad scientists, bad movies, an intrepid space-faring janitor and his wise-cracking robot sidekicks, bad movies, and of course, bad movies. Anyway, it's all greatly amusing to watch, and yes, we're *big* fans. In a recent viewer's poll, the best episode of the entire series was MST's lampooning of a low- budget movie titled Manos: The Hands of Fate, a movie so awful that it easily rivals the worst productions of Edward D. Wood, Jr. So why (and how) are movies like Manos made? You are about to find out! 
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"What kind of movie would a fertilizer salesman from El Paso, Texas make?" -- Michael Weldon, The Psychotronic Encyclopedia of Film #
For many years, Manos: The Hands of Fatemust have been the Holy Grail for aficionados of obscure, low-budget, really godawful cinema: sel- dom mentioned, hardly ever seen, exactly the kind of movie that, yes, a fertilizer salesman named Hal P. Warren would decide to make, one fine summer in 1966. That all changed when the grandmeisters of la cinema du fromage at Mystery Science Theater 3000 delved into the bottom of the barrel and found this epic lying in ambush. For those without access to Comedy Central or some other clue, MST3K (for short) is about two scientists who torture a space- bound employee and his robot pals by force-feeding them movies, into which they interject their own snide remarks and alternative dialogue. Bad movies. Really bad. Really, really, really bad. As one of the scientists confided when Manos came up for its turn, "I think even we may have gone a little too far this time." So, instant cult phenomenon. Even if 'admir- ers' is not quite the word, Manos has been embraced by legions of 'MSTies' and cult film fans who pas- sionately argue its demerits over the Internet. Even |
Roger Ebert's forum on Compuserve isn't safe. And yet, as we shall see, there very nearly wasn't a Manos: The Hands of Fate at all. How to describe Manos fairly? I tell locals that it's about a couple who take a wrong turn on Scenic Drive (that being the one landmark in the film still recognizable after three decades) and wind up at a 'Lodge' managed by a cult leader, his wob- bly-kneed sidekick, and his harem of lingerie-clad wives. Wow; a cult movie that's really a cult movie! "So, Richard," my fellow film buff Craig tells me over the phone, "for the next Amigocon you should really round up some of the cast and have a reunion panel." "Hmmm," I said, the gears in my brain starting to grind away implacably. Problem is, how to locate some of these folks thirty years after? Assuming they're not dead, who would have hung around after perpetrating something like Manos upon the townfolk? Suddenly my dreams are haunted by the spec- tre of Manos. In my sleep I can see myself after grueling detective work uncovering a fugitive cast member; hey, that little girl who played the daughter must still be alive by now eh? Only why hasn't she aged any by now.... Aggggggh! Time to wake up, eh? To the rescue: my old pal Roy, who springs on |
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