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The problem with films (or indeed anything) that gets slapped with labels like the Best/Worst Ever is that such a distinction builds an expectation. One went into Manos, screening at Becks Incredible Film Festival in Wellington, New Zealand, expecting a stinker of legendary proportions, something filled with bizarreness and hysterical technical gaffes on the order of an Edward D. Wood Jr. The truth that becomes apparent though is that Manos, while almost certainly an extremely poorly made film, is not particularly bad, at least not bad bad in the way that made Plan 9 into a cult masterpiece because of its technical ineptitude and hilarious purple dialogue. Certainly one has covered films here that are a whole lot more technically inept, mind-bendingly stupid or filled with unintentional dialogue howlers than anything in Manos. Manoss unfortunate distinction is that it isnt really bad enough in that extreme kind of way to warrant such celebration. Most of the time Manos is really just dull and boring. There is very little of an actual story to it (although in its favour there is at least a passable twist ending). Despite the title, you are not really sure what the hands of fate actually refers to. Its greatest crime as a bad film may not be that it is technically inept, so much as that it is simply boring. It is very slowly directed and not much happens throughout at all. Director Harold Warren, who also plays the beleaguered husband, is a dull director with no real concept of dramatically breaking his shots up. The slim (74 minute) running time is padded out with endless cutaways to scenes of two teenagers making out in a car in the desert, a subplot that ultimately proves to have no impact on the main body of the story. It is all run over by an infuriatingly bland muzak score. There are times it almost seems like Warren is wanting to open up as a Russ Meyer horror film the plot set-up is vaguely similar to Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (1965) and Warren seems to have a great deal of interest in shooting the Masters wives in their diaphanous gowns having slow-motion cat fights. There are certainly lots of bad acting, and what is of almost compulsive fascination to everyone who watches the film is the presence of John Reynolds as the hunchbacked manservant Torgo. Reynolds goes through the entire film with a bizarrely unconvincing limp and a series of facial expressions that make you wonder if he, or even if you, are not consuming drugs. On the plus side the tall, bony Tom Neyman has a modestly effective and unnaturally spookily intense presence as The Master. Screening Courtesy of Becks Incredible Film Festival, 2003 (The Paramount, Wellington, NZ)
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