The Master would not approve, I quipped, a grin stealing across my face. It had become my standard response to any politically slanted remark or generic decision with which I disagreed, joining Push the button, Frankfrequently used in any instance where such action is requiredon an increasingly lengthy list of vernacular inspired by the cult favorite television series, Mystery Science Theater 3000. The premise of the show was both simple and endlessly amusing: bleary-eyed Joel Robinsonportrayed by Joel Hodgsonand his robots, Tom Servo and Crow T. Robot, were the unwitting subjects of an experiment, conducted by diabolical scientist, Dr. Clayton Forrester. Stranded in space, with no means of escape, the trio were subjugated to some of the most poorly written, woodenly acted, awful movies ever produced for the silveror smallscreen. The saving grace for such D-grade clunkers, including the Joe Don Baker/Linda Evans vehicle, Mitchell, was the running commentary of snarky wisecracks provided by Joellater replaced by Mike Nelson, when Hodgson departed the showand his robot sidekicks that accompanied each film.
Mystery Science Theater 3000, or MST3K, to its ardent followers, introduced me to the unknown; an undiscovered universe of cinema so wretched that its sole purpose was to be used as fodder for a few chuckles. It was through MST3K that I received my first sampling of what the reigning king of cornball movies, writer cum actor cum director, Ed Wood, was capable of, and I quickly fell passionately in love with his peculiar vision of how to create a cinematic masterpiece. Woods penchant for stock footage and rapid scene takes resulted in some of the most panned productions on film, including Plan 9 from Outer Space, widely acknowledged as the worst movie ever.
Sure, Plan 9 may be riddled with professional wrestler Tor Johnsons indecipherable dialogue and the linear concept of time may have ceased to applycausing action obviously filmed during daylight hours to magically occur at nightbut its inconsistencies lent to the charm and legend of anything touched by Edward D. Wood, Jr. Plan 9, for all of its faultsand there are manydoesnt deserve the worst movie moniker its been saddled with.
But another recipient of the MST3K treatment, Manos: The Hands of Fate, just might.
The films redundant titlemanos is the Spanish translation of handsaffords viewers a harbinger of what this film has to offer and what it offers is a head scratching juxtaposition of entertaining backstory with laughably poor results. Harold P. Warren (Hal, to some) wasnt a filmmaker. He was a fertilizer salesman whose performing arts experience was limited to the El Paso, Texas theater scene and a walk-on role as a bus driver in an episode of Route 66. It was on the set of the popular TV show that Warren first met prolific writer Stirling Silliphant, whose screenplay for 1967s In the Heat of the Night would earn him an Academy Award. While sitting in a Texas coffee shop, Silliphant issued a challenge to Warren, betting that his friend couldnt make a movie, from its conception to the completion of its closing credits. It was all the impetus that Warren needed. Within minutes, the movies plot of vacationing-family-becomes-lost-and-meets-unsavory-characters had been scrawled on a napkinuh ohand Manos: The Hands of Fate was born.
The movies shoestring budget of $19,000 was stretched impossibly thin, and the film was beset with difficulties. The need to accommodate work schedules forced the majority of scenes to be filmed at night, which created a cascade of problems. Moths fluttered about the camera, and the sets poor visibility, due to inadequate lighting, resulted in one of Manos most memorable scenesalbeit for all of the wrong reasons. A pair of police officers, allegedly attempting to investigate the source of gunshots, seemingly take two or three steps toward their source, before quickly returning to their patrol car and calling it a day.
Lighting wasnt the only expense restricted by budgetary concernspaying the films participants was, too. Actors agreed to work for a percentage of the flicks profits, with the exception of two. Young Jackey Neyman, who portrayed Warrens daughter, received a bicycle for her efforts. Her dog, a Doberman named Shanka, was rewarded with a bag of food for its role as the pet of The Master, played by Jackeys father, local theater actor Tom Neyman.
Warrens directorial style created friction on the set. Participants began to compare notes, discovering that the number of shares sold by Warren to raise funds for the film far exceeded 100 percent. Disgruntled, the films staff began to refer to the seemingly neverending project as Mangos: The Cans of Fruit. It was the first of many jabs that the film would endure.
In November of 1966, before a crowd that included area politicians and local dignitaries, Manos: The Hands of Fate debuted at El Pasos Capri Theater. Limousineswell, one limousine, as Warren wanted to project an upscale image, yet lacked the monetary means to do sodeposited cast members in front of the movie house before circling around the block to repeat the process.
The film begins with an interminably long car scene peppered with an occasional snatch of dialogue. Michaelour enterprising Hal Warrenand his family have become lost trying to locate a resort called Valley Lodge. What they instead find is a half-man, half-goat individual named Torgo, portrayed by another theater thespian, John Reynolds, who allows the family to stay on The Masters grounds for the evening. Torgo meanders throughout the movie, making it seem much longer than it truly is, and quickly develops a fondness for Michaels wife, whose head covering inexplicably vanishes and reappears throughout the film.
The meager plotenhanced by brief glimpses of a couple continuously smooching, scenes written into the movie when the actress involved broke her legbecomes mildly entertaining when The Master finally appears. The appropriately creepy Tom Neyman is resplendent in a black cloak covered by a giant pair of red hands, and he speaks of worshipping a mysterious being known only to the viewer as Manos. Any interest that may have evolved from Neymans ability to give one a serious case of the willies is quickly tempered by the annoying film scorea cross between a coachs whistle and a sloppy version of the theme from The Twilight Zoneand the poor synchronization quality of actors mouths to words spoken. Since the camera used to film Manos could shoot only 32 seconds of footage at a timeand no soundall of the characters lines were subsequently redubbed, but not by the actors themselves. I was somewhat disappointed to learn that Torgos warbling voice was not provided by Reynolds. For reasons unknown, The Masters many wives, culled from El Pasos Mannequin Manor Modeling School, fight one another for their husbands attentions and, eventually, the movie ends right where it began, with an even more agonizingly long driving sequence.
To say that Manos: The Hands of Fate bombed would be an understatement. Movie goers attending its premiere found it amusing; the film itself played in a few towns before disappearing into the celluloid netherworld. The profits promised to its crewyou guessed itnever materialized. Following the films lackluster run, Warren attempted to sell a screenplay, Wild Desert Bikers, which morphed into the novel, Satan Rides a Bike. Both were declined. Although initially despondent over his apparent failure, Warren eventually embraced Manos inadequacies, and even wore The Masters hand-enhanced cloak each Halloween, a tradition that, with Warrens passing in 1985, has been handed down to his son, Joe.
While Hal Warren took pride in his contributions to Manos, John Reynolds never even made it to the flicks opening. Months after its completion, for reasons said to be unrelated to the film, Reynolds was killed by a self-inflicted gunshot wound. He was only 25.
For nearly 30 years, Manos languished in obscurity, forgotten by nearly everyone except its principals, until the cast of MST3K riffed it to shreds. Suddenly, Manosthis film stocked with obtuse dialogue, blurry camerawork and few plot pointshad developed a new generation of fans well, its first generation, anyway. The film was rambling, confusing and downright uncomfortable to watch; everything that I loved about Ed Woods movies, minus Bela Lugosi. Its those same qualities that have contributed to its burgeoning audience. The film has inspired a musical, a puppet show, and has been the subject of documentaries. A 16 millimeter print of the film is in the restoration process, and Tom Neyman is slated to reprise the role he made infamous in a sequel, Manos: The Search for Valley Lodge, slated for release in 2013.
The news is simultaneously mystifying and exciting. Who would want to view a continuation of one of the worst movies to ever appear in a theater?
One glance into my bathroom mirror gave me the answer.
Mystery Science Theater 3000 may have aired its final episode over a decade ago, but its spirit of sharp-tonguedand sharp-wittedbanter lives on. Former cast members have split into two movie riffing camps, Cinematic Titanic and RiffTrax; MST3K revisited, without the robot puppets. While Im eager to attend the Cleveland performance of modern day rockabilly music purveyors Reverend Horton Heat on Labor Day weekend, Im counting the days until I sink into a plush seat for the RiffTrax rendition of Manos: The Hands of Fate, simulcast in theaters throughout the country on Aug. 16. Who would have thought that such visual pain could bring so much pleasure?
Im sure that The Masterwith apologies to Torgowould approve.
