I've long been fond of horror delving into America's weird interior. The spectacle of city-folk burrowing unknowing into uncharted realms where all their order, their civility means nought, where even sanity has made little purchase, these journeys fascinate me. So it is the case with Manos, a notorious film and one of the stranger examples of its genre. It tells of a happy family, Michael, Margaret and daughter Debbie on their way to a countryside lodge, one which may not even exist. They lose their way and end up at a mysterious domicile run by the anxious, strange walking, staff bearing Torgo, and as their tale unfolds they come to know the nature of the place and regret ever stopping there. Manos wields a strange power, and I think it comes from the way in which the fearful foundations of the plotting find their oddity echoed in the construction of the piece. The film dwells on primal fears of the unknown, of dislocation from ones usual milieu and ultimately of the break from ones one control. Whilst other films might array a number of editing tricks and a spot of meaningful dialogue to convey such fearful atmosphere Manos relies on guileless amateurism and succeeds precisely because of its lack of control. The audience knows anything can happen, that the film lacks reason and control, so the perfect conditions are established for the films effect. Which is not to say that there aren't some legitimate qualities at work here. The score mixes simple but menacing riffs with good looser moments, piano that sometimes ripples and sometimes spikes and some tensely thudding percussion, it has quite a potent presence. There are interesting images too, Torgo approaching with his staff penetrating the frame from bottom left, Torgo holding his master at bay, his staff playing back and forth in front of the Master's face, wives bound to pillars like living statues and so on. Best of all comes when the wives arise, their depiction has a playful art to it, they are something like an insane Greek chorus. Performances are decent too, Hal Warren has a perfect stolid and dull presence as Michael, Diane Mahree appropriately perturbed as Margaret, while Tom Neyman is wondrously campy yet menacing as The Master. Best of all though is John Reynolds as Torgo, his pained and fretful weirdness exerts a powerfully strange hold. Production design is simple yet weird, and the dark cinematography works well in creating a bleak, unsettled atmosphere. I guess this one has put a lot of people off since it currently holds the no. 2 spot in IMDb's bottom 100 but to me it was a real treat. It might best be called anti-art since it was made by a fertiliser salesman for a bet, but whatever its genesis I think its something of an off the wall gem with only a few moments of blatant ineptitude (like a visible clapper-board) to spoil the fun. Not for everyone, but a happy 8/10 from me.
Review of Manos: The Hands of Fate
