PUNTUACIÓN EN IMDb
1,6/10
38 mil
TU PUNTUACIÓN
Una familia se pierde en la carretera y viene a topar con una secta oculta satánica liderada por un temible maestro y su sirviente, Torgo.Una familia se pierde en la carretera y viene a topar con una secta oculta satánica liderada por un temible maestro y su sirviente, Torgo.Una familia se pierde en la carretera y viene a topar con una secta oculta satánica liderada por un temible maestro y su sirviente, Torgo.
Diane Adelson
- Margaret
- (as Diane Mahree)
Harold P. Warren
- Michael
- (as Hal Warren)
Jackey Neyman Jones
- Debbie
- (as Jackey Neyman)
Argumento
¿Sabías que...?
- CuriosidadesCast and crew recall that John Reynolds was on LSD during filming. It explains his confused behavior and incessant twitching in virtually all of his scenes.
- PifiasThe female teenager in the car misses her cue, looks directly into the camera, then delivers her line.
- Créditos adicionalesThe End?
- Versiones alternativasThe DVD version is a few seconds shorter than the original. For example, the film once started with the car (with mom, dad and Debbie) pulling up and stopping BEFORE the dialog starts. There is also a little music that was cut out. The full opening can be seen in the Mystery Science Theater 3000 version of the film.
- ConexionesEdited into Manos: The Fans of Hate (2009)
- Banda sonoraRow, Row, Row Your Boat
(uncredited)
English language nursery rhyme
Sung by Diane Adelson and Harold P. Warren
Reseña destacada
The antithesis to good movies.
This isn't a movie. This isn't even a home video. It's a home video that aspired to be a movie but crashed somewhere in-between, and plummeted through the abyss to depths unimaginable by the mainstream. Coherence is the film's greatest foe: bizarrity and incompetence its watchwords. This is it, bad movie buffs. This is Manos: Hands of Fate.
Years ago, in the dusty desert outside El Paso, an unknown fertilizer salesman decided to craft a horror film with the assistance of friends throughout the El Paso area, and a legend was born. Armed with $19,000 dollars, a cheap 16mm camera, and absolutely no knowledge of the art of film-making whatsoever, Hal P. Warren set out upon his masterpiece.
There is absolutely no redeeming quality about Manos. There is no directing, the editing appears as if it was done by a blind member of some mud-crawling insect species, the artwork is a stain upon the name of art, the script is a poorly cluttered and illogical joke masking the director's fantasies, the dialog will have you tear out your eardrums with your fingernails, and the acting is so atrocious you will feel as if the movie has violated you. It isn't as bad as Monster-a-Go-Go, but it almost manages to snatch the sorry laurels of worst movie ever made from that Lovecraftian abomination.
Manos must have put good directors like Kubrick or Capra in convulsions during its production: so powerful is the elemental force of badness flowing from every stinking pore of its perverse form. It is the polar opposite to the good movie, the parameters of its illogicity and non-acting existing to defy the borders of taste, and ultimately, sanity. Every grainy, scratchy, blurry frame of the muddy color palette and every sound byte of the poorly synchronized and terribly dubbed dialog offers an entrancing glance into a deeper, darker world of madness that is Manos the Hands of Fate. It is not of this earth. It is not of our dimension. Surely Hal P. Warren was some malfeasant alien god from a realm far removed from our own, hurtling across the icy chasms of space with a vile mission in store for the unsuspecting members of the cinematic world.
Its legacy, however, lives on in the form of Mystery Science Theater. The acid-tipped barbs flew fast and furiously, striking the venerable beast in its countless weak points, crafting from the chaos a comedic gem that approaches cinematic perfection stamped into the world of movies in its own stinking ichor. This is Manos: Hands of Fate. This is the purifying baptism of fire that scourges the detestable vestiges of mediocrity and normalcy from the mainstream viewer and forever makes them a member of the cult world, the world of bad movies and weirdness that cannot be imagined. It is the cornerstone, the figurehead, the mighty totem representing everything that Mystery Science Theater and the legions of bad movie sites across the Web hold dear to their hearts.
Rejoice, connoisseurs of bad movies! Fall upon the dark altar of Manos to pay homage to Torgo and the Master, and forever remember the twisted legacy they wrought from the tangled celluoid! Imitate Torgo's stumbling walk and high-brained drawl, until it fuses with the very core of your being!
Years ago, in the dusty desert outside El Paso, an unknown fertilizer salesman decided to craft a horror film with the assistance of friends throughout the El Paso area, and a legend was born. Armed with $19,000 dollars, a cheap 16mm camera, and absolutely no knowledge of the art of film-making whatsoever, Hal P. Warren set out upon his masterpiece.
There is absolutely no redeeming quality about Manos. There is no directing, the editing appears as if it was done by a blind member of some mud-crawling insect species, the artwork is a stain upon the name of art, the script is a poorly cluttered and illogical joke masking the director's fantasies, the dialog will have you tear out your eardrums with your fingernails, and the acting is so atrocious you will feel as if the movie has violated you. It isn't as bad as Monster-a-Go-Go, but it almost manages to snatch the sorry laurels of worst movie ever made from that Lovecraftian abomination.
Manos must have put good directors like Kubrick or Capra in convulsions during its production: so powerful is the elemental force of badness flowing from every stinking pore of its perverse form. It is the polar opposite to the good movie, the parameters of its illogicity and non-acting existing to defy the borders of taste, and ultimately, sanity. Every grainy, scratchy, blurry frame of the muddy color palette and every sound byte of the poorly synchronized and terribly dubbed dialog offers an entrancing glance into a deeper, darker world of madness that is Manos the Hands of Fate. It is not of this earth. It is not of our dimension. Surely Hal P. Warren was some malfeasant alien god from a realm far removed from our own, hurtling across the icy chasms of space with a vile mission in store for the unsuspecting members of the cinematic world.
Its legacy, however, lives on in the form of Mystery Science Theater. The acid-tipped barbs flew fast and furiously, striking the venerable beast in its countless weak points, crafting from the chaos a comedic gem that approaches cinematic perfection stamped into the world of movies in its own stinking ichor. This is Manos: Hands of Fate. This is the purifying baptism of fire that scourges the detestable vestiges of mediocrity and normalcy from the mainstream viewer and forever makes them a member of the cult world, the world of bad movies and weirdness that cannot be imagined. It is the cornerstone, the figurehead, the mighty totem representing everything that Mystery Science Theater and the legions of bad movie sites across the Web hold dear to their hearts.
Rejoice, connoisseurs of bad movies! Fall upon the dark altar of Manos to pay homage to Torgo and the Master, and forever remember the twisted legacy they wrought from the tangled celluoid! Imitate Torgo's stumbling walk and high-brained drawl, until it fuses with the very core of your being!
útil•142
- FlaviusAetius
- 2 abr 2007
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Detalles
- Fecha de lanzamiento
- País de origen
- Idioma
- Títulos en diferentes países
- Fingers of Fate
- Localizaciones del rodaje
- 2310 Scenic Dr., El Paso, Texas, Estados Unidos(opening shot at scenic overlook)
- Empresas productoras
- Ver más compañías en los créditos en IMDbPro
Taquilla
- Presupuesto
- 19.000 US$ (estimación)
- Duración1 hora 10 minutos
- Mezcla de sonido
- Relación de aspecto
- 1.33 : 1
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Principal laguna de datos
What is the French language plot outline for Manos: The Hands of Fate (1966)?
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