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Reviews
Hand of Death (1962)
The Domestic Troubles of Pufferfish-Man!
John Agar and his assistant are conducting independent secret nerve gas experiments in the California desert with the goal of creating a hypnotic-paralytic agent which will allow America to "peacefully occupy" any country it likes, rendering nuclear weapons unnecessary. If that alone isn't making your head swim, Agar's safety procedures will; in the opening moments, a mailman investigating the apparently-dead sheep littering Agar's front lawn stumbles through his front gate and almost succumbs to lingering chemicals, five whole feet from the roadway.
So it should come as no surprise that overworking, careless Agar winds up splashing a fresh and faulty batch of formula on himself, giving him a literal nerve-gas touch-of-death. Said touch is both horrifying--as a casual arm-clutch causes a hapless dopey gas station attendant (Joe Besser) to die screaming in seconds--and silly, as Besser spins to the camera to display what appears to be a rubber glove pasted to his face to represent bruising, swollen flesh.
Other victims get modeling clay and greasepaint pasted on their kissers, but Agar's character gets the worst of it: while the formula doesn't immediately kill him, it does cause him to abruptly transform into Marvel's The Thing with a bad case of toad-throat halfway through the movie, forcing Agar to shove his typically hammy performance out the holes in the puffy mask for the remainder.
And that's not even the worst of it. This movie is only sixty minutes long, and the front end is packed with a ridiculous romantic triangle sporting dialog that would make Jerry Lewis' writers flinch, while the last half is a broth-thin manhunt for the swollen death-toucher as he stumbles and flails his way across town from one random encounter to the next. These time-wasters include a particularly pathetic scene on a hideous rock-and-concrete-strewn beach in which the collapsed monster gets stalked and investigated by a small boy (Butch Patrick of The Munsters). And all the while, the worst score you could imagine before the invention of the synthesizer plays incessantly. INCESSANTLY.
If Rifftrax doesn't tear this one up, it will be a crime.