hand job.

Just discovered that sozzled superstar - and Unwell regular - Stuart Whitman has died, tho' he was aged 92 so not that surprising.

Anyhow, in way of tribute I'm taking a look back at some of his best films.

Well the ones that I've got.

And are close to hand.

It's just a quickie tho' cos if I'm honest this movie isn't even worth pissing on.

Enjoy.

I must point out tho' that the film was so arse numbingly tedious that I ended up making things up for this review.

See if you can guess which bits.

Demonoid: Messenger of Death (AKA Macabra: La mano del diablo, 1981).
Dir: Alfredo Zacarías.
Cast: Samantha Eggar, Stuart Whitman, Roy Cameron Jenson, Lew Saunders, Narciso Busquets Erika Carlsson and José Chávez.

You either cut off my hand, or I'll kill you!

It's modern day - but still pre-wall - Mexico where portly porn 'tached mine owner Mark Baines (tubby teevee stalwart Jenson) is excitedly awaiting the arrival of his wife Jennifer (Eggar - desperate to pay of her rehab bill) so he can show her around the strawberry jam mine he's recently purchased.

He reckons that once it's running at full capacity it will not only solve the problem of world hunger but also net them a tidy profit.

Sorted.

Well they would be if the superstitious locals weren't too scared to work.

Or is it that they're just lazy?

Picking Jennifer up at the airport, Mark's right hand man Pepe (Romancing The Stone's Chávez) explains that according to local legend the mine is built on the remains of a Conserve cult temple and is the resting place of the ancient Jam Demon ievārījums famous for sacrificing virgins and making yummy sandwiches.

Possibly.

Not being ill-educated, superstitious common types the Baines laugh (now) at such tales deciding to explore the mines themselves to show the workers that there's nothing to fear.

Except giant ants obviously.

And the French.

Armed with jaunty torch hats and a bag of jars the couple head down into the mine to explore soon coming across the aforementioned temple as well as a small tin casket containing a severed hand.

Hmmm....could the locals concerns be justified?

Realizing that they may get a few quid for it at Cash Converters Mark pockets the casket and the pair head back to their hotel for an evening of food, wine and heavy (in Mark's case extremely heavy) petting.

"Spice Girls number one for Christmas.....MONSTA!"

As is the way when you organize a night of hot passion with a loved one Jennifer invariably comes down with a headache leaving Mark moping around on the sofa with his flaccid member in one hand and a cheap bottle of plonk in the other.

Unable to resist his urges yet filled with guilt at the thought of cracking one of whilst his wife sleeps next door Mark removes the severed hand from the casket and clumsily attempts to pleasure himself with it.

Without warning - and just before climax - the hand springs to life and attacks the couple before turning to dust as it tries to suffocate Mark leaving nothing but a dusty residue in his dribbly mouth.

And no doubt a sense of shame in all those involved.

Things go from bad to worse tho' as the next day Mark turns up at the mine and herds all the workers inside before blowing it up.

Which is nice if a wee bit unexpected.

Suddenly thanks to the magic of scratched to fuck stock footage we're in Las Vegas, where Mark has set himself up as a plaid-jacketed gambling god whilst Jennifer wanders the strip trying to find him.

Can I just point out that at no point will anyone mention the fact that he's murdered hundreds of poor mine workers.

It's almost like being Mexicans the American Government didn't really give two fucks about them.

C'mon how far-fetched is that?

His winning streak spotted by a local gambling shark and his whorish girlfriend Mark is bundled into the back of a car and driven to a remote cabin where the pair attempt to beat the secret of his gambling success from him.

"Shite in mah mooth!"

 Mark calmly - well as calmly as a sweaty fat man strapped to a table can - explains that his hand is possessed by the devil and that's how he wins so much but to no avail so to prove the fact he breaks free of his bonds and proceeds to kill the creepy couple before dousing himself in petrol and lighting a match.

Surely there are easier ways of ridding yourself of the stink of such a movie?

With his body being all burned and crispy the authorities mistake him for someone else and ship his body to Los Angeles for burial at the church run by the dippily drunken and questioning of faith Father Richie Cunningham (Whitman with a comedy 'Oirish' accent and a bad case of the DT's).

Arriving at the church Jennifer attempts to warn Cunningham that her husband's body (well his hand) was possessed by a demon and requests that he be exhumed and an autopsy be performed.

On him obviously not just on some passing stranger.

Because the best way to prove demonic possession is by getting someone to cut open your corpse.

Probably.

Look by this point the writer was obviously passed caring so why should I?

As the pair continue their heated discussion - well Eggar attempts to feed Whitman his lines as he stands swaying from side too side with a glazed look in his eyes - Mark’s severely charred and crispy corpse - in a fantastic display of chutzpah over cash - bursts from its grave and bounces down a nearby path.

Hearing the noise of breaking wood (and realizing it's not his legs) Cunnigham quickly calls the police and soon LA's finest Sergeant Leo Matson (Saunders, son of Jennifer best known for his stand out role as an orderly at Murdock's V.A. Hospital in The A Team) arrives to investigate.

Searching the grounds he soon comes across Mark's lifeless (no it really is this time) body hanging out of the police car, his left hand severed at the wrist.

"Put it in me!"

Bending down to examine the corpse (and check for loose change) Matson is surprised when the hand suddenly gooses him, causing the clumsy cop to jump up and bang his head on the car roof knocking himself unconscious.

We unfortunately are still awake.

Menacingly it crawls toward our prone police pal.

Bored with all this existentialist chat and in dire need of a dump Cunningham offers to pick Jennifer up at her hotel the next day to discuss things further, she reluctantly agrees and heads off for a good nights sleep and an angry call to her agent to see who she has to fuck to get out of this mess.

There's then a bizarre boxing match between a sweaty Whitman and the policeman that ends with Matson running away screaming from Cunningham's huge crucifix but it's kinda irrelevant to the plot so forget I mentioned it.

Like I wish I could the whole movie. 

Anyway imagine Jennifer's surprise the next morn when she opens the door to find not a sweet smelling Catholic priest but an angry Officer Matson shouting something about our heroine being a lousy car thief and how he has to take her (roughly) up the station.

Handcuffing Jennifer before bundling her into the back of his car the pair drive away just as Father Cunnigham waddles into view.

Instead of taking her into custody (or violently up the casino) Matson drives to the surgery of local plastic surgeon and part-time ice skater Dr. Julian Rivkin (Busquets famed for his portrayal of Don Indalecio in the hit show El padre Gallo) where he threatens to shoot the surgeon in the face if he doesn't remove his hand there and then.

Rivkin agrees to his demands and removes the hand which then grabs Matson's gun and shoots naughty nurse Morgan (Carlsson...look do you really care?) in the back as she tries to ring for help before jumping off a table and messily ripping the Sergeant’s face off.

On a roll now the horrible hand worms its way into Rivken's trousers and possesses him by forcing its way (two fingers at a time) up his ample arse.

"If you lie on it first it'll feel like someone else is doing it!"

Chillingly announcing that Jennifer is the true owner of the hands power Rivkin begins to chase her around the surgery brandishing a child's toy syringe, poking her with a needle at any opportunity only stopping when Cunningham and a cop turn up and punch him in the head.

Being demon possessed tho' Rivkin just laughs it off and escapes by car to the local railway station where he lays his arm on the track in order to severe the hand.

It really hasn't got the idea behind possessing and controlling people has it?

With all the exciting things that are happening it's no wonder that Jennifer is feeling a little tired so heads back to her motel room for a rest.

It'll come as no surprise to anyone that the hands follows her and sneaks in thru' the catflap wiggling it's rubbery fingers in her general direction.

Its fearful finger threats are cut short by the arrival of Father Cunningham and the pair flee to the church, which should give them plenty of time to formulate a plan seeing as they're in a car and the hand is following them by slowly crawling along the freeway but guess what? Yup it arrives almost simultaneously and cuts the power and phone lines.

How?

Does it use its fingernails?

And how does a severed hand have the leverage to do half the shit it's doing?

I was going to mention it earlier but thought I'd give them the benefit of the doubt but now I really can't be bothered.

Will good prevail or will the hand finally possess Jennifer and rule the world?

Will Whitman make it to the movie's climax without falling into an alcoholic daze?

Will the much promised gore and nudity ever surface?

Does anyone outside the director's immediate family care?

After being given this as a birthday present I'll admit that the only reason I watched this movie was on the basis of how cool the poster art was.

Scary hands, buff devils and shiny bikini wearing babes all done in an overly airbrushed 80's style.

What's not to love?

Plus we know that great cover art is always a sign of cinematic quality.

Disappointingly the version I was given was called Macabra which I then discovered features fuck all nudity or violence.

What it does feature tho' is some of the most laughable, threadbare and downright bizarre scenes ever to be committed to celluloid.

From it's shaky point and shoot and shockingly overlit cinematography to it's kindergarten quality special effects via  a visibly intoxicated lead desperate to stay upright  Demonoid: Messenger of Death is a perfect example of low budget, no talent film-making made flesh.

Everything on show is a brightly lit location, every actor a family friend and every effect seems to be pulled from a pound shop Christmas cracker.

Even the rubber hand looks embarrassed to be there.

Especially the scene where it's forced to sexily fondle Samantha Eggar's beefy knees.

Beefy.

Talking of knees - beefy or otherwise - Demonoid: Messenger of Death is at least slightly more enjoyable than the director's previous foray into horror the instantly forgettable John Saxon snoozefest The Bees so for that at least we can be grateful.

Tho' not as grateful as poor old Stuart Whitman was for the free holiday and extra drink money.

Just a pity none of it was thrown our way.

You'll fucking need it cos there's no way you'll be able to sit thru this sober.