THE HAND (1981)

Director: Oliver Stone

Writers: Oliver Stone adapting Marc Brandel’s novel The Lizard’s Tail

Producer: Edward R. Pressman; Cast: Michael Caine, Andrea Marcovicci, Annie McEnroe, Bruce McGill, Mara Hobel, Viveca Lindfors, Rosemary Murphy, Charles Fleischer, Pat Corley, Nicholas Hormann, John Stinson, Ed Marshall, Richard Altman, Sparky Watt, Oliver Stone, Tracey Walter, Brian Kenneth Hume, Lora Pearson, Jack Evans, Scott Evans, Randy Evans, Patrick Evans 

When comic strip artist Jon Lansdale (Michael Caine) loses his right hand in a freak driving accident, he not only loses his drawing ability; he also is losing the bond with his family and may be losing his mind. Lansdale has blackouts and hallucinations of hand imagery. He also senses that his missing hand has a life of its own and that it can kill those who offend him. 

The Flashback Fanatic movie review 

The response that writer-director Oliver Stone’s second feature film usually gets from the audience is the sound of one hand clapping, but The Hand gets a hearty round of applause from me. It has fine performances from a small cast in a story dealing with the mental turmoil of its main character. When none other than Michael Caine plays that character, it results in a moving, intriguing, and gripping film. 

The spectacle of a severed hand scuttling about to kill people is what the audience was probably primed to see, yet it is also a phenomenon that we are constantly challenged to decide just how literally to accept. We experience the story almost completely from the viewpoint of the Michael Caine character of Jon Lansdale. He would qualify as the cinematic version of the unreliable narrator in prose fiction. He has suffered an injury that has not only cost him his right hand; it has ruined his career as a comic strip artist and is a blow to his male ego. He is no longer as complete a physical man as before, he is self-conscious of his appearance and lack of dexterity, and his ability to earn a living is now hindered. Since his wife, Anne (Andrea Marcovicci), was driving the car when his maiming accident occurred, that can only exacerbate Lansdale’s resentment of her in their troubled marriage. All of these stressors take a toll on Lansdale’s temperament, and we are left to ponder if Lansdale’s sanity is also damaged. 

Jon Lansdale’s comic strip, Mandro, was about the fantasy world adventures of a sword-wielding barbarian. Lansdale seemed to be venting his own single-minded and macho tendencies through his art. Once he loses the hand he needs to draw his Mandro stories, his inner barbarian has nowhere to go. This sudden handicap would traumatize anyone, but Lansdale’s own sense of his manhood and control in his family is the chink in his psychological armor that has been breached. In a great performance, Michael Caine brings an appealing humanity, vulnerability, and intensity to his role as Jon Lansdale. We always identify with the poor guy’s plight, even if we are unsure of his grip on reality and whether he can be blamed for the horror he senses. 

While we also ponder the responsibility that Jon Lansdale has for the dysfunction in his relationship with Anne, it becomes clear that she is not being entirely upfront with her husband about what she really wants to do. She says that she has discussed things with him, but one always gets the feeling that there is something more she has in mind that she won’t tell her unreceptive husband about. Anne is not just a one-note victim or a bitch. She seems like a reasonable person that is probably afraid to be completely open with Jon about her dissatisfaction in their relationship. In her defense, Anne tries to be comforting to Jon after the loss of his hand, but it also seems that she is ready to move on. 

Once the Lansdale couple separates so that Jon can move to California to take a teaching job for a community college art class, we can appreciate Jon Lansdale trying to make a new life for himself. We still hold out hope that he can mend his relationship with Anne, who is staying in New York City with their daughter. However, it becomes more apparent that his family is drifting apart. 

Therefore, we can’t help but be happy for Lansdale when he gets the chance to fool around with Stella Roche, one of his sexier students. We don’t find out a lot about Stella, but Annie McEnroe’s performance makes us care about this directionless and impulsive young lady. She may just be a free spirit doing what ever feels good in the moment, but she is also just the ego boost the estranged Jon Lansdale needs. It probably helps that Stella seems to fetishize Lansdale’s prosthetic hand during their lovemaking. Lansdale seems to develop an immediate bond with Stella, but whether this can ever approach real love or is just Lansdale’s possessiveness is uncertain.

One of Lansdale’s fellow faculty members, Brian Ferguson (Bruce McGill), teaches psychology at the community college. Over beers at the local bar, Ferguson hands out insight on Lansdale’s mental blackouts. Of course, this does nothing to dispel Lansdale’s concerns, or ours, about his mental state. Drinking pal Ferguson also soon becomes another antagonist in Lansdale’s lonely existence. 

The pattern in our one-handed hero’s life seems to be that no one ever really gets close to him. The one person we ever saw Jon Lansdale mutually, truly happy with was his daughter, Lizzie (Mara Hobel), before his estranged wife separated her from him. Once the family reunites in Jon’s cabin in the woods for the yuletide season, it becomes clear that Anne is making other arrangements for her life and Lizzie’s. This ends up being one of those unbearable, just-going-through-the-motions, Christmas family get-togethers. They better crank up the carols and keep spiking the eggnog. 

As Lansdale gets more stressed and offended, he not only has more hallucinations, he also imagines that his severed hand is lurking about and can snuff out his enemies. That lost limb had manifested Lansdale’s machismo by illustrating his Mandro stories. Now that it is no longer attached to Lansdale, that missing hand may be acting out darker aggressions from the frustrated Lansdale’s id. 

Writer-director Oliver Stone’s first feature was his 1974 horror film, Seizure. After this second effort, Stone decided that he wasn’t suited to the genre. I think he does a fine job with The Hand. Stone was probably disappointed with the generally poor reception that the film received. That reception was probably due to the ambiguity that it leaves us with. You may have a handle on what is going on here until you get to the film’s final scene. Then you are presented with a bit of sleight-of-hand that tosses our assumptions back in our faces to make us try to sort things out all over again. Audiences probably found it maddening, but that is the theme running throughout the entire film. I have learned to appreciate it more over time because there are two interpretations one can arrive at, and either one works. The Hand deserves a lot more thumbs up.

CAULDRON OF BLOOD (1967/released 1970), aka BLIND MAN'S BLUFF

Director: Santos Alcocer

Writers: José Luis Bayonas, Edward Mann, John Melson

Producer: Robert D. Weinbach

Cast: Jean-Pierrre Aumonut, Boris Karloff, Viveca Lindfors, Rosenda Monteros, Milo Quesada, Dyanik Zurakowska (as Dianik Zurakowska), Ruben Rojo, Mercedes Rojo, Mary Lou Palermo, Manuel de Blas, Eduardo Coutelen, Jacqui Speed

A globetrotting French photojournalist (Jean-Pierre Aumont) travels to a Spanish seaside community to interview a reclusive sculptor (Boris Karloff). Amidst the carefree antics of the local hipsters, murders are being committed to supply skeleton armatures for the sculptor’s statues.

The Flashback Fanatic movie review 

This is a much-maligned giallo-style Spanish film that this reviewer admits to being obsessed with. Not to worry though, folks; I don’t own a garrote and can’t sculpt worth a damn. Then again, I do like to drink and play darts occasionally. Okay, maybe you should keep your distance.

Cauldron of Blood is part of the kill-to-create-art subgenre of horror films such as Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933), House of Wax (1953), and A Bucket of Blood (1959). It was certainly inspired by any or all of these previously mentioned films, as it also deals with statues molded upon murder victims. Like A Bucket of Blood, it also revels in the fads and attitudes of its time but without the pointed satire.

The Spanish setting of this film is interesting and the situation for our photojournalist hero is certainly appealing. Whether you love him or hate him, you’ve got to admit that Claude Marchand has it made. He is handsome, successful, jet sets about on a lavish expense account, and can hatch a get-rich-quick scheme with a total stranger in one minute flat while striking up a romance with a pretty bohemian half his age. His glib sophistication and brashness may be off-putting at first, but it is later tempered by some sentiment and humor.

Many viewers may share Valerie’s criticism when she snipes at Marchand during a photo shoot, “Don’t you think you’re overdoing the local color bit?” The film takes plenty of time to show off the scenery and the locals partying. I rather like the opportunity to settle into this locale. The film is paced quite leisurely, especially by today’s idiotically hyperactive standards. Despite this slow pace, it can be a bit disconcerting to follow the series of events. Sometimes there are jumps of narrative from the main characters to minor characters without propelling the plot or generating a thrill. No Dario Argento style set pieces are to be found here.

That is not to say that the film does not try. It does have some style in lighting and suspense going for it. One character being chased back to her home and a later stalking sequence before the kill are effective. The final deadly showdowns between the main characters are also well done. Then there is a nightmare sequence that really makes you wonder just what the hell is going on in one person’s psyche. It may have just been the filmmakers coming up with weird stuff to film, but it certainly shows how twisted and tormented the character must be. 

Perhaps most interesting is the sexual diversity in a few of its female characters. This was still something quite unusual for films of the time. It was probably meant to provide a kinky adult aspect to the film that would have proved just how “swinging sixties” it wanted to stress its world was. In true Euro-horror film fashion, oddball elements and strange character motivations season the story. It also provides some intriguing character conflicts without delving very deeply into them.

The film has a decent cast. Standouts are Viveca Lindfors, as the very conflicted and possibly insane Tania, and Boris Karloff, as her husband, the elderly blind sculptor Franz Badulescu. Horror buffs are disappointed that Karloff’s role is not more prominent, but he does have his moments, and it is his character’s profession that is the catalyst for the sinister goings-on in the story.

Jean-Pierre Aumont, as Claude Marchand, and Rosenda Monteros, as eventual love interest Valerie, seem to be a mismatched pair. Their gentle antagonism manages to enliven the proceedings a bit, though. Instead of this being a contrived conflict between the two stars that we just know are going to get it on anyway, Valerie’s petulance makes some sense. She is probably a bit conflicted about her attraction to Claude, when one considers their different lifestyles and her other relationship. The film does not put any deep focus on this development; it just sort of happens. Real life is like that sometimes.

Of special note to Euro-horror film fans are two other cast members: Milo Quesada, as bar owner Shanghai, and Dyanik Zurakowska, as the artist’s model Elga. Quesada had a small role at the beginning of the first Italian film to kick off the giallo trend, director Mario Bava’s The Girl Who Knew Too Much (1962), aka The Evil Eye. He also had a more menacing role in another Bava film the following year, the horror anthology Black Sabbath (1963). Dyanik Zurakowska’s blonde beauty graced a very important film in the development of Spanish horror, The Mark of the Wolfman (1968), aka Frankenstein’s Bloody Terror. That is the first film written by and starring Spain’s horror movie champion, Paul Naschy.

I truly dig the swingin’ sixties vibe of this flick, in particular, a great jazzy score by Ray Ellis. Contrary to the opinions of many others, I think the score is appropriate to the contemporary scene and the events in the story. There is an occasional stinger that is a bit obtrusive, but, overall, the music enhances the action or mood. Especially good is the snazzy and sinister music playing while the killer removes the body of the first victim. That music is effectively revamped into a rousing action theme toward the film’s climax. It blew my teenaged mind when I first saw the movie in its entirety back in the olden days on late night TV. I recognized that many of this film’s musical themes were recycled in the CBS Saturday morning SHAZAM! superhero television series. Wow! Who’d a thunk music in a '60s horror flick would work for a '70s kids’ show? I also sensed something else very appealing and familiar about the style of this film’s music. Much later, I learned that Ray Ellis also did the great score for the first 1967-television season of the Spider-Man cartoon series at about the same time he would have been working on this film.

Ultimately, the film could use a bit faster pacing and another kill or two. Some awkward editing and film processing make it seem a bit more crude and disjointed than it really is. On the whole, however, I think it is a much better film than its dismal reputation suggests. 

If I were a travelin’ man, I’d hop me a flight to Costa del Sol and hang out with the beautiful bohemians while sippin’ my beer and martinis. But it’s faster and cheaper to just pop Cauldron of Blood into the player and put my bent brain on vacation.