Clocking in at a paltry 58 minutes, Hand of Death will leave you reaching for the sunscreen. And in a hurry. For if John Agar gets a grip on you--you're a roasted duck. I could not believe this was filmed in Cinemascope! And on-location in Malibu and Santa Monica, California, too. Mister Agar becomes exposed to some type of experimental nerve gas he's concocting out in the desert for the military. He quickly dispatches his lab mate to the fire pit in the sky. Only then does he realize something is amiss. So he gives his mentor a ring and hightails it over to the gentleman's (he's confined to a wheelchair, never a good sign) suburban abode. He resides there with his daughter, the picture's love interest. The rest of the film breaks down as some kind of shopping stroll toward insanity. He becomes increasingly agitated, disfigured and insane. He slaughters his mentor and goes looking for the girl. On the way to the beach, and his certain downfall, he sends some more people to the above mentioned fire pit in the sky. The poor victims--taxi driver and gas jockey--are working stiffs. He also encounters a small boy romping along some jagged rocks and a seawall. He survives. The ending recalls an earlier film about a fellow with a flat head and protruding iron bolts. I enjoyed this loopy movie. I must be losing my bolts, too. I saw this on AMC when the sun was rising and my mind was clear. Honest.
Review of Hand of Death
