Film Weekly Editor’s Note – After much discussion with my fellow editors, we have decided to run this final review from our long-standing reviewer Professor Ffilmiau. Given the mysterious circumstances surrounding their death last year, we were wary to share this with you, our dedicated and beloved audience. However, Professor Ffilmiau was known for their unapologetically truthful reviews, we felt this a fitting piece to remember them by.
‘The Hands are Coming Too.’ (2023) Is the unneeded sequel to 80’s box office flop turned reluctant cult classic ‘The Feetening.’ Much like its predecessor, ‘The Hands are Coming Too’ relies on cheap props and even cheaper production values. The titular Hands look like a child’s papier mâché project gone wrong. The loose and often falling off strips of skin are reminiscent of a zombie film, which would have been a far more interesting direction for this movie to go in. Instead, the premise is a simple one – each character is killed by their own hand. No, not suicide, the cause of death quite literally is their own hand. Watched by the other Hands, and the occasional booted foot of a crew member, The Leader Hand slowly but skilfully detaches its victim’s arm, which then scratches, hits and punches until their owner dies, with a gross gurgled spit up of cherry jam.
The movie does work around its biggest problem – how, exactly do these Hands communicate? In an interesting and novel way, through the use of Morse Code. The tip-tap-tapping creating an unnerving, almost annoying atmosphere as The Leader Hand gives orders to its ever-growing army of Hands. Of course, this leads to an awful lot of reading, mainly of the Hands repeated call of the title, for any viewer who decides to stick around. A cleverer filmmaker would have integrated this tapping into the soundtrack, instead we are treated to the film crews every breath, snort, and cough, in lieu of an actual musical accompaniment.
The lack of connection with these characters and the quaint and mundane setting of each death – a living room, a hallway, an office, all exceptionally well-lit, means it loses some of the shock value. It’s quite hard to invest in the vicious Hand murder, when the places themselves aren’t scary. I’m in my office writing this now, my arm oddly prickling from the repeated mentions of the tip-tap-tapping of The Leader Hands movements, am I scared? No, I’m wondering what’s for tea. Maybe considering ordering some anti-itch cream, there seems to be an awful lot of dried skin flitting down onto my page. Why is it cocooning my arm? Please, my Hand, my lovely fingers, I’ve treated you so well…
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The Hands are Coming Too
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