This may not be the very worst movie Peter Sellers ever did (I think that laurel goes to "The Prisoner of Zenda") but it is surely the most depressing. Sellers, especially sans makeup as Nayland Smith, looks like he has just undergone chemotherapy. As Fu Manchu, he looks hardly better and spends most of the film (with the exception of those strangely disturbing scenes where he gets jolted with electrical currents) on the verge of collapsing under the weight of all that makeup. The supporting players also look tired and run down, and Sid Caeser's presence is offensive even without his constant references to "Chinks!" (One bright spot: this would be one of the last times a major motion picture would portray Asians so insultingly ... or, for that matter, star a non-Asian as one!). The film seems surprisingly cheap, with soupy photography and drab sets - even the whiz-bang Elvis number at the end looks cut-rate. Only the stunning Helen Mirren and the tall, thin, nervous guy who get his pants wet add any sparks of life to this sad affair. All in all, this film provides an eerie premonition of a great comic's death, and an even eerier documentation of his dying.