Le Troisième Œil

I was only in the bar for a quick drink. It was hot outside and I figured a cold beer might knock off the oppressive stillness of it all.

As promised, the Shiner hit the back of my throat like an alpine breeze. I clutched the bottle to my brow, letting the cool condensation roll over my eyebrows. Luckily, the bar had no windows, so the dark inside was a fine respite from the tenacious sun outside. No windows allowed that surly teen of a star force his rays inside.

And then I saw him.

He was sitting in a corner, holding his gin and tonic with both hands. For a moment, he raised his hand to his mouth, maybe questioning something? Then, as swiftly as it happened, the thought escaped him and he waved away the lingering memory.

I recognized it immediately. I had to talk to him. He was one of the few who had slogged through the same terrible adventure as I. Maybe, by speaking with him, I could alleviate his pain.

He didn't even look at me as I approached his well-padded booth.

"If you had heard I were killed," I asked him. "Would you still be afraid?"

"That's when I would be afraid the most," he muttered to his drink.

There it was, a shared connection. I had been correct in my assumption about this broken man. He was just like me and had seen the same horrors.

He had seen "The Yin and Yang of Mr. Go."

We sat in silence, each nursing our own drinks, our own chance at forgetting.

He shook his head. "Did you know that lesbian rape scene is the opening credits?"

I had to admit I didn't. The scene in question had been so shocking, so unexpected when it happened. The opening credits, I had blissfully ejected from memory.

"I didn't catch it the first time," he confessed.

"You watched it a second time?" I asked. "Why?"

He closed his eyes and lowered his head. With his chin resting on his chest, he whispered, "I don't know... I don't know...."

A deep, ragged breath and sigh. He looked at me, a fellow victim. "If tomorrow is in question..." he started.

"And your meditation is interpreted by what lies ahead," I answered.

Yes, his pain was deep. Seeing it brought back my own pain: the stilted dialog, the terrible soundtrack, the gratuitous breasts that made us both (I am sure) feel skeevy because they looked they they belonged to a 14-year-old. I shuddered and reached for my cigarettes.

Not missing a beat, my companion lit a match and held it out. "Puff the magic dragon," he sighed.

I was afraid to accept, but only did so to oblige him. We sat in the still of the room, smoke and nightmares swirling around us.

And when he cried, I only held out my arm to comfort him. Like our connection in the bar, it was brief and disturbing. We had both seen the horror. It was not something we could share with others.

We both knew our warning would fall on deaf ears. "But Jeff Bridges is in it!" our companions would say. "What about that narration by Christopher Lee?"

Oh, what of it? Of all the things that should have made it right, there was only so much wrong a man could bear. James Mason is a fine actor, yes, but playing a half-Chinese\half-Mexican crime lord is too great a burden. And the script, written by Burgess Meredith? No finer form of torture has been devised, even if directed by the man himself. No. It was too great a passion that burned in that idea and all involved were singed by its efforts.

"You know that Peter Lind Hayes played Mr. Zabladowski in "The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T?" I asked. I hoped to lift the mood.

"Very atomic," my companion said, and then laughed. "I guess he got to lay some pipe!"

We both laughed until tears covered our faces. Then we cried and held each other. We had been there. We had seen it. We had both been through "The Yin and Yang of Mr. Go".

I picked up a copy of this movie after seeing the other comment listed. After watching it, I can say without a doubt that this movie is an incredible waste of celluloid. Like the other reviewer, my jaw hit the floor. But it was not due to any comedic value, rather to the amazing wretchedness of this film. My friends and I were practically put into comas by the movies anesthetic powers. This is the type of movie that you either throw out the window of your moving car, or take out of the vcr and smash with a hammer.

Burgess Meredith wrote and directed this movie, as well as appearing in a small role. The film was made in 1970 when it was still considered appropriate for Caucasian actors to play Asian characters. Thus we have Burgess as an Asian character, complete with whispy mustache, and James Mason is the evil Mr. Go, with fake teeth, eye makeup, and - going against the character - a British accent. While Mason was British, the accent is ridiculous for the character. You get the feeling that Mason was trying to retain some dignity, and was fighting to avoid a stereotypical accent brought on by the fake teeth.

The movie is very tedious. You'll feel like you've been watching it for hours and hours. There's no real character development, and no one in the film is particularly likeable. Mr. Go is supposed to be very evil, yet we never see him do anything that makes us hate him. Nero, played by Jeff Bridges, was just as unlikeable as Mr. Go. Perhaps more so, as he is a deserter from the army, cheats on his girlfriend (and doesn't understand why she hasn't come home yet), takes money from Mr. Go in payment for having sex with a US agent - which is filmed in order to blackmail the agent into helping Mr. Go get a laser of some sort. Nero is supposed to be a writer and admires James Joyce, but we are never convinced that he is more than an untalented, drunk kid (Bridges looks very young).

Oh the pain.... the only reason you may want to see this movie is if you like one of the lead actors and are interested in seeing everything they have done. Otherwise, do yourself a favor and stay away from this movie. Oh yes, there are some really annoying songs that will get into your head, and not let you live in peace. "The yin and the yang...."

In his autobiography Meredith claims his first solo directing effort was hijacked by the producers, re-edited with additional footage of Broderick Crawford and an animated Buddha, and released in Europe without his permission. But even if you ignore the added footage and voice over, this is still an awful movie.

Notable for a freshman effort by Jeff Bridges (my copy of the movie gives him an intro credit) and an inexplicable appearance in a small role by Hong Kong director King Hu, "Mr. Go" plays out like a demented episode of "Batman." Much of the dialogue makes no sense, you could drive a Hummer through the plot holes, and the musical score sounds like something The Cowsills might have done on a particularly bad day. Unless you're a die-hard fan of truly abominable movies, stay away from this one.

Burgess Meredith's only attempt at film-making is a strange mesh of Eastern Philosophy and The 60's Batman show. The first thing you should know is that the narrator of this film is actually the Buddha and the premise is, more or less, the Fu Man Chu/Dr. No bad guy Mr. Go is inexplicably "enlightenened" by the Buddha's eye into becoming good. See strange psychedelic homosexual escapades with Jeff Bridges and a nauseating go-go soundtrack that will drill right into your head. All the fight scenes are right out of Batman. Good if somewhat boring movie, but you've got to love the strange premise. It's the ultimate 60's Buddhist experience.

This utterly bizarre film is the closest you'll get to the Jess Franco experience without actually watching one of Franco's efforts. This is made even more remarkable by the fact that it does have a pretty starry cast, and not old has beens like Franco feels obliged to work with. The songs are truly awful although anyone who can get the word "meretriciously" into a lyric can't be all bad.