A strange man known only as the “metal fetishist”, who seems to have an insane compulsion to stick scrap metal into his body, is hit and possibly killed by a Japanese “salaryman”, out for a drive with his girlfriend.
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One of the few highfalutin and bombastic, abstract and nonsensical experiments that still manages to be artistic due to its sheer roller-coaster kinematics, surreal imagery, unhinged black & white photography, and frantic editing. I can't say it moved me emotionally in a profound way, but it challenged how I viewed cinema.
If Cronenberg and Lynch had a Japanese child it would be Shin'ya Tsukamoto. But boy is this absurdist overkill. It's brilliant stuff, but by the end it just collapses under the sheer weirdness. Or maybe it just scared me a bit too much.
A real mental mind-screw that will blow your brains out of your ear holes. Tsukamoto is operating on an unconscious level many artists never find throughout an entire career of experimentation/exploration of the psyche. It is akin to stream of consciousness cyberpunk, something like William S. Burroughs meets Akira.