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I was almost irritated by the tranquility, the simplicity, the normality of Shinya Tsukamoto when he was asked about his "ferrous" work. I expected an inevitable outward eclecticism given the substantial content he brings out with the first Tetsuo. And yet, calm seas...
I had not understood that the extremization we witness comes from a Japanese condition of unique individuals atomized in the history of humanity. The horror linearity of the film stems from the Japanese having to absorb the radiations from the criminal hydrogen bombings on innocent people, to make the last Axis villain capitulate. Today, they call them peaceful (criminal) missions.
And the radiations have unconsciously remained in the DNA of the people of the Rising Sun, and any mutation is relatively normal for them. Most of the population, like an alien abduction, removes the despair of this unacceptable radioactive rape and continues on the path of a soul-annihilating alienating progress.
However, Tsukamoto remembers the atomic abduction and, through painstaking manual labor, also prompted by very limited economic resources, reweaves the Japanese "seppuku" path of the post-war era towards an induced mechanized efficiency of high-quality inhumane products. He tells us the terrible journey of his people from after the H-bomb to the present day with a very tough revisionism filled with apocalyptic clangs.
The film is obscene, both materially and psychically; flesh and metal dance like hell and paradise, like day and night, like life and death. The blood is black, the veins barbed wire, immobility slides at an absurd speed.
Dehumanization advances, we try to fix the makeup, but the hobbling with the abyss overwhelms us. Emotions, in front of our eyes, transform into a desperate attempt to cling to anything human that remains within us.
But the hardness of metal hardens our hearts and transports us into a hell that we believe is life, where we fall into the trap of feeling this transformation as necessary. And a "God wills it" chase of deceptive technological progressions sells our soul to the devil with external inserts that are supposed to improve us, but actually aid our descent with their corroded sores.
Tetanus reigns supreme and, infecting the outside and inside, punctuates our damnation in extreme delusions of omnipotence: replacing God. From here, the confusion of substituting biological fibers with metal alloys leads to the illusion of an ephemeral immortality and creates a black hole of ridiculous triumphs, where love is exchanged for violence.
The monolith arising from this coupling, so imbued with nihilism, creates the deadly illusion of a fusion of incompatible elements, a catastrophic mirage for our transcendent growth, where instead of heading towards an evolutionary death of the subtle bodies, it takes a dead end that ends in the annihilation of deliriums of conquest.
The whole is punctuated by the soundtrack of Chu Ishikawa, which leaves us speechless as it digs inside us like a crazy drill with its "no return" noises.
The worms of decay are the foundation of these dilapidated altars; there's no turning back from destruction. And disintegration it is: GAME OVER!
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