The Man

The old man trundled his legs up and down the gravel outside the castle, unsure of himself and his ability to distort his audience. The truth was, he didn't really have an audience yet. The weather was grey and faded green like his long overcoat, billowing all around him like a torn canopy. His coat belt struggled to keep order. Every now and again a howl of wind travelled down the pathway, grabbing at his coat tails and dragging them upwards: a shadow of something almost intestinal or phallic or limbic swung between the old man's legs at times like these. What was that? A minority audience gathered around the tall grid windows/faces aghast/rain dribbling down the panes. The old man stopped. His face angled 37 degrees toward the sky. His face was hard and glossy. His face had narrow eye slits, and a muscle structure that appeared to have been sprayed rigid with varnish. Maybe the old man just finished his old shed, and decided to give his own face a lick of the smell he enjoyed so well? The audience of three at the windows grew disinterested, probably a forced disinterest: I know it is happening, but it is better if I don't know anymore! They returned to the photographic portraits, humming about which ones were pretty or cool or both. One of them readjusted his show lace. No disarray would be welcome in the castle's regal interior.

The anxiety returned shortly to the three early-adopters of the old man though. A large cube made of mirrors (this is true) reflected a gathering of light onto their retinas and subsequently their optic nerve and into their brains, which interpreted the gathering of light to be similar, if not the same, as their old friend, the old man. I am not a scientist, so do not hold the simplification of optic biology against me. But please! Do realise that the old man was now indoors, away from the billowy wind. They caught a glimpse of his boots: socks and strange skintight trousers Tucked Right In. One of the boys was taken with the muscular calves, and considered the scent of the seat of the old man's overcoat. He shambled toward the door of the room that they were in. Now leaning on the door as his plastic face gazed the room at his favourite angle: 37 degrees. A few viewers gasped, and threw their mink scarves around their eyes to block the eerie vision. Just get out, one cried, unsure of herself. The organisers relished the moment: PLEASE! QUIET! The old man walked up to the Famous Photographer gracious enough to present himself to the banal characters the narrator hasn't even bothered to mention yet. They are inadequate, and ancillary to the story - just remember there were near-25 of them. Some of them left, tiptoeing around the gaze of the old man, and fetched themselves something to hold: a mobile phone or a glass of wine, or even a pamphlet, despite knowing well this was no bloody time to be reading will you look up and keep an eye on that old man he could be dangerous he could come over here and snatch that bag off you and get away and then how would you get home you have no bus fare and it's a long walk especially in this weather! Ok I'll put it away, I'm just uneasy! I think he has something under that coat, there's a strange erect bulge there, or many!

The old man walked into the midst of the ancillaries, and then past then. The old man sat down on a window ledge where the trio watched him earlier and sighed. A pathos entered the room as those there felt a sadness for him and his weary legs and plastic face. He stood up. He's going to do something now I know it, I'm worried. Whispers echoed around the room. When we whisper we pronounce our S and T and H and certain other letters as high frequency or white noise sounds, which actually makes it easier for people in the mid-range to hear what you're saying rendering your whisper pointless. Hissing/whispering. Nevertheless, the old man didn't seem to notice: he continued his business of undoing his coat belt. Gasps, faints and feints, glasses clinking, pamphlets rustling, and a crack of an old chestnut off the pane of glass startled and unnerved the ancillaries. The old man continued. Maybe there are no ears? His hips began to gyrate from left to right, then with motions in no uncertain terms dissimilar to the encircling of an aureole in a passionate moment. This gyration quickened in an orgasmic pace, the plastic smile seemed to grow slightly maybe it isn't plastic maybe some renegade doctor injected his face with a gallon of botox in protest at his vanity? Left foot on heel. Then right foot on toe, he undid the last clasp of decency and revealed his appendage. The last of the women and six of the men gave in as they say perhaps four, five or more children's dolly legs dangling off his midrift like a demented insect sex act. Feet at broken angles, ankles plastic like the old man's visage. They bounced of his fat body suit like gelatin or a fly just caught in a cobweb - ever see that happen before? 

After the last mouth shut, the old man buttoned up and left.

Burst City & The Phantom of Regular Size

Before looking at the core and peripheral movies of this genre I thought it would be best if I first look at the two films that are commonly considered the precursors responsible for the whole genre coming into existence. To understand the difference between films that are Japanese and are Cyberpunk and the genre entitled Japanese Cyberpunk or Extreme Japanese Cyberpunk I must first give a brief outline detailing the genres defining factors.

Japanese Cyberpunk: is a genre of underground film produced in Japan starting in the late 1980s. The genre is not very closely related to Cyberpunk as understood in the west — the focus is industrial and incomprehensible, not high-tech and scientific. There are no computers in Japanese Cyberpunk. The genre is primarily defined by the movie Tetsuo: The Iron Man,but originates from a combination of what occurs in the 1982 movie Burst City and the 1986 film called The Phantom of Regular Size.

Burst City (爆裂都市 Bakuretsu Toshi) is a Japanese science-fiction punk-rock musical / action film. Released in 1982, the film was directed by Sogo Ishii. Primarily a showcase for both various specific punk rock bands of the time, such as The Roosters, The Rockers, and The Stalin, the film is also purely demonstrative of the culture and attitude of the punk rock community of Japan in the mid-to-late 1970s and the early 1980s. The film was distributed by the Toei studio.

The plot is not very complex, as much of the action and drama of the film relies on musical interludes, character interactions, and commentary on the class system in the film’s fictional universe. What plot there is follows groups of rival biker gangs in a dystopian future who are attempting to rebel against the construction of a massive power plant in “their” part of Tokyo.

The film is highly regarded among critics and audiences alike. Its hyperkinetic, unrelentingly high energy style was wildly different from other films of the period and extremely innovative. The film is also regarded for being purely inspired from music, and the way the punk aesthetic, culture, and music exerts its influence over every element, scene, and character in the film. It has been called one of the “starting points in contemporary Japanese cinema”, along with Shuffle, Panic High School, and Ishii’s own Crazy Thunder Road.

This definitely paved the way for the Japanese Cyberpunk genre, as it gave the future directors responsible for the genre an aesthetic on which they could attach their surrealist industrial visualisations of the future. This punk movement was born from a bubble economy that rejected its offspring like it did its tragic past. Be it rejection of repression, pre-cognition of future events or just pure mindless anarchy, the movement opened up a cinematic space that would eventually fuse with disheartening visions of an industrial future. It cannot be purely coincidental that this began happening before the economy fell. If cinema can be perceived as a reflection of a national consciousness then is it possible for a movie to reflect something that is collectively known, but is yet to happen? Some food for thought…

The next film that I’ll be looking at is the 1986 short film called The Phantom of Regular Size(18mins 27secs). This is a key figure in the creation of the genre because it reflects the point where cult director Shinya Tsukamoto made his first film that attempted to hybridise the punk genre with the surreal, industrial and the mechanical. Although this mix-mash is simple in its execution and in its use of effects it can literally be perceived as Tetsuo: The Iron Man as a child. Without it the genre would never have gotten enough acclaim to be recognised and consequently perpetuated through other directors ie. Shigeru Izumiya and Shozin Fukui (to name just the core contributors).