David Cronenberg Goes to Japan

From the twisted brain that brought us Tetsuo: The Iron Man and Tetsuo II: Body Hammer comes another serving of Cronenberg-by-way-of-Japan weirdness.

Tsuda is your typical Japanese "salaryman" - a conservative, hard-working insurance salesman. His job is uninteresting and mundane. His relationship with his fiancee, Hizuru, is distant and chilly. His days are marked only by the television schedule. It seems that Tsuda is stuck in a rut . . . until he bumps into his old schoolmate Kohji, a professional boxer. Old rivalries (or perhaps a twisted camaraderie) set events into motion. Kohji attempts to seduce Hizuru. Hizuru begins a body mutilation campaign and plays her two suitors against one another. Tsuda trains to become a boxer in order to destroy Kohji . . . And lots of messiness ensues.

While director Shinya Tsukamoto's previous films were hyperkinetic, experimental science fiction flicks, Tokyo Fist has the initial appearance of a straightforward modern drama. The film begins with the "dehumanized drone" theme so prevalent in Japanese cinema - Tsuda, a wholly unremarkable fellow, is disoriented in his job and lost in the stark and supernaturally clean Tokyo cityscape. He is plagued by a sickening sense of insignificance. But Tsukamoto's characters always strive to get beyond this suffocating sense of self through radical body abuse and modification (thus the Cronenberg reference). The ineffectual Tsuda trains to become a boxer. Hizuru goes from wallflower to a psychotically empowered human sieve . . .

Tsukamoto has a certain flair, for sure, but perhaps the above descriptions give Tokyo Fist more narrative structure than it really has. While heavily Cronenberg-inspired, Tsukamoto also uses cryptic and meditative moments ala' David Lynch to lend gravity where there may not be any. A lot of his images are open to interpretation. Thus, Tokyo Fist - a gory film about boxing - owes more to the art film than to Rocky or The Evil Dead.

Nevertheless, the truly excruciating boxing matches could teach Scorsese a thing or two about conveying the true brutality of the sport. A punch to the face sends not just spittle flying, but copious volumes of blood, snot, and assorted other liquids found in the nasal and brain cavities. Tenderly orchestrated violence leaves the viewer stunned and the character with a purple, bloated, swollen, seeping visage. You'll never see a boxing match in the same light after viewing Tokyo Fist.

Kudos to writer, director, producer, and star (he plays Tsuda!) Tsukamoto. What appears to be a typical love triangle story becomes a fable of body loathing, misplaced aggression, and self-destruction. Horrifying, somber, and blackly humorous all at the same time, Tokyo Fist evokes a feeling of severe discomfort in the viewer - a sure sign of a good film, in my opinion. My only gripe might be with the characterization of Hizuru. Although an interesting character, her motivations seem rather strange and petty. Maybe this is a Japanese thing. Maybe Tsukamoto has some misogynistic tendencies. Either way, Tokyo Fist is one of those films that may be unimpressive as you watch it, but sticks to the roof of your brain forever with its subtle power.