White scientist uses an attractive assistant to the Tetsuo Project, little does she know she is associating in the creation and corruption of genome into a biological weapon. Sort of like the Guyver except nowhere near as cool. A generation later, salaryman reborn but married to a Japanese hypochondriac who prophetically suffers from dreams of their son being murdered. He then is. Rather than stocking up on wholesale sympathy as Tsuakmoto should have done to somewhat give the story emotional padding, Tsuakmoto breaks out neo-romance as utilized in Tokyo Fist and to a similar degree, the wife becomes disgusted with Anthony's weak visage and attempts to impart her own vengeance on her son's mysterious murderer. Cue in Tsukamoto's reprisal of The Guy. Only in these scenes does something of a clout situate the steady leak Bullet Man suffers from since the show start. The Guy is as aimless as ever. In Iron Man, a purpose was served and punishment was carried out. Post-Iron Man, be that as it may, marks the feminization of metal and homoeroticism void. Too bad Shinya had to tuck his yellow tail in between his legs for he captured something as equally psychotic as the people who appreciate his rabid streams-of-consciousness. But to give sparse recognition, the action in Tetsuo: The Bullet Man is well-shot with much energy to spare. Previous metamorphosis of Tetsuo, however, against the glaringly sterile Toyko cityscape, are obviously rubberized and no longer echo coils, rust, and sewage pipes. Wave goodbye to the raw rust aesthetic that popularized the first two of the Tetsuo (now)trilogy. In its place is stock footage and re-shootings of key scenes from the first Tetsuo and added with the format of Digital, really proves a shocking blow to experimental integrity of DIY filmmakers around the globe.
It's sad to surrender so soon for Tsukamoto's career but it's becoming increasingly apparent that through the years, his heart softens and his once youthful rage and vision have become replaced with luxuries and family reconciling. After countless classics, after the warmth of kinetic hostility and psychosexual behavior spiced with fetishism, it all comes to an end due to an Americanized Tetsuo for the brainwashed masses. Accessible? Maybe, but the likes of which will never be on par to Tokyo Fist, Tetsuo: The Iron Man, A Snake of June, or, dare I say it, Bullet Ballet. Tetsuo: The Bullet Man isn't a final encore to body horror nor does it indulge in a pleasurable universe. I never push perfection but this is so far from it. Bullet Man serves as an obituary for Tsukamoto's artistic prowess. Rest in peace, Iron Man. We hardly knew ye.