It seems fitting to be piecing together an Incisive Critique of Tetsuo - The Iron Man via the process in which The Duke is currently engaged. Six dozen sheets of A5 notepad paper flung cross the table, and from these embarrassingly analogous scraps, a glorious digital beast arises.

Just as our hero finds himself eyeball-deep in technological transitions, so too these hints of reviews to come find themselves pushed ever-further along the road from the familiarly ragged, twisted pages, emerging right here in the ones and zeros, every sentence, every fuckful utterance bursting at the guts with the reek of progress.

Pages torn asunder with the furious scraping of the biro, a thunder-fucked urge for to get every thought thunk with regards the whole wonderfully maniacal enterprise catalogued, filed and archived.

"Sweet Fuck! Buggered by a writhing metal dildo... steam rising out his arsehole!"

"I dare say I've never seen better stop motion in all my born days, and that includes Harryhausen. Tetsuo stomps Harryhausen blind!"

"Godzilla for cyberpunk speed-freaks!"

Now, with the comfort afforded by Microsoft Word, knowing that there ain't no need for to get all tizzied up the hole with the race against the relentless pace of the flick, a man gets to relax a bit, meditate on these delirious scribblings.

Let the eyes trample cross the notes, let the fingers scar the notes cross the screen.

Strange how this should prove to be such a pleasurable experience, since if Tetsuo is anything to go by, the process of transition should be a ghastly, horrifying, nightmarish onslaught.

But no. I'm quite happy to let the cave paintings slide on into history, and let the technologicization of every damn thing carry on unhindered.

But what in shitting fuck has this all to do with, anyroad, what the hell's this talk about Tetsuo - The Iron Man. Is this some kind of superhero flick, and if so, it better be a fuck of a lot better than Fantastic Four, which nobody bothered seeing but we all know sucks anyroad. It had him out Nip/Tuck, far as I know.

Calm down, take a sedative for a second in the form of a neat slab of a Plot Summary, or as close to such as one can feasibly offer when dealing with such a maniacal piece of motion flickery as Shinya Tsukamoto's 1988 skull-filthing masterpiece.

What Tetsuo concerns itself with is a fella waking up one morning with a nasty boil on his face, a metal pin sticking out of it, a ghastly pus-spewing growth right there on the cheek - the kinda thing that wants nothing more than to douse a man's mirrors in blood-laced gut-spunk. It's the kinda hellish skin-fart that should pretty much numb a fella's filthing aspirations for a time, and yet no, he still gets to share a bed with a lovely lady, and also, get buggered with a lengthy metal dildo, buggered with such force that smoke rises out his arsehole.