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Shinya Tsukamoto’s Tetsuo II: Body Hammer (1992) isn’t so much a follow-up to his monochromatic frenzy of an original as it is a new approach to the same themes he explored in the first go around. 1989’s Tetsuo: The Iron Man is an industrial nightmare – a scouring pad to the grey matter. Body Hammer still retains Tsukamoto’s feverish energy he unleashed in the original film, but it’s in color this time – mostly grim greys and blues with dashes of vibrant orange, but color all the same.
Tomorowo Taguchi once again plays the titular role, this time inhabiting protagonist Taniguchi Tomoo. Taniguch is a mild mannered family man who just so happens to not remember his childhood before the age of 8, when he was adopted. Trying to recap the plot almost seems perfunctory; it’s not the plot we come to a Tetsuo film for, but the chaotic energy of Tsukamoto’s filmmaking. With that said, there is more of a traditional narrative through line in Body Hammer compared to its predecessor.
After Taniguchi’s son, Minori, is kidnapped by a gang of skinheads and Taniguchi is injected by something mysterious, he finds that in his rage and fear he can turn his body into a walking gun. His arm morphs into a canon and a multitude of gun barrels emerge from his chest – which he uses to riddle his enemies into a pulp.
Like the first film, the premise of Body Hammer is inherently absurd and the abrasive filmmaking style can feel like Tsukamoto screaming in your face for 80 minutes while Ministry blasts in the background, but that doesn’t make Body Hammer all punk rock style and no substance. Far from it. Much like its predecessor, Body Hammer isn’t concerned with making sure you’re on its wavelength. It just does its own thing and expects you to keep up.
Underneath the hectic energy, Body Hammer has a lot to say about the darkness of the human heart and the oppressive dread of the modern industrial world. Taniguchi’s powers are at first framed in a traditional action film lens. The hero was wronged, he gets powers, and we want to see him mess up the bad guys real good. As Body Hammer progresses, however, the familiar action film conceits warp into something far more tragic and perverse. As Taniguchi combats the skinhead gang who possess the same powers he does, you quickly realize the traditional narrative trappings of a hero’s rise to power and actualization are in reality latent childhood trauma finally allowed an outlet of escape. As his rage grows, as his memories emerge and revelations rear their head, Taniguchi becomes far more machine than man.
His aforementioned missing childhood memories reveal that his biomechanical power set have been with him his whole life from the abuse and experimentation perpetuated by his father on himself and his brother. At about the midway point Body Hammer transforms from a chaotic quasi-action film into a story of two brothers – Taniguchi and Yatsu (the leader of the skinhead gang) reconciling their childhoods. The comfortable thematic blanket of good guys and bad guys is ripped away, and we’re given a final act that is a clanking cacophony of images and sounds. The editing becomes so erratic, the body transformations become so inhuman, it’s difficult to even discern just what the hell is going on at some points. But despite Tsukamoto’s refusal to play by the rules, Body Hammer never becomes truly incomprehensible. By the end of the film, it actually reaches a certain profound sense of bittersweet triumph.
Tsukamoto is known for his explorations of the hell that is the modern industrial landscape. The Japan of Body Hammer is steely and alienating. The slate blue-gray, skyscrapers seem to take on an almost antagonistic presence as Tsukamoto’s editing constantly interjects them into the film. The camera swoops, dips, dives, twists, turns, and jitters from scene to scene. The relationship between man and metal in Body Hammer has a larger thematic scope to it than The Iron Man. The corruption and seduction of the steel, the rust, the gears, and the girders is generational. It’s in that subliminal space that Tetsuo II: Body Hammer finds its power.
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Scandinavian countries are statistically some of the safest places to live in the world, but their TV shows say the opposite. This European subregion’s penchant for dark and dreary crime stories first began in books before moving off the page, and since then, television has become the biggest source of what’s now referred to as “Scandi noir.” While these kinds of chilly thrillers caught on after the turn of the century, they appeared as early as the 1980s. One seminal example is Månguden (The Moon God), an ’88 TV-movie inspired by the real-life ‘84 “tent killings” at Lake Appojaure. Because the Swedes were so affected by this “ripped from the headlines” program, it aired only a few times before being indefinitely locked away for two decades.
From Alien Autopsy to Ghostwatch , controversial TV tends to stoke people’s curiosity. And a strong cocktail of obscurity and notoriety was more than enough to urge people to buy Jonas Cornell’s telepic once it finally hit DVD after being unavailable for so long. The scariness of Månguden is perhaps exaggerated thanks to nostalgia and hype, however, anyone lucky enough to find this Swedish hidden gem can understand why it left such a mark on viewers back then.
At first glance, Månguden is a run-of-the-mill detective story. A Swedish-Finnish cop named John Vinge ( Tomas Laustiola) is in the middle of an ongoing case where on every full moon, random people are killed on the outskirts of Stockholm. With no clues, answers or suspects so far, Vinge’s superior seeks the help of a retired profiler named Erland ( Per Myrberg). Vinge isn’t happy about the decision, but with eight victims so far and possibly more to come, he has no say in the matter. Especially with his father, once a renowned detective, controlling everything from behind the curtain.
There’s finally a break in the case when an imprint of a strange mask is found at the murder site. A museum academic named Rebecka ( Agneta Ekmanner) confirms the mask is of the African Moon God, which could mean these murders are ritualistic. More evidence then crops up when a video reaches the police; raw footage, anonymously dropped off for development at a film lab, shows the culprit in the act. Wearing the Moon God mask and wielding a large machete, the robed killer is caught on film, butchering campers for no apparent reason.
Månguden was indeed made for television, but Cornell provided it the same air and techniques of a theatrical feature. Much of the movie’s atmosphere comes from shrewd scene design and rich shadow work. The visual nuance is also sizable in spite of the smaller medium at play. The presence of an old operating theater delicately hints at a character’s psychological descent, and the ethereal glow of Vinge’s father’s oxygen tent indicates his “angry god” role in the story. Just about every facet of this telefilm has a surprisingly cinematic touch to it.
The peak of Cornell and cinematographer Ralph M. Evers’ creativity rests in the discovered footage of the Moon God killer. The “night vision” mode, the utter lack of sound, and the uncomfortably calm gait and demeanor of the antagonist — those elements resonate with fans of horror. Watching it play out, even through a modern lens, it’s no wonder audiences were so frightened all those years ago. Found footage as a genre of horror is hardly novel these days, but the idea was virtually unheard of, much less practiced, in ‘80s Swedish TV productions. While the concept plays out differently here due to context, it still bears the traits and efficacy of its many successors.
Månguden feels especially noir when it comes to the characters. Vinge is troubled like so many other fictional detectives; his coping mechanism for an overbearing and abusive father ( Åke Lindman) is alcohol. This ongoing case is just another way for the patriarch to lord himself over his son, whose own arrant unhappiness is directly tied to making his difficult elder happy. And by default Rebecka slips into the “femme fatale” role, particularly since it’s later suggested she might have something to do with the killings. However, Rebecka never comes across as threatening, no matter how implicated she is. Her true presence in the story is best described as nurturing.
Seeing a homicidal assailant use a costume, mask and machete gives Månguden the semblance of a traditional slasher, although appearances are deceiving in this case. Much of the murdering is contained rather than spread out. The main characters are also not in immediate danger, nor are they fodder for a lurking killer. The movie instead channels classic Italian cinema, specifically the output of Dario Argento . Further footage, a past reel explaining the villain’s motive and history, evokes a quality found in Ruggero Deodato’s mockumentary Cannibal Holocaust , albeit with considerably less graphic results. Cornell’s movie ultimately amounts to a veritable smörgåsbord o f creative influences.
Månguden is a unique, Scandinavian deep cut in need of both a proper restoration and a wider release. Audiences everywhere would without question enjoy this Swedish cult classic’s artistry and unsettling energy, as well as its clever blending of popular genres. As restrained as it can often seem, this mood poem is wildly unnerving, not to mention an ingenious embodiment of what would later become Scandi noir’s most pronounced and disquieting traits.
Horrors Elsewhere is a recurring column that spotlights a variety of movies from all around the globe, particularly those not from the United States. Fears may not be universal, but one thing is for sure — a scream is understood, always and everywhere.
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