a mash-city `cut-up` make-up `based on` an old punk rocker...

a gut-busting, liver-breaking, lung-smashing, warts-n-all, pills-n-booze, petulant Punk icon... the most widely seen invisible presence in modern cinema history... disappearing under skins of digital rendering and emerging... hissing, growling, beating his chest... a stunning amalgamation of emotions... rock and roll masochism underscored by tragedy... the kind of one man powerhouse movie buffs spend endless hours wading through forgettable films to find... beneath the beer stains and cigarette burns lies tender, streak stained underwear... deep internal conflicts with a sensitive soul, linger at the eye of the hurricane... such force of nature... sense the quiet soul at the core of the chaos and tumult...etched like knife wounds into the psyche...that awkward hobble (his character has polio)... those bleary wild eyes... that bull-headed fickle spirit...the sex...the music... the panache...the rock and roll provides the druggy dressing...slivers of the past provide hints of the source of his troublent, turbulent adult life...a vague emotional dependence on his first wife...caring but cautious is she...an often less than ideal father to his son...it ain’t always beer and skittles...a clear and concise message...the person hovering alone in the corner at a party... fidgeting with your phone, waiting for home time...not he...the pensioner upstairs yells out to keep the noise down...snorting and sweating across the finishing line...ooze style and colour...cool, bold, visionary...nail the rhythms...the reason for being...celebrating the spirit...spilling into idolatry...bad craziness, savage beauty...startling pathos.