The photographer said that only by crashing the car would he seem to be able to rescue himself from the repressed thoughts of a dull life. I think maybe the movie is equating sex (maybe it can't be called sex, but for now) and crashing. Alternate releases of sexual and crashing passions result in a spiritual and physical union, which of course may also be the result of separation.
The music has always been monotonous, as if it was just telling the story. But the content of the story is startling. The life of modern people has long lacked due passion, and machinery runs every day. When the photographer was holding a telescope like a potted plant on the balcony, the road was full of traffic, but there was no collision. The sex and car inside have become a comprehensive medium, releasing the depression of life.
A cart is a bed with four wheels. In the life of the machinery that keeps running, even love begins to become monotonous. People's psychology has begun to twist. Constantly changing social roles, the ultimate goal is still to have a reassuring spiritual home.
The tattoo on the body has also become a sign, a sign of lack of faith. We've all become part of a gigantic machine in what seems like a dignified but monotonous job on the fast-moving highway.
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