To be honest, I'd rather listen to him play. Unlike violas, trombones, oboes, or whatever instrument you happen to hate today, pianos should be heard, not seen.
In all seriousness: I don't care what amazing motions he does with his hand. If he played the piano with his toes and his nose, that would be just dandy with me too. Is Harpo Marx one of the world's greatest pianists, just because he sometimes plays with his hands upside down? Obviously not.
To even think about the question "god of technique", we need to answer what the purpose of technique is. I'll try my hand at it, feel free to disagree. First off, it enables you to play things that are otherwise impossible (where impossible means: there is no way you can get all the notes played in reasonable time without so many mistakes that it's no longer the same piece). I don't have the technique required for Liszt transcendental etudes, or for Schumann symphonic variations ... I can't see how to press all the required buttons with my 10 fingers (and with current set of 9 working fingers, it's flat out impossible). But this definition of technique is not very useful; most professionals and scores of amateurs can get through all of the piano repertoire.
Next try: technique is when you can play the piece at reasonable speed, and without too many wrong notes. In this sense, I can get through the Schumann Toccata, or all Chopin etudes. But this is not enough to make music; any MIDI controller can do this off of digitized sheet music.
So let's try definition I like: technique is when you are free to make music, the way you like to, and the required act of pressing the buttons doesn't restrict you. If you take a score, and are free to interpret (render) it the way you really feel. To put it differently, the listener will notice that at all times, your only concern is the music, and the mechanical aspects have become irrelevant. This is what makes the playing look effortless (a very important word!) to the listener: they can now focus on what they hear, instead of watching you strain. After all, playing the piano is not an athletic contest. While the 100 meter dash is all about doing so fast (trying to get there in under 10s), music is not that way.
To summarize, technique is a zen thing: You need it (lots and lots of it), so you can free yourself from it.
And to be honest, while Hamelin is a fine pianist, his playing doesn't seem effortless to me. He programs harder and harder stuff, and you worry about him crashing to the ground any moment, and are amazed that he even makes it.
I personally prefer pianists who try to focus on the music. And in the category of technique, I can think of three that stand out: Argerich, Horovitz, and Cziffra. Argerich's most amazing recordings (to me) are the Schumann Toccata and the live Rach3. In both, she simply does what she wants (and I don't happen to agree with all of it in the Toccata), but only because she wants to, not because her technique is restricting her. The one piece where these two pianists stand out is the coda of the Tchaikovsky concerto: After the orchestral run-up, the piano starts with a thundering scale in double octaves. Lots of pianists have to slow way down for that scale. Lots of others do it fast, but it is just banging, without shape or form. Argerich and Horovitz (and darn few others) do it differently: fast and loud, but there is phrasing and rubato, the line breathes at all the right places, it builds to a climax. In short, they are playing music, not struggling with the notes.
And Cziffra is amazing in his Liszt. You don't have to like his interpretation, but it is clear that he does what he wants (including showing off) with amazing facility, and making it all sound easy. In the showing-off category is also Horovitz' Stars and Stripes transcription: Very hard, but he pulls it off as if it were easy.
The absolute contrast is the Lang Lang version of Liszt 2nd rhapsody you find on youtube. He adds lots and lots of notes, and then plays it as fast and as loud as he can. You can clearly sense how he is continuously pushing the edge of what his hands and arms can do. This is not music, this is athleticism (and in very bad taste and not particularly interesting sounding). A train wreck. Note: I've heard from a friend who recently did chamber music with Lang Lang that he has completely outgrown this juvenile testosterone-fueled phase, and now makes fine music.