‘Eel’ Review: Sensually Saturated Mood Piece Slithers Its Way Under Your Skin

by

To begin with, let’s address the elephant in the room: A movie called “Eel” doesn’t get that title without inviting comparisons to something ‘slippery’. Director Chu Chun-Teng’s debut film embodies this quality beautifully. The narrative, though slim, is electric with tension, constantly veering into hidden corridors of psychology and existentialism. The visuals, equally captivating yet enigmatic, often mirror the story’s elusiveness, rich in symbolism but open to interpretation as vague as a Rorschach test. The allure of “Eel” lies in its unfathomable chase, an unresolved love story that subtly contrasts the hazy longing of a perpetual summer with sudden, raw expressions of human desire – moments that pierce through the fog like a sharp, cleansing pain amidst a sea of more amorphous emotions.

Without a doubt, “Eel” stands out as the most unique entry in this year’s Perspectives competition at the Berlin Film Festival, which focuses on debut films. This film showcases a directorial voice that is undeniably self-assured, drawing inspiration from Tsai Ming-liang’s visceral surrealism and Wong Kar-wai’s cinematic desire, but not replicating either. Instead, Chu’s work carries a sense of youthful discontent that reflects a broader generational crisis in modern Taiwan. Although politics aren’t explicitly addressed in this visual and auditory feast, the filmmaker’s dreamlike vision is not entirely detached from current affairs. It’s likely that future festival screenings and distribution deals will follow for this daring work.

“Eel” is a one-of-a-kind film in a competition focused on debut films at the Berlin Film Festival. Its director has a strong, confident voice, influenced by Tsai Ming-liang and Wong Kar-wai but not copying them. The movie expresses a youthful frustration that mirrors a bigger generational crisis in Taiwan. Although politics aren’t directly discussed, the film’s dreamy atmosphere is still connected to current events. More screenings and distribution deals are expected for this bold production.

A significant portion of the movie takes place on Shezi Island, which geographically is a peninsula situated off the northwest tip of Taipei, surrounded by two rivers. The island’s swampy countryside gives the impression of being much further from the city. In the film “Eel,” it becomes almost symbolic as a borderland between life and death, past and present, reality and illusion. Liang, played by the rising Taiwanese talent Devin Pan (who was also featured in the Cannes premiere “Locust”), is an island native who has just returned from an attempt to flee, and appears trapped within its mysterious temporal fog.

Living in a dilapidated house on the edge of a river that appears ready to claim it, Liang leads a mostly secluded life, working unhappily at a waste management facility where only one other employee, Hao (Chin Yu-pan), seems present. Apart from Hao and Liang’s frail grandmother (Bella Chen), the island appears almost abandoned: a potential haunt for spirits, maybe, their lives intertwined yet hazy. When a young woman (Misi Ke) mysteriously floats into view, carried by the water in a striking red dress, Liang becomes captivated, following her with the desperate curiosity of the last human alive. However, it’s unclear if she shares his feelings, but she occasionally indulges his attention and then retreats, an elusive object of affection that proves as hard to catch as another river creature.

As the early romantic interactions transform into a prolonged and intensely physical relationship with a sadomasochistic edge, “Eel” gains a sense of real-world significance to counterbalance its pervasive melancholy. The characters’ past and emotional bonds appear to change from scene to scene, suggesting multiple romantic tales spanning different eras. However, Liang’s profound loneliness is a constant presence throughout these phases, as is his yearning for connection and meaning. Despite the island’s time seemingly shifting and bending in various directions, no promising future seems to emerge for him. Just like his father’s homing pigeons who continually return to their rundown rooftop coop – a symbol of stagnation that mirrors the malaise of Terry Malloy on a different waterfront – Liang finds himself trapped by the confines of his understanding and the repetitive cycle of his experiences.

In terms of prisons, this one is quite lavishly adorned. Renowned cinematographer Nguyễn Vinh Phúc, known for films like “Cu Li Never Cries” and “Taste”, captures every scene – be it land, water or charred flesh – with an intense, almost shameless saturation. The camera moves slowly and passionately, as if drenched in sweat, enhancing each color to its most vibrant, nearly aromatic shade. This filmmaking style is intensely sensual and textured, at times seeming to tempt the characters with pleasures they can’t quite grasp, while also fiercely embracing their deepest passions. With its bold use of reds, blues, and heat, “Eel” compels viewers not just to think or question, but to feel and indulge, as it pulsates and ripples through the narrative.

Read More

2025-02-26 23:17