Berlinale Review: Eel is a Mysterious and Elusive Drama of Remarkable Beauty

      The most notable alteration instigated by the new Berlinale director Tricia Tuttle is the discontinuation of the Encounters sidebar, which showcased numerous arthouse treasures deemed too experimental for the main competition. In its place, Perspectives has been established––a competitive segment focused on debut films. Its first edition features Eel, the initial feature from Taiwanese visual artist Chu Chun-teng. Navigating through various genres and styles, the film is as elusive as its title suggests and may not appeal to those who seek clarity in what they observe on screen. Regardless of its effectiveness as a narrative piece, Eel unmistakably marks the emergence of an intriguing new talent.

      The film's oddity and allure are evident from the start. In the opening scene, a woman dressed in bright red silently walks into a river, her slow disappearance unnoticed by the city on the opposite bank. Suddenly, it’s nighttime, and a naked young man rummages through a swamp attempting to catch an elusive eel. In the backdrop, a kind of mythical folk ritual unfolds, accompanied by an ominous, persistent soundtrack. Before we can comprehend the situation, day breaks again, revealing that the young man, Liang (Devin Pan), is employed at a waste disposal facility. After his shift, he visits his sick grandmother, repairs the leaky roof of his shack, and engages with pigeons. Liang's solitary existence begins to shift when he encounters the woman in the river (Misi Ke), with whom he embarks on a fervent romance.

      Any effort to summarize Eel would be in vain. It quickly becomes apparent that plot is not Chu's primary focus. Individual occurrences do not combine to provide answers but rather help construct a specific world inhabited by the two lead characters, highlighting the most striking aspect of Chu’s direction––its intoxicating fusion of realism and mythical fantasy. His portrayal of Liang carries a hyper-realistic touch. He endures a thankless blue-collar job, lacks the means for even small indulgences for himself or his family, and sees little hope of escaping this unfulfilling life. Like countless others, he finds himself at the bottom of the social hierarchy.

      However, there are no countless others in this narrative. Rather, Liang seems to exist in a vacuum, alarmingly disconnected from reality. Apart from his one friend at work, the grandmother he visited briefly, and the woman in the water, very few other characters populate this film: the expansive garbage facility remains deserted, only a pig roams the street Liang uses for his commute, and the city across the river remains silent throughout the day. When his friend, while they are out on a boat, inquires about what lies beyond the river's mouth, Liang is unable to respond. This utter isolation feels surreal, creating a sense of existential discomfort.

      The female character embodies both terrestrial and supernatural qualities. Her relationship with Liang forms the film's most solid backbone, providing it the strength to ultimately break free. Their intimate scenes meticulously portray the physiques of their mortal bodies and overflow with raw desire. Nonetheless, from her otherworldly presence to her departure at the film's conclusion, everything suggests that she may not belong to this realm. Where does she originate, and what are her motives? Is she the eel itself? The film leaves these questions unanswered while weaving a captivating air of mystery.

      Above all, Eel distinguishes itself through the potency of its visual language. With the assistance of cinematographer Nguyễn Vinh Phúc (who captured the stunning Taste, an Encounters selection at the 2021 Berlinale), Chu frames shots that are exceptionally beautiful and rich in meaning. Occasionally reminiscent of Tsai Ming-liang or a grittier, more sensual Bi Gan, his visuals emphasize daring camera angles, lush colors, and profound contrasts. Even if one cannot fully grasp the narrative being conveyed, there exists a rare, magical quality in the imagery that commands attention.

      There are sections of the film that come close to stylistic excess, where Chu attempts to cram in too many details within a single frame, as well as parts where the narrative would benefit from greater clarity or coherence. Nonetheless, Eel remains impressive in its blend of realist drama and myth. Embracing an aesthetic that is both earthy and mesmerizing, it conjures an imaginative realm in an unlikely, seemingly desolate setting. Departing from the film, one feels as if they have awakened from a surreal dream in which a person might have transformed into a fish, or vice versa. It possesses the distinctive mark that makes for a promising debut.

      Eel premiered at the 2025 Berlinale.