Written by Andreas Babiolakis

This review is a part of the Palme d’Or Project: a review of every single Palme d’Or winner at Cannes Film Festival. The Eel won the forty second Palme d’Or at the 1997 festival, which it shared with Taste of Cherry.

The film was selected by the following jury.
Jury President: Isabelle Adjani.
Jury: Gong Li, Mira Sorvino, Paul Auster, Tim Burton, Luc Bondy, Patrick Dupond, Mike Leigh, Nanni Moretti, Michael Ondaatje.

When Shōhei Imamura's greatest film The Ballad of Narayama won the Palme d'Or over ten years previously, it felt like the congratulations for an auteur and an instant Japanese classic. Fast forward to 1997, and The Eel brings the director his second such win. This time, I chalk the win up to the Cannes jury identifying a very different film; The Eel certainly stands out amongst other crimes films. There's also the fact that it tied with Abbas Kiarostami's Taste of Cherry, so maybe the jury was divided between the hyper-depressing Iranian film and the eccentricity of The Eel. While I have to side in favour of Kiarostami's iconic film, I have to say that The Eel is interesting enough to hold its own, especially since it almost feels like a kooky approach to telling a story of awful events happening amidst terrible people (and those that wish to stray away from lives of sin).

Takuro murders his wife after being tipped off that she is cheating on him; he reports himself to the police after catching – and killing – her during the act of adultery. Once he is released and willing to restart his life, he opens a barbershop alongside the only being he can trust in this world anymore: an eel that he talks to. He refuses to get along with anyone else, including Keiko: a woman he saves from committing suicide who loves him unconditionally after the fact. I don't want to get too deeply into where The Eel goes from there, but Imamura sets up such an intricate web of plot points to bring out the worst of the characters present (outside of those who strive to be goof, like Keiko). I can't help but wonder why an eel was the choice of animal here, outside of perhaps there being a connection to their perceived ugliness whilst still being enjoyed as a dish of choice (as a sushi lover, I'm guilty). Maybe it's how eels are shunned by society until they're needed and exploited, very much like our two primary characters. I'm not sure, but for a film as raw and bold as The Eel, it's the hidden heart underneath that counts the most.

The Eel is certainly a strange film that defies many genres. It dips into full on crime mode at times, but only temporarily. It's also funny in a very quirky sense, which contrasts heavily with the more violent, dismal portions of the film. As a whole, its just a beautifully strange picture. You can watch snippets separately and may honestly believe these are segments from different films. Nope. Imamura gives you an entire palette of reactionary cinema in the duration of The Eel. I'd call it as bizarre as life itself (which it is in a sense), but it's also so much more interesting and out-there. It's definitely a more disjointed affair than something as solid as The Ballad of Narayama, but The Eel stands on its own as an oddball film that will keep you on your toes. I can't say I've seen many films as chaotically fluid as The Eel: a picture so varied yet treated as uniform. It's worth checking out in general, but an accolade like a Palme d'Or win feels very much of its time: you'll definitely feel affected when you first watch the film. As for me, I accept The Eel as time goes on, so while I still think it's quite a good offering, I'm not riding on that initial high. It's bonkers, cute, dangerous, and odd, but that first watch is the best watch.

Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Toronto Metropolitan University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.