A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness / The Eel

The peaks and valleys of Japanese cinema left plenty of filmmakers behind. The shifts from theaters to television to DTV and back again reflected an industry chasing money rather than any artistic endgame. Directors like Seijun Suzuki and Shohei Imamura, who launched their careers during the height of the studio system at Nikkatsu, found themselves out of fashion after only a decade or so. But critical reappraisal of their early work gave both a second shot at the success that had eluded them the first time around.

Seijun Suzuki’s A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness (1977) was his first theatrical feature in a decade, bridging the gap between his earlier stylized action pictures and the art-film renaissance still to come. Reiko (Yoko Shiraki) is a rising star in the world of women’s golf, so much so that a fashion company handpicks her to become their top model and spokesperson. But Reiko’s ascent attracts the attention of a rabid fan (Kyoko Enami), whose obsession escalates into blackmail, forcing Reiko to become her “best friend.” Pulled in all directions at once, Reiko’s fame becomes a deadly handicap.

Unlike anything else in Suzuki’s catalog, Sorrow and Sadness somehow still manages to be distinctly his own. His use of color — both literal and symbolic — draws a recognizable throughline from the comic-book violence of his earlier work. But the story and structure are something brand-new… and not entirely successful. It’s only with the introduction of Mrs. Sendo, whose jealousy sparks increasingly outrageous attempts to steal Reiko’s life, that the film finds a truly compelling character to follow. If Suzuki’s career was a Venn diagram, this one would land right at the center, which kind of makes it essential all by itself.

Shohei Imamura’s The Eel (1997) is an intentionally offbeat melodrama, blending contemporary indie eccentricities with something like Northern Exposure–style charm. Released from prison just eight years after the brutal murder of his wife, Yamashita (Koji Yakusho) retreats to a quiet village and opens a barbershop. But his solitude is interrupted by Keiko (Misa Shimizu), another lost soul with skeletons in her closet. The two develop a working relationship that seems destined to blossom into full-blown romance — until the past comes back to haunt them both.

Alternately light and breezy with an edge of penitence and remorse, The Eel struggles to balance its serious themes with its attempts at commercial appeal. The “will-they-or-won’t-they” romance is charming, despite the fact that Yamashita killed his former lover with a carving knife. His self-imposed emotional isolation, embodied by his pet eel (hence the title), seems a small price to pay for such a crime. But Imamura makes guilt and regret the true heart of the story, condemning those whose empty prayers and graveside flowers do all the talking. The Eel may miss its philosophical target by a hair, but its message of love, forgiveness, and friendship is worthy enough on its own.

Each film is available separately on limited-edition (3000 copy) Blu-ray from Radiance Films. A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness features an audio commentary, an interview, improved subtitles, and a collector’s booklet. The Eel includes two versions of the film — the theatrical cut and the extended director’s cut — along with two interviews, a video essay, improved subtitles, and another collector’s booklet.