A black cat must learn to coexist with other animals after a devastating flood in this animated film from Latvia.
A lot of animated films from foreign countries like to rely on visual storytelling to communicate their ideas; from Studio Ghibli’s overlooked gem The Red Turtle to last year’s Spanish Oscar-nominated feature Robot Dreams. The country of Latvia is in the Baltic region of Europe, and its submission for the Best International Feature Film category at this year’s Oscars is another remarkable entry in the canon; that being Gints Zilbalodis’ Flow, and the results of this film amount to a special emotional journey driven by stellar animation and lyrical storytelling.
Told entirely without dialogue, Flow follows a black cat (hereinafter referred to as ‘Cat’) living a peaceful life as a model for a never-seen sculptor of cat statues. Like most felines, Cat is comfortable living in vanity on his own, albeit with selfishness that’s established early on when he steals a fish from a pack of dogs after two of the canines inadvertently knock it over to the feline during a scuffle. Cat feels safe following the ensuing chase, only for a great flood to catastrophically destroy his home and leave him helpless and alone.
Just when Cat’s fate appears to be sealed, however, a giant sailboat piloted by a capybara (best described as a beaver without a tail) floats into his vision, and he is quick to jump aboard. They are soon joined by a white secretarybird, a lemur, and a Labrador Retriever from the aforementioned dog pack, while a helpful whale follows from behind as the land animals search for a new home on higher ground, learning to coexist with each other on their grand adventure.
Flow is Gints Zilbalodis’ first collaboration with a team of animators after animating his 2019 feature Away by himself, outsourcing production to animators in France and Belgium. The combined results of his multinational team and his own Latvian animation studio serve Flow by giving it an inherent sense of encouragement within its narrative, starting in the script where the animals’ progression is written via a naturalist and endearing intent; from how they each comprehend the steering mechanism of their vessel with realistic baby steps, to how they learn to better themselves from each other.
Some lessons see Cat improving his swimming abilities with help from the semi-aquatic capybara and standing on his hind legs to mimic the secretarybird, as well as a humorous instance where the Labrador tries to imitate Cat’s downward duck stretch following a nap. Flow also excels within the realm of visual storytelling through its method of giving each animal a personality trait representative of a different survival instinct during a crisis. The lemur is desperate to gather all the possessions he can’t leave behind, the secretarybird demonstrates nobility by putting his boat mates before himself when pleading to his flock of birds to spare them, the labrador yearns for independence, and Cat just wants comfort among the chaos.
The mannerisms of each animal are created through an uncanny attention to detail that makes each character move and react just like their real life counterparts, such as the way Cat runs from the canines hunting him at the start of Flow, and the growth of Cat’s fascinated pupils when the lemur’s constant movement of a mirror creates a light reflection he wants to chase, not unlike a laser pointer. It’s also worth noting that a unique texture allows for Cat and his friends to stand out amongst the gorgeously rendered 3D environments through which they venture; some examples include a flooded ancient-appearing city that adds a lifelike shadow to the boat’s sail, and a frightening storm that adds tension to their quest at hand with its authentic photorealism.
The ingenious camerawork also follows Cat in long, unbroken takes that put him at the same stature as his allies, and show the haunting wonder of his world as nature takes its course. One of the most powerful scenes in Flow is when the camera circles around a giant cat statue while Cat climbs up to the top in order to save itself from being submerged in the water level rising around it, accentuated by the building swell of Zilbalodis’ musical score for added poignancy. It all crescendos together to convey Cat’s inner peril over the destruction of his home and internal realization of his own triviality in nature’s grand scheme.
Anxious pet owners may not be able to neither handle the dangerous situations their favorite animal has to brave on their journey nor confront the sad reality about our insignificance against the environmental unpredictability the world is currently facing. Flow is a film that proposes what our planet could look like at a time where animals have Earth to themselves after humanity’s extinction, conjures thoughts about our mortality and suggests our fight to survive a changing climate is a tiring and ceaseless one.
But Flow handles all those themes through affecting poignancy and gracious nuance, successfully appealing to audiences of all ages. Kids will be endeared by the unique personalities of all the animals looking for a new home, awestruck in wonder over the beautiful animation, and come away with a better appreciation for nature, while adults will get the messages of hope about nature’s capacity for kindness amongst animals, and by extension, our capacity for camaraderie, as well as our collective power against uncertainty.
After all, if one person can collaborate with animators across three countries on Blender, a free-to-download animation program, and if a band of animals from different walks of life can coexist after a disaster, then we can find a solution to save our planet. All it takes is to keep an eye on the weather, and on each other. Hug your loved ones, both human and animal, and take everyone to see Flow, because it’s a masterpiece of animation, and one of the year’s best films.