Flow

Released 2024. Director: Gints Zilbalodis

WITHOUT WARNING, THE TRANQUILITY of an idyllic countryside is shattered in an instant. A catastrophic flood sweeps over the landscape, pushing through meadows and forests as a herd of deer race towards safety. If we see people scrambling or being washed away this would undoubtedly be a typical scene out of a disaster movie. Except, there are no humans. Not at this moment, not in the entire movie.

A grey cat is our guide as we follow its amazing journey to stay alive. Cat is clearly a domestic pet accustomed to safety, comfort and food on demand. At the start of the movie we see Cat wandering by the river before being chased by some dogs and finds its way back home to curl up in bed. For reasons not explained, all the people have gone. Perhaps they’ve been warned of an impending tsunami and evacuated in a hurry. This could even be a post-apocalyptic, post-human world. Looking at the assortment of cat sculptures around the house we can assume that whoever used to live here really adores cats and our hero has not been purposely abandoned to a cruel death.

If cats had nine lives, this particular one will surely tap into its reserve just to get through the next few days. Perched on the highest point (the tip of an ear of a giant cat sculpture) to escape the rising water, Cat clambers onto a passing sailboat already occupied by a capybara. The two animals stake their own corner with an awareness of greater danger outside this small space. Along the way they are joined by a labrador, a lemur and a secretary bird. Somehow these animals, who have no business being together, end up in a sailboat. I was reminded immediately of Life of Pi where a shipwrecked boy finds himself in a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger, an orang utan, a hyena and a zebra, and like the boy, I instinctively begin to prescribe human traits on the animals.

Whether we treat these characters for what they are – animals behaving intuitively in response to the environment – or anthropomorphise them, the actions of these animals show us how different species are able to quickly adapt to work together in the face of extinction. It’s an appeal as well as a critique to collaborate as our environment faces ongoing threats that will soon put us in the same boat just like these animals, if we’re lucky.

Cat is the most perceptive of the lot, picking up on the traits of its new buddies quickly. Cat also learns very quickly to catch fish and in a display of peace and rapport, brings food to the other animals onboard. The initially uneasy caution, when each animal finds its own safe space, soon dissolves into an awareness of mutual dependency and culminates in a Herculean effort to rescue one of their mates when the boat is caught in a precarious position.

Besides Cat’s nurturing instincts, we also see Dog’s playfulness, Lemur’s fascination with its own reflection in a handheld mirror, Capybara’s blasé reaction to disasters and the majestic Secretary Bird’s sacrifice to protect Cat from its own flock.

It is interesting to note that in reality, besides cats and dogs, these animals live in different parts of the world and certainly not someplace where auroras shimmer across the night sky, as seen in the movie. Incongruities such as these help to make this a fable not confined to a specific place or time and therefore more universal.

There’s also a fantasy element most noticeably with the sight of monolithic peaks above the horizon, as if beckoning the survivors like some homing beacon. When two of the animals make it to the site, it’s a magical, dreamlike moment of farewell, the concept of death implicitly understood.

Near the end, Cat comes across a dying whale beached and stranded as the water level recedes. It’s not normal behaviour for a tiny cat to approach an unfamiliar animal many times its size, but it’s classic cat behaviour to demonstrate friendliness when it gives you a gentle head bump. I’m pretty sure this is the storyteller’s intention to show us Cat saying thank-you to the whale for saving its life earlier. Small moments like these surface inconspicuously, signalling kindness, empathy and optimism expressed in modest gestures, as the adventure moves on in a natural flow.

Not only is there no human in the story, there’s also no narration. Flow is entirely free of dialogue, utilising only sounds of nature and real animals. The picture-book, watercolour style of the animation is a nod to Hayao Miyazaki. In quieter moments the visuals are immersive, at times misty when the soft light of day bathes the landscape. In moments of frantic action the “camera” races along the animals in almost 3D realism. Flow is certainly the most gorgeous disaster movie. I was also surprised that a survival story with only meows, barks, shrieks and croaks and a complete absence of human voices felt like a cleansing experience. 

Flow is not a product of any of the major animation studio and comes out of Latvia, a country people don’t associate much with mainstream filmmaking. Gints Zilbalodis, who not only directed but also co-wrote, produced and edited the feature, gives his animation an expansive, kinetic style with long takes following our furry and feathered friends through moments of peril as well as calm. The expressive characterisation (each animal establishes discernible attributes), the simplicity and purity of its storytelling and its theme of universal empathy give the movie an abiding quality. Not to mention as a survival tale it is also vivid and riveting. This is the best animated feature of the year and we could be looking at an Oscar going to Latvia for the first time.

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