Flow and its profoud animation

“Of course you like Flow , Bill - the main character is an animated black cat,” you might say. 

Very true, that was my initial reaction, the movie post of a submerged, wide-eyed cat. Yet I can’t remember the last time a film moved me like Flow. There’s something much more profound transpiring in Flow. 

Through the flood that drives the movie, the boat eventually ferries the cat, a capybara, five dogs, a ring-tailed lemur, and a secretary bird. 

The cat is the main character, as we use its point of view for this world without humans and the calamity that emerges. We see what the cat sees, but we can only interpret how it sees the world based on the actions it takes. 

At times the world of Flow seems like ours, then other moments moved into surrealism. As our group of animals cross the waters, a giant whale roams close by. Not a whale of our world, but one that feels pulled from legend. The size of our POV creatures makes it seem even more massive. 

We the audience react as the animals do. We know nothing about the flood – caused by a storm or hurricane, a broken dam, whatever caused it, we don’t know. Nor do we know where the people have gone. The house where the cat safely sleeps prior to the flood seems to have been recently abandoned. The workshop cottage has sculptures of cats in the yard and drawings on a desk.

Directed and co-written by Gints Zilbalodis, who spent five years assembling the film, it’s the first Latvian film nominated for Best Animated Feature and Best International Feature. The movie has already won the Golden Globe for Best Animated Feature Film, beating some heavy hitters like Inside Out 2. 

Zilbalodis diverts from traditional animation, not just in the lack of dialogue, but in the actions of animals. The animals act mostly like animals. The anthropomorphic touch is deliberately light, and instinct prevails and derails the animals at inopportune times. 

If they take actions that seem human, they are done to survive. And sometimes the cat just has to knock the lemur’s shiny objects off a ledge. 

All the noises are from actual animals (only the capybara is changed, with baby camel noises subbing for its natural high-pitched squeaks). The dogs are easily distracted by possibly prey. The lemur chirps and hoards shiny trinkets, including a mirror that the animals fight over. The secretarybird becomes the sailboat’s silent captain. 

Sound keeps us moving as our little group of animals rises with the floodwaters. The score perfectly complements the animal noises. Crafted collaboration by Zilbalodis and composer Rihards Zaļupe, they pared down hours of music to the 50-minutes that bring additional texture to the movie. Several cues are unforgettable, such as the floods reach the cottage and the cat forced the climb a giant cat sculpture when escape becomes impossible. 

The cat and its companions face peril from the beginning. Before the flood, the same dogs hunt the cat at times. Law of the jungle prevails, even if there’s no talking animals to tell us so.  

There are several scenes near the end that cut deep with beauty and sadness. There is a sacrifice that comes from receding floodwaters. I won't discuss it, but its unlikely to leave dry eyes.

Zilbalodis wastes nothing – the deer, the secretarybirds, the mythic whale – all have their purpose in this tale.  

Flow gives few answers to the reams of questions it produces. And it doesn’t need to.