Flow

The animated film is transcendent and a must-watch

An animated Latvian film with no dialogue, following a nameless cat as it survives a biblical flood, might sound like cliché cinephile catnip. Yet, Flow is a very real film—one that has arrived in theaters and is making waves both on and off the screen as one of the most unique animated experiences in recent memory.

Flow follows a black cat inhabiting a world seemingly abandoned by humanity. Traces of civilization remain—statues, homes, and temples crumbling as nature slowly reclaims them. When a cataclysmic flood strikes the cat’s forest, it is forced to collaborate with five disparate animals aboard a drifting sailboat in a desperate bid for survival.

The film marks the second feature from Gints Zilbalodis, who wears multiple creative hats—writing, editing, composing, producing, and overseeing cinematography. Flow boasts a watercolor-matte animation style that sets it apart from most contemporary animated films. However, Zilbalodis also employs computer animation, giving the film a three-dimensional quality that allows for sweeping, long takes. He takes full advantage of animation’s freedom, crafting immersive sequences that move seamlessly in and out of water and soar through the air for extended five-to-ten-minute stretches. This dynamic camerawork heightens the film’s survivalist stakes, making the audience feel as adrift and vulnerable as its protagonists.

Structurally, Flow follows a familiar apocalyptic narrative: a group of unlikely survivors must band together to journey from point A to point B. Yet, it delves far deeper than typical doomsday fare, weaving in biblical allegories, warnings about climate change, transcendentalist philosophy, and critiques of humanity’s materialism, selfishness, and culture of individualism. While this might sound like a dense thematic load, the film is a crisp 84 minutes, using simplicity rather than complexity to convey its ideas.

The absence of dialogue is one of Flow's greatest strengths, forcing it to rely entirely on visual storytelling and sound design to distinguish its characters and communicate its themes. This ambiguity allows for multiple interpretations—if you were to see Flow with a group of friends, each of you might walk away with a different understanding of what the film is truly about. At its most basic, Flow functions as a literal survival story, making it an engaging watch for children while offering existential musings for adults.

What makes Flow remarkable is how much it accomplishes with so little. By the time the credits roll, each of the animals has a distinct personality, complete with contradictions, flaws, and moments of empathy. Yet, Zilbalodis never anthropomorphizes them—there are no speaking animals here. Instead, the film relies on screeches, growls, and natural animal behaviors to convey emotions and relationships. Flow exemplifies Denis Villeneuve’s often-debated belief that cinema should rely on visual storytelling rather than dialogue. This philosophy, championed decades earlier by Charles Chaplin, who continued making silent films even after sound became standard in the early 1930s, highlights how dialogue can sometimes serve as a crutch rather than a necessity.

Flow is a deeply thought-provoking film, brimming with empathy, pathos, and a stripped-down simplicity that makes it accessible to viewers of all backgrounds. For animation enthusiasts looking for a hidden gem, it will undoubtedly evoke comparisons to The Red Turtle (2016), though with a more pared-down narrative and subtler symbolism. The result is one of the most transporting, surprising, and unique cinematic experiences in recent years.

9.5/10