Flow
Directed by Gints Zilbalodis
Rated PG
Runtime: 85 minutes
In theaters November 22

by Carmen Paddock, Staff Writer 

A menagerie escaping a cataclysmic flood in a wooden boat is not exactly original material, but echoing one of the formative myths of many cultures and religions is a time-honoured storytelling tradition. Flow follows a black cat who lives a solitary existence in a forest; it sleeps in a house, and there are cat statues of all sizes in the surrounding fields and woods, but there is no sign of fellow felines or humans. After startling encounters with a pack of feral dogs, flock of secretary birds, and herd of deer, a flood sweeps the world as these animals know it away. The cat ends up on a boat with a capybara, picking up a lemur, a labrador, and a secretary bird along the way.

Aside from the Old Testament, another comparison Flow might evoke is with 2022’s video game Stray, also following a lone feline in a post-apocalyptic world. However, the similarity is superficial, with Flow being more concerned with survival, fellowship, and discovery of a changed natural world while Stray is more based around quests and mysteries set in the almost-ruins of a city. Stray, furthermore, looks far more photorealistic, fitting standards in modern gaming. In Flow, the graphics are not photorealistic–the best comparison that comes to mind is of early light demos for the PlayStation 3–yet Flow is all the better for this. The slightly retro feel and focus on adventure over cutting-edge design puts viewers right behind the (very big, very expressive) eyes of its tiny hero. 

Gints Zilbalodis wears many hats in this production–director, co-writer, editor, director of photography, production designer, and co-composer–and ensures an even-handed coherency across the project. With art director Léo Silly Pélissier, Flow embraces a simplicity and vividness that prove engrossing, keeping the focus on the cat and his experience in a big, wide, sometimes dangerous world at the fore. There are only a couple moments of zooming out to show the wider world, when necessary to understand the world beyond the cat’s limited comprehension. 

There is no dialogue in Flow, the story unfolds through the cat’s wanderings and animals’ interactions as disaster strikes. The animal noises were recorded from life, though according to IMDb trivia the capybara’s noises are actually a baby camel, as a real capybara’s noises do not with the calm demeanour of this film’s on-screen rodent. While a certain degree of anthropomorphisation is expected from a film featuring no dialogue and only animal characters, there are moments when their “animal nature” comes through to upset the balance of their journey. However counterproductive they might be to their survival, the whimsy and truth of watching a cat attack a tail or a reflection keeps the tone light and charming. 

Flow might be essential children’s viewing to grapple with anxieties around climate change. Zilbalodis never shys away from the potential horrors nature can inflict but Flow insists that, no matter what external differences exist, a path to survival and community is always possible. Even if the world is forever changed, hardship can be overcome. Almost guaranteed to bring a tear to the eyes of animal lovers, Flow’s inventive and accessible storytelling and visual style–along with a charming animal cast and mesmeric score–mark it as one of the year’s best animated films.