You don’t have to be a feline obsessive to fall in love with this magical and unique animated adventure about a cat surviving in the post-apocalyptic world.
I no longer care about the Oscars like I used to, but the success of this Latvian feature, made by a small team on a minuscule budget with the help of the free open-source 3D software, was a genuinely heartwarming story, demonstrating that originality and creativity can still break through and be rewarded. After finally catching it at the cinema, I can see why this movie won hearts and got the top prize over juggernauts like Disney and DreamWorks. More than just a cute story about a cat, it’s quite unlike any other animated movie I’ve seen.
One thing that instantly sets Flow apart is the complete absence of dialogue as it follows its chief protagonist, a nameless dark grey cat. The cat spends most of his time in a lush, verdant forest, but he has a safe home to return to, a house that once belonged to a cat-obsessed sculptor, as evidenced by the cat sculptures of various sizes scattered around the place, including an unfinished giant statue towering like a sentinel.
The cat’s solitary existence is interrupted by a natural disaster: rapidly rising waters that swallow up the house and the surrounding forests. A last-minute rescue arrives in the shape of a sailboat, but the cat is not too pleased to discover that he must share the boat with another passenger, a preternaturally laid-back and chilled-out capybara. As the sailboat drifts through the flooded landscape, it acquires more eclectic company: a jolly Labrador Retriever, a quintessential Good Boy who just wants be friends with everybody; a materialistic lemur obsessed with collecting and admiring man-made trinkets; and a majestic, enigmatic secretary bird.
Flow is distinctive for its depiction of animals, which lies somewhere in between total naturalism and animals as stands-in for humans we see in most animated movies. Sometimes its heroes display abilities and emotions clearly beyond those of real-life animals, but these moments blend seamlessly with the finely observed, minutely detailed realistic behavior and physicality. As someone who’s lived with cats for most of my life, I recognised every flattened ear, every arched back and luxurious stretch, those crazy dilated pupils when the excitement takes over, the wariness and caution and the innate grace. Animals of Flow make moral choices, but there are also times when their primal animal instincts simply take over.
The movie has a unique visual style, which some people described as a video game cutscene; though I haven’t played a new video game in over twenty years I can see how the immersive quality of Flow might feel close to the immersive nature of video games. The gorgeously detailed greenery and architecture often seems almost lifelike, and at times contrasts with the more crudely realised animal shapes, which curiously doesn’t detract in the slightest. The fluid camera movement throughout creates an effect of spontaneity, and makes you feel like you’re experiencing the unpredictability of life along with the animals.
There is an eerie, melancholy undertow in Flow, heightened by its atmospheric score and the unexplained mysteries of its world left to the viewer’s interpretations. There are no humans in sight, unless you count a gigantic statue of a man with its face and hand just above the waters, and we’re given no answers as to how and why the human race disappeared. It is impossible to pinpoint the exact time period, or explain how the animals inhabiting different continents could all end up in the same place. There are ruins of long-abandoned cities and temples, and a hint of something supernatural and spiritual in the film’s most beautiful, transcendent scene.
Despite its brisk storytelling and ever-present tension, Flow is aptly named as it possesses an almost meditative quality. It doesn’t hammer in its message about the fragility of the environment, value of connection and empathy, working together to survive, stepping outside your comfort zone and learning to adapt; it has plenty of heart and sentiment without being sentimental. It is pure visual storytelling that I found utterly charming and enchanting.
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