There’s a deceptive simplicity to Flow. The premise of this animated film seems familiar: A motley band of animals join together to survive a terrible threat. But part of what makes co-writer/director Gints Zilbalodis’ outing so sensational is its gentle rejection of American cartoon cliches.
While the premise of this movie might sound like Madagascar, Ice Age, A Bug’s Life, or Zootopia or any number of cutesy, kid-focused animated adventures, Flow refuses to turn its animals into wacky characters, perfectly suited for lunch boxes and plush toys. Zilbalodis’ hairy heroes don’t have big googly eyes or sport spiffy clothes. They aren’t voiced by A-lister actors. They don’t speak a human language at all. This gaggle of critters mew or moan or cluck or chitter. And they move not with an anthropomorphic flare, but with a realistic anatomy and act as their real-life cohorts might.
While Zilbalodis strives for authenticity in the physicality of his creatures, he rejects the photorealism of — for instance — Disney’s “live-action” remake of The Lion King. Instead, he creates Flow with a digital painting style that leans into the abstract. Every hair or feather or scale will not be dedicatedly rendered to awe the audience with the endeavor. His animals are made up of splotches of color that shift in light and shadow, effectively grounding them in an uncertain world that is wondrous, dangerous, and all theirs.
A breathtakingly beautiful to behold film, Flow tells a story that might well enchant children with its cuddly heroes, but it will rattle grown-ups who can understand the cause for their deadly dilemma.
Flow is a wordless tale of climate crisis.
This gorgeous film, which has been selected as Latvia’s submission for the Best International Feature Oscar, begins following a little black cat as it putters around a forest looking for food. Little clues suggest this has not always been an outdoor cat, like the cozy cabin surrounded by lovingly carved wooden statues of the feline’s likeness. But like the discarded tools and empty bed, the cat has been abandoned by whatever human once lived here. And in this regard, he’s not alone.
A pack of dogs made up of a mix of breeds frolic around the forest, learning how to clumsily catch fish in a nearby stream. It’s as if a dog park party went stray. But as Flow progresses and its animals come upon more and more handcrafted trinkets and architecture in ruins, it becomes clear this beguiling film is set in post-human times. Another major hint to this setting is the massive wall of water that forces the animals of the forest to flee to higher ground, and eventually onto deserted boats.
Flow is a parable of reluctant teamwork.
Credit: Courtesy of TIFF
The little cat scrambles onto a battered sailboat, where it is riled to discover a resting capybara. Reluctantly, the cat realizes this big but gentle rodent is no threat, and a motley crew of sailors begins to come together. A yammering lemur, whose tendency toward gathering baubles can be a risky compulsion, joins up. A majestic crane takes hold of the rudder. A tongue-wagging Golden Retriever hops aboard, eager to make new friends.
There’s an elegant pleasure in watching these unlikely animal friends grow close, and it’s impossible to overlook Zilbalodis’ dedication in keeping true to their natures. He doesn’t cheat these moments of growth; there’s pleasantly predictable bickering as the animals collide with each other’s quirks. For instance, the lemur lovingly lays out his loot on the boat’s seat, which attracts the cat, who naturally swats a treasure to the ground, much to the lemur’s annoyance. But as moments of crisis — be it a predator on the horizon or an obstacle in their path — arise, these animals snap to attention and slowly but surely learn to trust each other.
Visually, it’s richly rewarding, as Zilbalodis paints a pretty world destroyed and yet alive with hope and hard-won harmony. It’s heart-warming, as we witness these creatures (who are in some cases natural enemies) band together not just for a common goal, but ultimately a common bond. And because Zilbalodis rejects so many expectations of animated animals — from their appearance to their movements and their noises — Flow has an exciting spontaneity, as if truly anything could happen. And what ultimately does is epic and emotional.
Refusing to pander to its audience, Flow is an animated adventure that is poignant, unique, absolutely gorgeous, and a must-see. While it should safely snag that Best International Feature spot, the American studios should be more worried about its chances in Best Animated Feature.
Flow was reviewed out of the 2024 Toronto International Film Festival. The movie will open in theaters in the U.S. on Nov. 22.
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