The animal characters in Latvian director Gints Zilbalodis's 3DCG animated feature "Flow" see themselves in the mirror-like reflection of a puddle of water, which serves as the film's bookend. There is no dialogue in the film. Even for a film whose fundamental concept is communicating in pure cinematic terms, these images exude a profound gravitas. The journey between individualism and community is the sea that separates the two contemplative scenes.
The spirit of selfless cooperation and the essence of life shine through in Latvia's Oscar-nominated entry "Flow." The fable it tells is timeless thanks to its clear narrative, which also innovates and broadens the medium's visual immersion. "Flow" introduces us to a land devoid of people with the protagonist being an expressive black cat, who presumably had an adoring human owner. Evidence that they once inhabited this forest area exists, but we are likely observing a post-humanity timeline as the Earth heals itself from our transgressions.
The cat literally finds itself standing on its own island as water rises and floods everything in its path. The hero is forced to escape its cozy isolation and a giant statue of a cat that is almost completely submerged as a memorial to feline companions. Manmade structures disappearing underwater, swallowed by the ocean, convey an invitation to drowning one’s own ego, making room for a collective mindset as we face extinction. Later, the insignificance of human ambitions against nature is reinforced as a whale swims through the ruins of what once were the streets of a city.
The cat finds safety on a sailboat on which a lethargic capybara drifts through the flooded landscape. Soon, a perpetually jolly Labrador dog, a majestic secretary bird, and an unruly lemur join them.
The furry and feathered adventurers, who must rely on one another, appear to be guided in the distance by a series of low but high mountain peaks. Their relationships are put to the test and strengthened by little things like rubbing each other's noses, the kind act of sharing food, or, in higher-stakes situations, the choice to stand up to a group, risk violence, and disappear to protect an innocent new friend. The bird takes on a leadership position, asserting dominance communicated in its upright posture that stands high above the others. The way that each species moves reflects its personality. But the cat’s curiosity about its fellow travelers and its surroundings, with its large observant eyes,nourishes their bond.
Even though the events are meticulously planned down to the smallest detail, the fluid and enveloping movement of the camera through the bright surroundings gives the impression that they are taking place on their own. Zilbalodis's animation style captures the unpredictable nature of life with a stunning naturalism by following the creatures in long takes from the water to their boat without ever leaving their side. The artists' meticulous confection of the water's texture, architecture, and lush vegetation has an awe-inspiring effect that falls somewhere between painterly and lifelike. But don’t mistake this for the soulless hyperrealism of Disney’s “live-action” (but really hybrid and sometimes fully animated) adaptations of their hand-drawn masterpieces (2019’s “The Lion King” comes to mind as the most obscene example). The characters in “Flow” have a graphic, stylized quality to their design, particularly noticeable in how light interacts with the shade of color on their bodies.
Zilbalodis’ attention to the animals’ behaviors as they affect each other makes for a vibrant microcosm, a miniature society aboard their vessel where one entity’s actions have repercussions for the entire crew—such as allowing newcomers into their ecosystem. Conflict occurs from time to time, just like it does in any group, but Zilbalodis creates this diverse group of friends without fully anthropomorphizing them in order to embody the best of us. However, in a dream in which the cat sees a herd of deer running away from the raging water and in the manner in which it depicts death—the latter is one of the most singularly beautiful sequences of any movie this year the director goes beyond merely representing their interiority and inherent spirituality.
The score, co-written by Zilbalodis and composer Rihards Zaupe, sporadically used to supplement the rich soundscape that is so essential to engaging with this vivid realm. It resonates with sublime minimalism while increasing tension and tranquility. Making faces in a hand mirror found among the objects left behind by the boat’s former owners, the lemur seems to assert a sort of personhood, then selflessly shares that discovery with others. It’s as if these animals reflect the noble qualities within us; in their reflection, we have an opportunity to reflect as well. They are attempting to impart all of their unspoken wisdom on us by suggesting that the only way we can save ourselves is to view ourselves as a collective whole rather than as distinct factions waging war over insignificant issues. We will only have each other to help us get through the impending climate crisis and the many other catastrophes that affect our reality. The optimistic tone of "Flow" suggests that these storms won't last forever and that the deer will once more run around the forest freely. Life, in all its splendor and blameless tragedy, will, indeed, flow.
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