Flow

Movie Review

It was Cat’s world.

Cat knew it, because the world was covered in … well, cats. Cat sculptures dotted the green, tree-covered hills next to the house. A cat carving stood unfinished on the table. A small remove from the rest, a gigantic cat head loomed above all, towering like a blind idol.

But that was before the waters came.

Cat had just snatched a fish from a clutch of distracted dogs. Cat had led them on a frantic chase, weaving through trees, under logs, over green moss. Cat lost them finally. And when Cat found them again, they were still running—away. They gave Cat a disinterested glance and kept running.

Then the deer. Running, running, running.

Then the waters. Running, rushing, flooding.

Cat statues dipped beneath the waters. The house. The trees.

Now, Cat stands on the top of the head of the gigantic cat—for so long the land’s looming protector—as the waters still rise.

Cat’s world? No longer. This is the water’s realm now, an ocean swallowing the world in its clear, dripping maw.

But—there. A boat! A wooden-hulled, orange-sailed boat! Floating just close enough.

Cat hates water. Of course. But it’ll be in water over its head soon enough, so it begins swimming toward the boat, bobbing and floating.

Cat reaches, claws its way up the hull. It pulls itself in and—

What in the world is that?

Positive Elements

That just happens to be a capybara, a massive rodent. And this capybara is about the most chill rodent you’ll ever lay eyes on. He’s not easily rattled: He (and we’ll call him “he” for now, though gender is indeterminate for all the animals we meet here) will happily paddle about in the rising waters. He’ll casually nip off a bunch of bananas for lunch. And napping? He loves napping.

But perhaps the thing that really sets Capybara apart is his kindness. As more animals join the boat (including a lemur, a secretarybird and one of those pesky dogs), Capybara does his best to make them feel at home. He quietly rescues the drowning. He offers a low-key gift or two. If there’s one animal in this boat who smooths its own relational waters, it’s Capybara.

But as the waters rise during this strange journey, so does the kindness.

When the dog—a golden labrador, perhaps—joins the crew, it is nothing but kind, much to Cat’s chagrin. Dog desperately wants to make friends with Cat, but Cat isn’t having it. And when Cat runs into a terrifying secretarybird, Cat’s pretty sure the thing is going to try to kill Cat and eat it. But instead, the bird drops a fish in front of Cat as a little gift. And when a flock of secretarybirds does make moves to harm Cat, the feline’s new feathered friend protects Cat—much to its own peril.

Cat, and a lemur who soon joins this motley crew, are the boat’s most prickly passengers. Lemur is obsessed with his own collection of treasures that he jealously guards. And Cat just wants to be left alone. (It was once Cat’s world, after all; can’t a cat just get a little peace and quiet?) But even they discover the value of community and of friendship. Soon, Cat is swimming (that’s right; swimming!) to catch fish for its friends.

And Cat even implores Secretarybird to pick up a few more stranded animals—animals that Cat couldn’t stand just a while before. Before the movie is over, all will have a chance to sacrifice for one another on this strange, shared adventure.

Spiritual Elements

Flow has no dialogue, and everyone we meet here is an animal: If any of them have a sense of faith, they literally aren’t talking about it.

But in one scene, we see a strange, swirling, colorful sky—one that pulls a couple of our characters upward into its chromatic folds. And while one character gently heads back (is sent back?) to earth, another is taken up, up and up, until it vanishes into an unexplained light.

Sexual & Romantic Content

None.

Violent Content

Secretarybird fights with a bigger one of its fellows, their battle a series of nips and hits far in the air. When the two avians finally descend, the victor (not our Secretarybird) steps on the loser’s head and somehow commands its associates to injure, and perhaps break, Secretarybird’s wing. The injury doesn’t seem to be that painful, but it certainly prevents Secretarybird from flying particularly well.

An animal falls to the deck with a thump, knocking the critter out for a bit. A mirror breaks. Animals fight and tussle, while dogs growl and threaten others. Several fish lose their lives.

Flow carries plenty of additional peril, as well. Stormy seas lash the boat, seemingly trying to throw unsuspecting critters out of it. Sometimes it even succeeds; and Cat in particular seems susceptible to nearly drowning. The animals also see the wreckage of many a small boat like theirs—detritus thrashed atop the frothing waters. When the water first rushes over the land, it rushes with a violence unmatched, threatening many an animal as it does so.

[Spoiler Warning] A strange, magnificent whale glides throughout much of Flow—sometimes inexplicably saving characters or, at other times, simply inspiring awe. At the movie’s end, when the waters recede, Cat finds a (the?) whale, beached and breathing its last, it would seem. Cat stays to comfort the animal; as we watch Cat, we listen to the whale’s breath simply stop, off camera. (We should note that, after the credits, we see a whale magnificently cruising through an unspoiled ocean, perhaps indicating it wasn’t the end for the whale after all.)

Crude or Profane Language

None.

Drug & Alcohol Content

None.

Other Noteworthy Elements

Before the flood, Cat watches with disgust when one of those pesky dogs raises a hind leg and apparently urinates on a cat statue.

Animals can act selfishly and callously.

One final note here: The waters that cover Cat’s world (and much of the rest of the observable world, too) don’t feel like they’re part of an environmental fable: They, like the rush of fate and chaos and life itself, simply arrive, and the animals we see must deal with them. But we should also point out that the world of Flow seems to be without a hint of surviving humankind. Their relics remain. But men and women themselves? They are simply gone.

Conclusion

Most movies are constructs, the product of many hands and built to entertain. Nothing wrong with that: You need a solid construct to hang a story on, after all.

But sometimes, a movie comes along that feels less like a product and more like a painting—the story formed with gossamer strokes of color and line, a canvas filled with meaning and mystery.

Flow is just such a film. This Latvian film takes us on a journey that feels both surreal and universal. The animals at its center act like animals. And yet, through them, we see a hint of us in their vanities, their curiosities, their selfishness, their sacrifice.

Flow gives us a land where South American capybaras sail alongside African secretarybirds; where human artifacts are everywhere but humanity is nowhere; where the sky opens up and welcomes one home, embracing we earthbound viewers in arms of swirling color.

Flow says, literally, nothing at all. And yet, you might be left thinking about it, and its unspoken messages, for days after.

Another paradox: Flow is appropriate for kids—at least kids who can deal with a certain amount of peril and tolerance for ambiguity. It’s pretty funny in places, and the animals are surely adorable. Even the standoffish secretarybird has a certain charm. The story also comes with surprisingly resonant messages about kindness and community. And any huge content problems were apparently washed away in the floods. We see a bit of bathroom humor, some bad animal behavior and … that’s about it.

But while appropriate for kids, it’s not necessarily made for them. Its story is curious and languid. Its music is beautiful, but not something you’ll sing along to in the car. (With no words, how could you?) Flow is not designed for toymakers to sell bazillions of plush capybaras (though, admittedly, I might buy one). I can’t imagine cross-promotional partnerships with book publishers or cereal companies. And honestly, if someone ever made a prequel explaining why this world is as it is, I might just cry a little.

Because in Flow, the mystery is part of its beauty. The ability that we have to consider our own lives in the context of a bunch of floating animals is part of its power.

And in the end—perhaps appropriately so—words can’t quite do justice to Flow.