FLOW (2024)

The proverb ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’ has reigned true since its inception for a reason, as so much can be said with visuals alone. Just look at the fine arts. Painters have been using imagery to relay records of history and narratives, whether pre-existing or custom, and ideas, whether political, psychological, or philosophical, for many centuries, and this practice has yet to die. Painters still exist, conveying what they believe to be of the utmost importance with unyielding fervour; however, this practice has evolved into the cinematic medium—a medium where paintings come to life as moving images.

The same foundational rules apply regarding form, chiaroscuro, composition, space, colour theory, and whatnot, which makes taking the plunge from linseed to nitrate, acetate, and polyester a lot easier. The world of cinema is vast, and many genres exist within it, yet the one genre that is more painterly than the rest, in my opinion, is animation, and as an artist, I just happen to have an affinity towards it. I love how the potential and possibilities within the genre are endless, as proven by many films within its defining criteria, such as Fantasia (1940), Akira (1988), and Spirited Away (2001), and films continue to be released that keep the fires of ratification burning, such as Gints Zilbalodis’ new film Flow / Straume.

Flow is pleasing to the eyes. Its artistry is reminiscent of the artistic graphical style employed by Fumito Ueda in games such as The Last Guardian, Shadow of the Colossus, and Ico, but it feels two to three notches more cel-shaded while also appearing more animated in terms of presentation and movement. There’s this matte-like sheen that rests on top of everything within the film, yet the chroma of things in the film’s world isn’t compromised, not even in the slightest. Its use of chiaroscuro feels natural, as though it were a perfect emulation of nature; not an ounce of artificial light bloom can be seen, thank goodness. This was an immense relief to me, as how bloom is used within contemporary media, both animations and video games, is overwhelming, sucking the richness of chroma out of everything it touches, making everything appear almost flat and lifeless. Even the way water is presented and animated flows (heh) so naturally, yet visually it maintains the film’s artistic identity. Flow’s visuals are incredibly impressive and captivating. They washed over me with ease, dragging me into its current, which carried me into Zilbalodis’ constructed world.

Flow’s world is an interesting one. It’s indicative of our own, showcasing fields of luscious greenery and vegetation and vast bodies of water stretching as far as the eye can see. All seems to be in place, except there’s not a human in sight. Humanity, to what we’re allowed to see, has been long gone. What remains is their afterimage—glimpses of their ingenuity via the form of art and architecture. The earth is desolate of higher forms of consciousness, and what remains is animal life, fending for themselves in what little resources they can find. Flow is an absurdity for overcoming adversity, no matter how profound, and the film gives us a taste of what’s in store within the first few minutes.

A black cat roams the wild in search of food when a pack of wild dogs emerges from the woods in search of the same; that is until they spot the black cat, which then leads to a display of survival of the fittest. In a nostalgic sense, Flow reminds me of a PlayStation 3 game I used to play many years ago titled Tokyo Jungle in that it concerns itself with a world without human life where animals dominate the streets of Tokyo, enduring the hardships of the food chain as they attempt to survive.

Flow’s Sisyphean focus expands from here, as the world is stricken by a massive, biblical-like flood that consumes most of the earth, which leads these animals, including the black cat, in search of refuge to navigate this newly born geoscape. It’s at this moment that the world of Flow goes from a mirror of our very own to one of a fantastical nature, as a creature that looks both prehistoric and magical emerges from the depths of the ocean while eldritch beings, although unseen, exist somewhere within a space these animals can perceive—a decision from both director and writer Zilbalodis and writer Matiss Kaza meant to illustrate the profundity of danger associated with the unknown.

Despite this fantastical element, the film remains grounded for one simple reason: the animals aren’t personifications of humans, nor do they speak a language understood by us, the audience; they speak and behave as animals do. There isn’t an ounce of dialogue in Flow, just vocalisations in an attempt to address one another as they work together to traverse a seemingly endless ocean. This is when the absurdist nature of the film takes a charming approach in direction, as its focus on facing the absurd, as the absurd man would, is made all the easier and more probable with companionship. Singular animals in the film’s absurd-stricken world meet or reconvene and form a Darwinian guild. They work together and interact with one another, sometimes through objects within their environment, but these interactions aren’t always pleasant. It’s quite an interesting take on portraying animals in an animated film that are simultaneously the protagonists; however, this grounded approach towards a fantastical absurdist odyssey of sorts is hampered by the film’s flaws.

At times, Flow feels a bit inorganic regarding its animal protagonists and how specific events play out. The slew of animals on board this abandoned ship functions like a well-oiled machine, but their collective functionality occurs without any moments of adjustment; they just automatically work harmoniously from the jump. One animal fishes, the other steers the boat, the other spots other potential animals, etc.

It’s as though instead of fully committing to displaying these animals as animals, especially with how they interact with one another, both Zilbalodis and Kaza only show these animals behaving naturally in select moments, such as the golden retriever being overtly friendly, not minding their personal space, being absent-minded, and mimicking the behaviour of others they like, while the remainder of the time (moments that are most convenient to advance the screenplay and to facilitate the film’s themes) they behave as humans. This lack of adherence to its characterisation limitations is selective, which just comes off as lazy to me. If they wanted to have some animals act as though they had qualities reflective of humans, then Zilbalodis and Kaza should have had one or two primates thrown into the mix instead. That would have felt a lot more organic, especially when it comes to operating man-made devices and vessels, like the boat they’re on.

Now, regarding how certain events play out, the cast of animals, especially the black cat, are struck by absurdity, whether falling off the side of the boat and not having enough energy to swim to the surface due to a lack of nourishment or being snatched by an animal that is higher on the food chain, yet the script relies heavily on employing the use of deus ex machina to resolve these issues. This reliance also adds to the laziness of the writers’ approach towards advancing the script and facilitating the film’s themes, yet how it should be approached is with moments that feel more organic given Flow’s narrative focus and premise.

These moments of contrivance for the sake of advancement and facilitation don’t outright kill the film for me; however, they do hinder my overall enjoyment of it. Like its animation, the script for Flow should flow (tee-hee) as smoothly as water, yet these forced, lethargic, and uninspired decisions act as an obstruction, like a dam, keeping the script from moving as it should. One can argue that the writer’s decision to rely on writing conveniences shouldn’t be an issue as long as they facilitate its thematic focus, but I’d argue that there are more organic ways of achieving their goal. Despite its flaws, however, the film’s ending did make up for whatever conflicting feelings I had with the writing, as it utilised a cyclical-based narrative concept within public consciousness and employed it through the limitless potential of animation.

Flow was a breath of fresh air regarding animation and work within the medium as a whole. It’s not every day that a filmmaker has the chops and confidence to release a film with no dialogue. The last, if my memory serves correctly, was Phil Tippett’s Mad God (2021), which was a breathtaking visual tour de force and an incredible film overall. I would like to see more films like Flow, as so much can be said with visuals alone. Hopefully, films like Mad God and Flow will inspire filmmakers of the future to take that creative plunge to breathe fresh air into the contemporary cinematic climate on a more consistent basis.

LATVIA • BELGIUM • FRANCE | 2024 | 85 MINUTES | 2.00:1 | COLOUR

Cast & Crew

director: Gints Zilbalodis.
writers: Gints Zilbalodis & Matīss Kaža.