Review: It's a joy to go with [the] Flow

During yesterday afternoon's Q&A after a screening of Flow at the AMC 16 in Burbank, director Gints Zilbalodis mentioned that one of his major influences is Fumito Ueda, the director and lead designer of video games like Ico and Shadow of the Colossus. It makes so much. Zilbalodis's previous feature, Away, felt like watching a video game being played (in the best possible way) -- a hero makes his way through a mysterious and fantastical world, facing various obstacles and a monstrous presence. It was a stunning achievement, made all the more impressive by the fact that he made it himself! 

Flow, the director's latest, and an early awards season favorite, feels in some ways like a natural next step for Zilbalodis. Like Away, it's a silent film. It still has a sort of video game structure to it. It's pretty linear, the characters moving from Point A to Point B (Point B being the massive, finger-like mountains looming in the distance). This time, our hero is a cat who gathers a group of other animals to form an unlikely party of adventurers who must rely on each other despite their differences. But Flow feels so much more major. Zilbalodis talked about how the themes of the film (which itself got its start as a short film he made in his high school years) reflect the behind-the-scenes process. It's the first movie he's made with a team, so just as the cat learns to work with other animals, the director was learning what it looks like to collaborate with others to bring his vision to life. 

It's a very fruitful collaboration. 

As I mentioned, the story here is quite simple. Our hero is an ultra expressive cat who lives in relative luxury in an abandoned cabin in the woods. He has a roof over his head, a nice place to sleep. Food is a little harder to come by, but he manages.

But then comes the flood. There's a distant rumble. A stampede of deer rushing away. And then the deluge. The cat, who naturally hates getting wet, is suddenly swept up by the raging waves and must make his way to higher ground. From which he's rescued by a capybara steering a gorgeous sailboat. (Zilbalodis talked about the capybara being a chill, hippy-type character, the only one of the crew who doesn't change, because he doesn't need to. That's certainly born out in the character's sturdy, peaceful presence.)

Gradually, more animals join the fray, often after having individual encounters with the cat. A secretary bird, a golden retriever, and lemur are the other major players, each with a strong personality while also feeling very true to their baser animal instincts. It's an impressive balance, one that Zilbalodis says comes down to naturalism rather than realism. These animals are so often acting just like you'd expect them to, growling at each other, bristling at their space being invaded, looking out for themselves above all else. But there's also room for growth, for more "human" moments (for lack of a better word). Some of the film's most powerful moments are the ones where these characters transcend their animal instincts, often in ways that are stirring in their empathy. There are even moments that cross over into the mystical, the magical. 

However you see the film, it's a powerful piece. You can watch it at its surface level, a found family of animals having to work together to survive an unprecedented natural disaster, and it works really well. Entertaining, exciting, beautiful. But if you want to dig under the surface a bit, there's some stuff to be found, too. I think other people might find more under there than I even did, personally. My husband, for instance, saw a Christ allegory in one of the character's journeys, a really fascinating reading I don't think I would've ever come to, despite that being my default approach to literary essays in my college days (hell, I once argued Shakespeare's Prince Hal was a Christ-like figure). Ultimately, I found the film's more fascinating thematic concern to be what it means to be safe, what it looks like for an individual. Is it about putting yourself first, or clinging to community? This consideration weighing on my mind in the film's final moments had me tearing up, and wanting to wrap the characters up in a warm hug.

The film's animation is quite beautiful, especially the way the "camera" moves. There are so many shots that are so epic in scale, so sweeping in their movement. Zilbalodis noted that the film has a lot of longer takes than you usually see in animation, some clocking in at almost five minutes long. It certainly adds to the film's immersive feel. You're right in there with this motley crew, navigating the unkind waters, trying to survive the slow, painful baptism of the world, hoping that that baptism means a new creation is coming.

Also adding to that immersion is the brilliant score. Zilbalodis is a self-taught musician/composer, and here he collaborated with Rihardes Zalupe (whom he notes is much more experienced) to create a truly special aural experience. Between the ambient noises of the world, the animal sounds, and the gorgeous, thrilling score, Flow is just as much a feast for the ears as the eyes.

And speaking of eyes, I think I want to end this review with a special appreciation for the cat. Sometimes, an animated character feels like a little miracle. The cat is such a miracle. All of the characters are well-rendered, full of personality, but the cat stands above, apart. His eyes are so full of feeling, his movements all exactly right, his gradually emerging courage a joy to behold. He's such a special little guy. Even as a dog person, I couldn't help but love him and cheer for him all the way. Just as I'll keep cheering for Zilbalodis, who's one the most exciting voices in animation.