Written by Andreas Babiolakis

When the live-action (whatever that means, in this case) version of Disney’s The Lion King was released, I was heavily disappointed for many reasons, but one primary concern: the animals, who look hyper-realistic, were talking and singing. I could only imagine if Disney had the guts to have a film with such convincing animals just behaving as animals, and pushing the narrative without dialogue or hand-holding. If you’re a strong enough storyteller, you can achieve this goal, and I guarantee The Lion King would have not only been a far bolder film, it would have likely paid off at least as a creative idea. I point to the animated feature film, Flow, by Gints Zilbalodis, as evidence of what power a film about animals can muster if the creatures just don’t talk at all (this doesn’t even look realistic, and yet I was far more invested in these characters, felt like they behaved honestly and organically, and as if the story was far more interesting as a result). I don’t expect every film with animals to have them behave like real animals, but this can be a great exercise in showing and not telling audiences a story. Flow exceeds tremendously in this regard.

We follow a black cat in the forest when it finds a beached fish; cleverly, Flow has us more concerned with the angry dogs who are claiming the fish as their own (which the cat takes, creating a chase sequence) rather than allowing us time to wonder why this fish is even on the forest floor. That thought is answered swiftly nonetheless, with the main theme of the film revealed shortly afterward: there is a vicious flood that is tearing up the forest and all neighbouring areas. The cat will come across other animals, including a capybara, a secretarybird, and a lemur, and — again, without a single line of dialogue — we are fully aware of the relationships these characters have (positive or negative), their intentions and objectives, and their instincts. Since this is an illustrated, animated film, I never felt like I was actually watching animals, but Flow got me to as close as I possibly could be to believing that these characters were actually trying to survive on the screen in front of me. I felt for these beasts. Now that is storytelling.

*Flow* manages to say as much as possible with very few means.

At times, Flow is the best animated film of 2024, but I do feel like there are some passages that are there to help the film be a feature-length effort rather than, say, a featurette. There aren’t many, but they are present enough that I am aware of these short stretches. Otherwise, I found Flow was exciting and absorbing for the majority of its hour-and-a-half runtime. I felt like most plot pivots brought us to new places and ideas (or at least told us new information about our characters), and I was always curious about where we would go next. As the flood worsens and we are seeing these animals (an odd bunch who would never get along in traditional settings) band together to weather the storm, Flow strengthens itself as an exquisite exhibition of trust and optimism. Flow isn’t afraid to get dark, mind you, and it does so sparingly yet wisely, particularly within the guise of bittersweet poetry; my favourite moment of the film towards the third act had my spirit feel like it was ascending while my heart sank, and it was unbelievable, to say the least.

So, yes. Flow is ambient cinema done well, but that isn’t to say that it is solely simplified or minimalist in nature. The animation is incredibly crisp, fluid, and nuanced. The score can either be playful or moving on a soulful level, and the cues are always lined up in the right spots. This is a release that plays itself off effortlessly, but you can imagine the years of storyboarding, precise sound design, and relentless fine-tuning to get us to this point: one where Flow possesses its own cinematic language. You may never have a proper conversation within the film, but you feel every thought within your heart. I feel like the majority of Flow’s gambles pay off, resulting in a film that feels unlike any other this year (when it could have easily been a dumbed down, family-centred effort that insulted the intelligence of all ages). Instead, the message we get — from the story and characters present, down to how this feature was made — is an important one in the day and age of hostility and dread: let the light of your heart lead the way. Without Flow ever barking this sentiment to us, we get the picture loud and clear.

Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Toronto Metropolitan University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.