The Symbolism of Flow: A Journey of Survival, Loss, and Letting Go

"Flow" is a 2024 animated film directed by Latvian filmmaker Gints Zilbalodis. Known for his minimalist storytelling, Zilbalodis gained recognition with his debut feature, "Away" (2019), and continued to explore themes of solitude and survival in "Flow." The film, notable for its absence of dialogue, follows a black cat navigating a post-apocalyptic world devastated by a great flood. As the cat's home is destroyed, it finds refuge on a boat alongside various animals, including a capybara, lemur, dog, and bird. Together, they must overcome their differences to survive in their new reality.

Let's Deep Dive Into My Analysis

Flow is a film that masterfully intertwines survival, loneliness, and transformation, using the perspective of animals navigating a post-human world. Every character—the determined black cat, the smelly capybara, the broken winged bird, the diverse pack of dogs, the materialistic lemur—carries metaphorical weight, making the film an emotional and philosophical experience.

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The Silence of Flow: A Profound Experience

One of the most striking aspects of Flow is its complete absence of dialogue. For me, this was my first fully silent movie, and I underestimated just how deeply it would affect me. Without spoken words to guide the narrative, the emotions of the characters—the cat’s determination, the bird’s bitterness, the lemur’s obsession—were all conveyed through movement, sound design, and visuals alone. This lack of dialogue forces the audience to sit with their own thoughts and truly tap into their animal instincts, making the film feel intensely personal.

As an emotional moviegoer, I was left in a state of internal sadness and existential reflection for nearly two hours after the credits rolled. It was as if the film had unearthed something deeply human—our own survival instincts, our relationships with change, and our fears of being left behind. I knew I’d have this exact reaction, which is why I waited so long to watch it in the first place.

And, of course, as a cat owner, it had me thinking: How am I supposed to prepare my three cats for a flood? If anything, Flow convinced me that I might need to enroll one of them in boating school!

The Mystery of the Flood: A Silent Force of Change

An intriguing element of Flow is that the film never explains what caused the flood. This ambiguity leaves the audience to speculate—was it a climate crisis, a natural disaster, or something man-made, like a dam breaking? The uncertainty mirrors the unpredictable forces of nature in real life, making the flood itself feel like a character in the story.

As the journey unfolds, we see the water rise, swallowing landscapes and reshaping the world. It forces both the animals and the audience to confront a harsh reality—floods happen, hurricanes happen, tsunamis happen. The film immerses you in this journey, not only through the perspective of the animals but also through the perspective of the water itself, showcasing its immense power to change everything in its path.

One visual detail that reinforces this idea is the recurring image of a boat. We see a boat at the beginning of the movie, and another (or perhaps the same one) appears at the end. This could suggest that the cycle of survival and displacement is ongoing—that this is not the first time such an event has occurred, nor will it be the last. It raises the question: Is this area prone to flooding? Has history repeated itself? The presence of the boat at both the start and the conclusion of the film hints at an endless loop, a reminder that nature’s destruction and renewal are forces beyond our control.

This lack of explanation makes Flow all the more haunting. It reminds us that nature moves forward, indifferent to our survival, and that adaptation is not a choice—it’s a necessity.

The Bird: Leadership, Resentment, and Alienation

The bird’s arc is one of loss. After standing up for the cat, he is forced to face the consequences of his defiance—his wings are broken, and he is permanently grounded. But unlike the heroic sacrifice often seen in narratives, the bird doesn’t seem to embrace his new reality. Instead, he is deeply resentful. His leadership of the group on the boat is less about choice and more about circumstance. Stripped of flight, he no longer belongs to the sky or his flock. He is a reluctant leader of the boat, navigating this new world out of necessity rather than desire.

His alienation is reinforced when they finally reach land. While his former bird companions ascend to the highest points, reclaiming the freedom he once had, he can only watch. His journey to the summit isn’t a triumphant one—it’s marked by sadness, the weight of everything he lost. When he finally reaches the top, on foot, the cat joins him. In the film’s final, ambiguous moment, he ascends—not  only physically, but metaphorically—suggesting that his story was never about moving forward, but about letting go. The bright light in which he disappears leaves room for interpretation—it could symbolize death, transformation, or an entirely different plane of existence.

The Cat: Independence and Reciprocity

The black cat’s journey is one of endurance. Unlike the bird, it wasn’t exiled from anything—it was always alone, surviving in its own way. Like any cat he is wary, cautious, and deeply attuned to its instincts. Throughout the journey, it learns new survival skills, such as fishing and navigating water, while still maintaining its cat-like nature.

Based on the habitat where the cat lived before the flood, one can assume that it was once inhabited by humans. A drawing of a cat seen in the film suggests that the cat may have once belonged to an artist, leaving room for interpretation about its past.

One of the many touching moments in the film is when the cat attempts to repay the bird by bringing it a fish. The act itself isn’t sentimental—it’s instinctual, an unspoken acknowledgment of what the bird lost for the cat’s sake. This moment doesn’t signify deep friendship but rather an understanding, a quiet gesture between two creatures bound by unfortunate circumstances.

Notably, the cat is the only one of its kind in the film. The dogs have a pack. The birds have a flock. The lemurs have their group. But the cat and the capybara? They are singular entities, emphasizing themes of individuality and isolation.

The Lemur and the Illusion of Value: A Journey to Self-Awareness

The lemur, fascinated by human objects—glass bottles, mirrors, and trinkets—represents attachment and materialism. His fellow lemurs admire him for his collection, mirroring how societies place artificial value on possessions. However, as the journey progresses, he is forced to detach from these items, bringing only a few precious ones.

The mirror is particularly symbolic. It reflects not only how he sees himself but also how others perceive him. His attachment to his reflection suggests both vanity and a deeper search for identity—who is he without the things he collects?

This theme of self-awareness ties into the film’s final act when the black cat looks at its reflection in the pond. Just as the lemur’s journey led him to question his attachment to objects, the cat’s moment of reflection represents an internal realization. Both characters, in their own ways, are confronted with the question of who they are beyond what they possess, who they travel with, or the circumstances that shaped them.

In a way, the cat’s journey mirrors the lemur’s, but instead of material possessions, the cat wrestles with its instincts and survival. The way it absorbs the behaviors of the other animals, learns to fish, and adapts to new surroundings is a form of self-discovery. Even in its moments of fear—like the tense dream sequence surrounded by deer, draws strong thematic illusion to the circle of life—it is working through its own identity.

At its core, Flow uses these characters to explore the broader theme of identity and transformation. Whether it’s through a literal mirror or the reflections of one’s choices and instincts, true self-awareness often comes from looking inward.

The Capybara: Adaptability and Balance

The capybara, built for both land and water, represents resilience. As one of the few creatures equally suited for both environments, it thrives where others struggle. Its near-death experience—where it is ultimately saved by the golden retriever—reinforces the importance of unlikely alliances in times of crisis.

The Golden Retriever: Defying Instinct

Unlike his pack of aggressive dogs, the golden retriever forms a connection with the black cat. While his companions see the cat as prey, he chooses to see it as something more. His defiance of instinct and group mentality makes him the only one capable of saving the capybara in a critical moment—another symbol of breaking conditioning and embracing unity over division.

It also reaffirms the thought that I have to get a golden retriever.

The Whale: A Guardian’s Final Journey

The whale’s presence throughout the film feels mythical, almost spiritual. As a guide traveling alongside the group, it serves as a protector, ensuring they make it through the journey. But its story, like the bird’s, is one of inevitable departure. At the film’s end, the whale dies, drifting into the light.

The black cat purring beside it is a small but significant moment. In reality, cats purr at specific frequencies that promote healing. In this context, it serves as a quiet farewell, a moment of respect for a creature that provided safety for them all. The whale’s transition mirrors the bird’s, reinforcing the idea of cycles—life, death, and the acceptance of both.

A Journey Without Humans

While the story focuses on these animals, the world they inhabit is notably absent of humans. The cat’s owner is a mystery—who were they? Did they leave town? The film provides no clear answers. Instead, it suggests that nature has continued, that life persists despite human absence.

The animals’ survival is a reminder that the world moves forward, whether or not we are in it.

Final Thoughts: The Flow of Life

Flow is a meditation on change, loss, and endurance. Some characters, like the bird, are forced to accept a reality they never wanted. Others, like the lemur, learn to let go. And some, like the cat, simply continue forward, adapting as needed.

At its heart, Flow reminds us that life is an ever-moving river. We don’t always control where the current takes us, but we can choose how we navigate it.

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