On the one hand, it’s easy to see Gints Zilbalodis’ Golden Globe award-winning film, Flow, as a message of positivity directed at humans. A way to assure them that, even in the most dire of circumstances, adversity is surmountable if one just gives in to the notion of teamwork, trust and collaboration. But, more than anything, what one takes away, at a time like this, is that, when everything falls apart due to human sociopathy (read: capitalism), the Earth will still carry on without us. Particularly the animals who are far more adept at surviving without the “creature comforts” that many humans can’t seem to live without. In fact, they can’t live without them so much that they’re willing to kill off the entire race in order to keep enjoying them. In essence, keep amassing (a.k.a. keep buying from Amazon) until the bitter end.
The animal in Flow that most closely mirrors this human-specific attachment to stockpiling possessions is a ring-tailed lemur. Indeed, so attached is the lemur to his various shiny baubles and other assorted bric-a-brac that he’s got to be forced away from his junk-filled perch by a combination of a capybara’s “gentle nudging” and the sea level rising too high for him to stay. For this entire story begins with the abrupt rising of the sea level, forcing Flow’s main character/reluctant protagonist, a skittish, mistrustful black cat, to abandon his home amid lush green meadows and giant cat statues. It is the cat that the audience is introduced to first, initially enjoying some semblance of a “pleasant” day before all hell breaks loose. Or, more accurately, all water breaks loose.
From the outset of the movie, it’s already clear that humans have disappeared from the face of the Earth. Seemingly for quite some time—with only errant traces that their kind was ever in existence. Namely, with regard to all of the giant cat statues that have been erected, as though the humans of this part of the world worshipped felines as their god (and, to be honest, it’s not far off the mark for most parts of the world, what with the way people everywhere go all “gooey” for cats). And it seems that the cat has some vague remembrance of a period when a “master type” was around, favoring his “lying about” time in what looks like some kind of defunct “artist’s studio.”
As is the nature of cats (and many modern, screen-addicted humans), this black one’s preference is for solitude, desiring to evade contact with other animals, especially dogs. Unfortunately for the cat’s peace, a pack of them manages to track him down after one of the canines spots the cat with a fish (that the dogs had originally been after) in his mouth by the river. It is only the yellow Labrador who shows any signs of civility toward the cat, which works out since these two will end up trapped together on the proverbial “Noah’s ark” that serves as a centerpiece for the narrative. Except, of course, there isn’t two of every animal aboard this particular boat. Though there is a real mixed bag, including a secretary bird that eventually joins the crew, which might lead one to postulate that the setting of Flow is somewhere in Africa. Though it could still be anywhere, when taking into account that a massive flood is a rather “uniting force” in terms of “smushing geography.” Which is perhaps why a capybara, native to South America, is involved as well.
As for the secretary bird, he (or she) sacrifices life and literal limb to protect the cat from the bird’s own kind, which tries to corner and attack le chat after he and his “gang” find themselves briefly on dry land. In this remarkable instance of a valiant effort at “defying the clan” to save a being that seems to be part of the “out-group” (as far as the secretary birds are concerned), the overarching theme from co-writers Zilbalodis and Matīss Kaža here seems to be that one often has to go against the grain of the group they “subscribe to” in order to stand up for what’s right. Zilbalodis and Kaža also appear to be commenting on the rise of survivalism as more and more people come to terms with the notion of an “apocalypse.” This in the sense that climate change will likely cause a number of violent uprisings due to the increased scarcity of resources and the presumable hostility toward climate refugees trying to make their way into geographical areas with more, let’s say, “weather and element stability.”
But for those who think they’re winning the “survivalist game” by resource guarding and being generally exclusionary, the hands of fortune can shift very quickly when it comes to who Mother Nature “favors.” Particularly with regard to those who believe they can survive in the long run with the same individualistic approach that our capitalistic society has conditioned most to believe is “normal” and “for the best.” To be sure, Latvia’s (for this is a Latvian-made film) deeply-entrenched socialist views are all over this movie that emphasizes the importance of the metaphor, “We’re all in the same boat”—sharing the same resources (and no, it’s not like when celebrities during Covid were saying, “We’re all in the same boat”). So we should treat them—and each other—with the due respect that will ensure the most longevity for everything and everyone.
The animals in the boat can additionally serve as an allegory for humanity—if it takes heed of the wisdom being imparted. For Flow provides an urging reminder that, no matter who a person is or what their beliefs, sooner or later, they’ll have to unite with erstwhile “disparate personalities” in order to keep enduring. Not just individually, but as a collective (in a sense, the moral isn’t unlike what Jo Swerling and Alfred Hitchcock got across in 1944’s Lifeboat—well, sort of).
The final scene emphasizes that one minute, you can be at the top of the food chain, and in the blink of an eye, find yourself on the bottom. “Dead” being the most bottom you can get. Which is why fortune favors not the brave, but the malleable, so to speak. The ones willing to adapt or, that’s right, die—the ones who can go with the flow and adjust to Mother Nature’s whims as needed. And oh, how whimsical Mother Nature still has yet to become thanks to all of this human-invoked bullshit. But it doesn’t much matter to her in the end; she can outlast anything (as Flow underscores). Regardless of whether humans manage to survive what they’ve done to her or not. Life will continue on Earth as it always has. Simultaneously volatile and tranquil, a constant ebb and, you guessed it, flow.
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