Flow Review: The best animated movie you will never be prepared to watch - but should

Disclaimer: This review is a personal reflection on the cinematic experience that is Flow. While it delves into its artistry and themes, it remains spoiler-free in terms of plot.

Some films entertain us. Others, challenge us. Then, comes Flow, a film that sits quietly inside you, unraveling their meaning long after you’ve stopped watching. A hit to the core.

This breathtaking (and bawling inducing) animation is a masterclass in visual storytelling, capturing emotions without a single spoken word. Sounds of animals were used. It was made with Blender, an open-source software. It took five years to complete. It would be a shame if it had not been awarded an Oscar.

With a world swallowed by water and a black cat (Cat) as its meowing protagonist, Flow goes beyond being a film, it's an immersive experience, a meditation on existence, survival, and the quiet bonds that form in the face of uncertainty.

It’s rare to find a film that speaks volumes without a single line of dialogue. Flow is feeling, sounds and movement. Poetry in motion.

The film follows Cat navigating a dystopian world soon to be swallowed by water (the Flow), forming uneasy alliances with other animals on a journey to nowhere and everywhere all at once. The animation? A dreamscape brought to life. Every single frame is crafted with a painter’s touch.

While set in a post-apocalyptic landscape, there’s something deeply personal about Flow. It’s not just a story about survival; it’s about what remains when the world as we know it disappears.

Cat doesn’t just drift through the ruins of civilization, our protagonist (we mostly see the story unravelling from this specific animal's point of view even if captured by the silent narrators lenses) drifts through memory, loss, and the fragile nature of existence itself.

It’s a film that makes us wonder: What would we hold onto if the world crumbled around us? What would keep us moving forward?

What makes Flow so different from anything else out there is how that story is told and shown—and how it sounds.

Every brushstroke, every frame, every note of its soundtrack is meticulously crafted to make you feel exactly what the characters are feeling, without a single word being spoken.

This is a moving painting, a living, breathing piece of art. The watercolors bleed into each other like memories. The world pulses with an eerie, dreamlike stillness, broken only by the rustling of leaves, the creak of wood, the distant echo of something that once was. And the sounds (and communication) of the animals.

There’s something almost mythical about it. If Studio Ghibli films evoke childhood wonder, Jodorowsky’s surreal landscapes transport us into the unknown, Flow occupies and claimed its unique space in cinema: somewhere between dream and reality, between what’s lost and what’s yet to be found. Oniric and realistic all at once. Gut-punching. Heart-aching. Superb.

At its core, Flow is about transition. About drifting between what was and what will be. About the fragility of life and the resilience of the soul.

It’s about loneliness and connection, about fear and trust, about the unspoken bonds that form when survival depends on one another. The black cat doesn’t "speak". The other animals don’t "speak". I mean, they don't "speak" each other's language. And yet, the film says more about humanity than most live-action dramas ever could. Also, they communicate.

And maybe that’s why Flow resonates so deeply. Because in a world that feels increasingly fragmented, increasingly chaotic, there’s something profoundly moving about a story that reminds us we are not alone, even in the vastness of the unknown.

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Summing it up — Why Flow is so superb and intense

Flow: In a world that speaks without words

Instead of dialogue, Flow relies on movement, expressions, and sound design to carry its emotional weight. Every flick of the cat’s tail, every hesitant step forward, tells us more than words ever could.

This is storytelling distilled to its purest form,one that doesn’t tell you what to feel but makes you feel it anyway. The capybara, the dogs, all so relatable. Yes, for us, humans too. The quirks of them are also there. Oh, cats acting like cats, obviously. Same with doggos. Sublime, artistic, magically realistic, perfect.

The magic of rebirth: Destruction and renewal in Flow

The world of Flow is one where destruction and rebirth exist side by side. Water has claimed what was, yet life emerges in new and unexpected ways. The film embraces the bittersweet truth that for something to be reborn, something else must fade away, a concept woven into its hauntingly beautiful landscapes. And Death comes to collect too.

More than just animals: The emotional depth of Flow’s companions

The animals of Flow are more than just "flowing." They are reflections of trust, survival, and companionship. The capybara’s steady presence, the dog’s playful curiosity, and the cat’s cautious independence create an emotional fabric that ties every thread of the film together. These animals embody the best and worst of us, revealing the fragile nature of connection.

A moving painting: The artistry behind Flow

Every frame of Flow is a work of art. The animation, created using Blender, blends impressionistic beauty with fluid motion, creating an experience that feels both dreamlike and tangible. The film’s visual language is a testament to how animation can transcend traditional storytelling.

A symphony of wordless: How Flow’s sounds breathes life into the film

In a film without dialogue, sound design and music take center stage. In the case of Flow, obviously the voices of the animals are at the core too. The score sways between delicate melodies and tense silence, crafting an atmosphere that guides us through moments of serenity and urgency. The result? A sonic experience that lingers long after the film ends.

Why Flow is unlike anything you’ve ever seen

Comparisons to Studio Ghibli are inevitable, but Flow exists in a realm of its own. While Ghibli excels in nostalgic wonder, Flow leans into something more ephemeral, and at the same time more universal, more meditative, bigger than life. It’s more than an animated film; it’s an exploration of existence, wrapped in brushstrokes and the lack of speeches.

Flow: A film that stays with you

Some films fade the moment the credits roll. But not Flow. It lingers, like a half-remembered dream, like the echoes of a world that once was. It’s a quiet oniric and realistic and magic masterpiece that doesn’t demand your attention but earns it completely. And once you’ve experienced it, you’ll never quite let it go.

Rating? Obvioulsy with a touch of flair: 6 out of 5 (dying) stars. It’s a supernova. Beautiful even in its death.