In a cinematic landscape flooded with talking animals, anthropomorphic storylines, and human-centric plots, Flow stands as a stunning, soul-stirring departure. This wordless animated film doesn't rely on witty dialogue or celebrity voiceovers. Instead, it speaks a universal language — one that humans and other animals alike can understand: sound, emotion, and raw connection. If you care about animals and our shared planet, Flow isn't just a film to see. It's a film to feel and think about long after the final credits roll.

What makes Flow so groundbreaking is that it lets animals be animals. There’s no narration, no subtitles, and no spoken human language at all, just the languages of other animals. The characters—a resilient cat, a loyal Labrador dog, a gentle capybara, a curious ring-tailed lemur, and a sharp-eyed secretarybird—communicate through movement, sound, and raw presence. 

They are expressive without mimicry and emotional without needing translation. It’s a brave, creative risk that pays off by opening a window into a world where non-human life is centered, respected, and allowed to unfold on its own terms. In this space, we as viewers aren’t invited to dominate, explain, or even decode—we’re invited to witness.

And then there’s the Leviathan.

This whale-like creature, vast and mysterious, moves through the story like a living force of nature with a presence that feels mythical yet grounding—a reminder of life’s enormity and the intelligence that exists beyond what we often recognize. The Leviathan doesn’t speak, but you’ll feel what they’re saying. They embody the emotional undercurrent of the film: ancient, watchful, and worthy of reverence. Including such a being in this story not only elevates the emotional stakes, it also quietly demands that we broaden our circle of empathy—not just to the familiar, but to the unknown.

The animation is gorgeously textured and emotionally rich, showcasing animals surviving and forming unexpected alliances in a post-apocalyptic flood. There are no human saviors here, no laboratory-created solutions, no futuristic tech fixes. Just instinct, cooperation, and the wild, beating heart of survival. This is what makes Flow not just artistically remarkable but philosophically urgent. It reorients our perspective: Animals are not sidekicks, symbols, or metaphors—they are protagonists in their own right.

In a culture where animals are often only seen as companions, commodities, or background noise, Flow dares to show us something different: the complexity, agency, and emotional lives of animals as they are. Not as caricatures of ourselves, not as pawns in a human plot, but as fully present beings navigating a world altered by human excess. And the beauty of it? You don’t have to be fluent in any particular language to understand it.

This radical lack of spoken dialogue is exactly why Flow has the potential to be a true game-changer. It proves that you don’t need talking animals to connect emotionally with an audience—something Hollywood has long relied on to make animal-centered stories "marketable." Flow shows us that silence can be powerful and that animals don’t need to mimic us to matter to us. The film’s Oscar recognition is not just a victory for its creators; it's a cultural moment for how we see animals in media.

Perhaps most wonderfully of all, Flow isn’t just for human viewers. Without jarring sound effects or language barriers, the film becomes accessible to animal companions. Your rescued cat, dog, rabbit, or bird may actually find themselves entranced by the subtle movements, naturalistic sounds, and emotionally resonant score, as many have been filmed doing so. In this way, Flow becomes a shared experience—a rare piece of storytelling that doesn’t just speak to you but with you and those you care for, regardless of species.

“We don’t commonly think of pets as a potential target audience when making films, but we are glad that ‘Flow’ has proved to be a special bonding experience between viewers and their dogs and cats.” - Matiss Kaza, Producer & Co-Writer

While some of the animals in Flow are shown killing and eating fish to survive, it's important to recognize that their actions take place in a post-apocalyptic emergency, and they are, quite literally, nonhuman animals—without tools, choices, or systems of agriculture. The animals in the film, especially the carnivorous ones like the cat and the secretary bird, are acting out of instinct and necessity in a world stripped of abundance. They have no markets, no sanctuaries, no opposable thumbs.

We, however, do. As humans, we have the privilege and the moral responsibility to choose compassion over convenience. The fish and marine life who suffer in our world today are not unlike the animals in Flow—simply trying to survive in the only ways they know how. In a time when plant-based options are widely available and scientifically supported for all stages of life, there's no need to harm those who, like us, are just trying to live. Flow reminds us of the interconnectedness of all life—and the ethical power we hold to protect it.

Though the film never explains how or why humans have vanished, their absence is haunting—and telling. Flow paints a quiet, unsettling portrait of what’s left behind when humans disappear: a world scarred by disaster, where other animals are left to navigate the chaos we created. Their struggle for survival is not just a story of resilience—it’s a reflection of our collective failure. These animals were not responsible for the climate collapse, rising seas, or ecological breakdown, yet they bear the full weight of its consequences. Flow reminds us of our profound responsibility to never abandon the beings we’ve domesticated, displaced, or endangered. If we create the storm, we cannot leave others to weather it alone. Make sure you’re prepared in a disaster so that your animal companions are never left behind.

While it’s likely that Flow takes place on Earth, the film never confirms where—or when—we are. It could be the distant future or a world not unlike our own just a few decades from now. What is certain, however, is that if we continue on our current trajectory of environmental destruction and climate denial, Flow may not remain fiction for long. Unchecked greenhouse gas emissions will trigger irreversible sea level rise, swallowing coastlines, displacing millions, and devastating ecosystems. The watery, wrecked world of Flow may be imagined, but its warning is very real. We still have time to change course—but not forever.

This 2024 film directed by Gints Zilbalodis has garnered significant acclaim and achieved remarkable success both critically and financially. With an estimated budget of €3.5 million, the film has grossed over $36 million worldwide, demonstrating the potential for independent animated features to achieve substantial commercial success.

In terms of accolades, Flow has made history by winning the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature, marking the first time a Latvian production has received this honor.

Additionally, the film previously secured the Golden Globe Award for Best Animated Feature Film, further cementing its status as a groundbreaking achievement in animation. These prestigious awards showcase the film's innovative storytelling and its ability to resonate with audiences worldwide.

The success of Flow highlights the growing recognition of independent animated films and their capacity to compete with major studio productions on both artistic and commercial fronts.

For advocates of animals and the Earth, Flow is not just a film. It’s a reminder. A reminder of what we stand to lose and of the rich, complex lives playing out alongside ours every day—often unnoticed and unheard. Watching Flow is more than entertainment. It is an act of witnessing, of empathy, and, maybe, of transformation. If we can learn to care about animals without needing them to sound or act like us, perhaps we can also learn to share this world with them more respectfully. Flow offers that vision. 

We can do so much more than just watch it — we can learn from it. If you haven’t seen Flow yet, now is the time. Find where to watch it near you or online at flow.movie or through its U.S. distributor, Janus Films.