This is about the movie Flow and as such will contain spoilers. If you haven't seen it yet, I strongly recommend that you do whether or not you come back to read this. In any case, don't read this before watching.
I'm not a movie reviewer and this might be the first time I've written something like this up. It's been a long time since a film kicked me in the feelz like this one did, which it did both unexpectedly and from a direction I didn't see it coming from - yes, those are almost the same. But not quite.
Watching Flow made me feel like I was playing an immersive video game, one where I'd become invested in getting my protagonist, the cat, safely to the end of the game. I think the director did a masterful job of veering just enough into "wait, an animal wouldn't do that" territory and each of the critters had believable and enjoyable personalities.
I came away with something else, and I don't know if it's just me reaching or if it's something the people who made the film intended. If you've watched it, do me a favor - think about it again as a metaphor for the journey into adulthood, as experienced through the cat. And in case you need help, let me offer some help in the form of the character used to absolutely wreck me at the end - the whale.
Or whale-creature, what with the tentacles. We're going to call it a whale. Humor me. Thank you.
In terms of screen time, the whale is a minor character at best. It only appears a few times, often to help the cat. It saves the cat from drowning, and it frees the boat when the sail is snagged on a tree. There are a few later instances when the cat is at the mercy of the water and survives on its own, which at the time I chalked up as the director not wanting to overuse the deux ex machina.
But then there's the ending. I in no way, shape, or form saw that coming. I figured the rescuing of the capybara from the boat was the last emotional moment, the feel-good resolution . . . and then the whale. A helpless victim of the rapidly receding waters. Doomed. No way to be saved. The cat rubbing its head against the whale, comforting it as it died . . . that was enough of a gut punch.
Then the movie ends with the shot of the cat with its new family, and my not-always-too-sharp brain had a revelation - it was about a parent and a child. The whale was the parent, on the periphery of the cat-child's life, helping when needed, sometimes just observing to make sure they were okay, but also letting them grow and fail and learn from their mistakes.
Letting them live.
And then, in the end, the cat has to face that the whale has reached a point where there's nothing to be done, no miracle solution to be found. Much like a child with a parent.
I don't know if that's the message that Flow intended to send but it's what my weird brain seized onto. My daughter being in college some 2800 miles away likely had something to do with it. She's doing well in her classes and making new friends, all while surviving and learning from the changes and challenges in her life. I'm the whale (with tentacles? unknown) that gives her space but is always ready to help if need be . . . until I'm not around anymore. When she and her family say goodbye.
I may well be the only person to come away from Flow with this interpretation and it doesn't diminish how much I enjoyed the movie. At the same time, it reminded me that sometimes movies can work a special kind of magic on us, even if there's not a word spoken in the film.
