“That was weird,” was what my gremlin had to say about this film at the end. It was approximately long enough for her to stuff an entire large pop corn bucket into her face and still have room for chicken tenders. The small theater we were in was packed almost completely with hipsters and old art house movie lovers who were all eager to see what Latvia had produced for Cannes this year–a sentence which I am sure has not been uttered ever before this movie. I don’t expect you to ever see this 90 minute wordless film about a cat in a eco-dystopic fable about working together to adapt to our new hellish present. Life is short and we don’t all have time we need to burn while family are feverishly preparing for a big Christmas party at home that the gremlin will absolutely destroy if they’re allowed to be within fifteen feet of the preparations.
The gremlin also made some astute observations about the plot and characters. “I’m nervous,” the gremlin said, “about the dinosaur (whale)” in response to no questions posed by anyone, in an accurate emotional response to the gutpunch of an ending, only slightly relieved by a mid-credits scene. A woman came up to us afterwards and said, “Your gremlin’s commentary was the best soundtrack,” in response to the fact that, left to their own devices, my gremlin cannot suffer 90 minutes to go uncommented upon and took it upon themself to narrate the ethical and emotional dilemma of every scene for the audience.
“Cats are good at climbing trees,” the gremlin explained to the college student sitting a couple seats over after the credits started to roll, “and dogs are good at nothing.” Which is just about right. If you want to have a film radicalize you into hating dogs more than you already do, Flow is that film.
