Animation achieves its purest form when it transcends the need for human speech, and Latvian filmmaker Gints Zilbalodis understands this principle completely. Flow presents a wordless odyssey that communicates volumes through visual storytelling alone, creating an experience that feels both reflective of the past and thoroughly contemporary. In a year packed with big studio contenders, this quietly powerful Latvian animated feature stunned audiences by clinching the Best Animated Feature Oscar. And now, Criterion has treated it with the kind of care usually reserved for decades-old classics.

The narrative centers on a black cat surviving in a post-human landscape where massive floods have reshaped civilization. Forced aboard a makeshift vessel with other displaced creatures—including a mellow capybara, a possessive lemur, an enthusiastic retriever, and a neurotic secretarybird—our feline protagonist must learn cooperation despite deeply ingrained territorial instincts. Zilbalodis extracts remarkable emotional depth from subtle animal behaviors: ear positioning, pupil responses, body language that speaks louder than any dialogue could manage.

If that sounds like indie arthouse fluff, think again. This is gripping, high-stakes survival filmmaking… just with animals. It’s a story about learning to trust, even when survival seems like the only thing that matters.

Latvia’s cinematic journey to Oscar recognition spans decades of near-misses and international obscurity. After fifteen unsuccessful submissions since independence, Flow finally cracked the Academy’s typically Disney-dominated animation category, proving that artistic vision can triumph over marketing budgets. Zilbalodis’s decision to avoid traditional storyboarding and work with open-source software demonstrates how technical limitations can inspire creative solutions rather than hinder them.

Criterion’s 4K transfer captures every nuance of the film’s distinctive visual approach. The HDR implementation enhances the rich aquatic blues and verdant greens without sacrificing the semi-realistic aesthetic that makes these creatures feel genuinely alive rather than anthropomorphized cartoons. My 8K display showcased the meticulous attention to environmental detail, while the uncompressed audio design creates an immersive soundscape of ambient water effects, wind patterns, and creature vocalizations that my Sony soundbar was able to render with impressive spatial clarity. I may not have the setup and reach of a full audiophile, but that 7.1 DTS-HD MA track was richly layered.

The supplement package reflects Criterion’s continued commitment to comprehensive context. Zilbalodis provides commentary that balances technical insight with self-deprecating humor, ranging from light-hearted jabs at the film industry to encounters he had while on the press junket for the film. The inclusion of his earlier feature Away (in 4K!) essentially doubles the disc’s value, while various shorts and production documentaries trace his artistic development. The accompanying booklet essay connects Flow‘s visual language to broader traditions in animal-centered cinema. This is a rare case where every extra feels purposeful, not filler.

This is a true DIY miracle—created by one person with a singular vision. Zilbalodis didn’t just direct Flow; he animated, edited, scored, and co-wrote it, and it’s a far cry from the over-explained, hyperactive energy of mainstream Western animation. More than anything, it reminds us of a time when animation was simpler and less concerned with marketing and tie-ins. Flow consistently carves out its own space—honest, strange, and spiritual. It’s also a not-so-subtle climate change allegory, but it’s never preachy. The flood is just the backdrop. The focus stays on the instinct to survive, the impulse to connect, and the grace of moving forward.

Flow demonstrates that animation’s greatest power lies not in spectacle but in emotional authenticity. This Criterion edition ensures that future generations will discover why sometimes the most profound stories require no words at all.

Watching Flow on physical media, especially in Criterion’s reference-quality transfer, feels like discovering something rare and meaningful. If you’re someone who collects physical editions not just for the movie, but for the total experience—presentation, packaging, context, legacy—this is a no-brainer. It belongs on your shelf, and maybe even in your top 10 releases of the year.