The day I saw Flow, Gints Zilbalodis’ stunning, Oscar-winning animated feature about a little black cat, my own little black cat – a beautiful, mysterious, elegant creature called Pangur (often dubbed The Tiny Panther) – was at the vet. She’s now fine, but I spent the day anxious and worried and the emotional undercurrent heightened my connection to the film’s soulful feline protagonist. But even without a personal tether, Flow will leave an indelible mark on anyone who experiences it. Our connection to animals - their vulnerability, wordless wisdom, and ability to trust despite hardship - can remind us of our own capacity for empathy, care and love. In Flow, this reminder takes on an extraordinary form.

Yet, for all the emotion it stirs, Flow is not a film about humans. It is a film about humanity and what endures when our structures and ambitions fade away.

Zilbalodis’ breathtaking feature is a modern fable - a radiant, wordless odyssey that feels both timeless and urgently relevant. It unfolds like a dream, shimmering with visual poetry and profound allegory that invites viewers to immerse themselves in a world that is ethereal and deeply familiar.

The film begins and ends with quiet moments of reflection - animal characters gazing into the still, mirror-like surface of water. These images hold a rare magic, speaking to the essence of self-awareness and empathy without a single line of dialogue. They bookend a journey that traverses the vast sea between individuality and community, encapsulating an eternal human longing to belong to something greater than ourselves.

At the heart of this wondrous tale is a sleek, black cat - wide-eyed and expressive, embodying curiosity and resilience. This protagonist leads us through a world seemingly abandoned by people, where nature reclaims its rightful place. Towering, submerged statues hint at a forgotten civilisation as humans and their egos are nowhere to be seen.

The cat’s journey from solitude to companionship is touching and visually stunning. Cast adrift on a sailboat, the cat meets a cast of fellow survivors: a serene capybara, a playful Labrador, a noble secretary bird, and a mischievous lemur. Each animal, exquisitely animated with a blend of realism and painterly grace, brings their own personality to the makeshift family. The animals' movements are nothing short of mesmerising. Zilbalodis captures the essence of each creature through subtle, deliberate gestures that feel organic, imbued with a quiet authenticity that avoids cartoonish exaggeration. The cat in particular moves with an enchanting blend of domestic familiarity and wild grace - leaping, stretching, swatting, scratching, and observing with wide, intelligent eyes. The animals’ interactions with each other- a nuzzle, a shared meal, a protective stance - speak volumes, reminding us that kindness and cooperation transcend language.

For all its warmth and tenderness, Flow does not shy away from darkness. The animals face harrowing perils: rising floods that swallow entire landscapes, sheer cliffs that threaten to send them plummeting, and a heart-stopping stampede that scatters their fragile unity. A looming sense of danger underscores their journey, reminding us that survival is never guaranteed. The water may cleanse, but it also consumes, and the film doesn’t flinch from showing the weight of loss.

Zilbalodis’ animation style is a marvel. The camera flows seamlessly alongside the animals, moving with them as though carried on a gentle current. The landscapes are lush and luminous, the water gleams with a hypnotic vibrancy, and the ruins of human ambition crumble beautifully beneath the waves. It’s a visual symphony - painterly yet alive, stylised yet brimming with soul. The film evokes the wondrous spirit of Studio Ghibli, where nature, magic, and empathy intertwine, creating an unforgettable world that lingers long after the credits roll. Likewise, fans of the acclaimed video game Stray - another striking tale of a black cat navigating a post-human world - will find that Flow resonates with the same sense of awe, vulnerability and quiet hope.

The film’s soundscape, co-composed by Zilbalodis and Rihards Zaļupe, is a quiet revelation. The music rises and falls like the tide, accentuating moments of peril and peace with sublime minimalism. It enhances the film’s organic rhythm, never overpowering the natural sounds of wind, water, and rustling leaves.

Perhaps Flow’s greatest triumph is its allegorical heart. As the animals navigate flooded landscapes and face trials together, the film quietly urges us to reflect on our own world. It becomes clear that these creatures - resilient, compassionate, and bound by mutual trust - embody the best of us. Their journey mirrors our own: a reminder that only by setting aside division and embracing community can we hope to survive the storms ahead. And though the floods rise, the film offers a tender, unwavering hope: the storms will pass, the forests will grow again, and life, with all its splendour and sorrow, will continue.

Flow is a breathtaking triumph, a visual elegy to the beauty of nature, the strength of solidarity, and the quiet miracle of simply being alive. It stands among the great animated works of our time, earning Gints Zilbalodis a well-deserved place alongside animation’s most visionary storytellers. To watch it is to be reminded that, even in the face of overwhelming loss, life’s current carries us forward - and we are never truly alone.

• In cinemas now