A cat runs for their life. Jumping over the dissipating landscape – water is coming to the top – this particular feline finds itself chased by dogs and befriended by birds. Over the course of the movie’s 80 or so minutes, these creatures must band together to ensure their own survival from a mass watery grave. As plots go, it is not necessarily the most exciting of synopsis, and sadly, nor is the action much fun either. Director Gints Zilbalodis uses every animated trick in the bookin order to create a palpable urgency, utilising an animal many audiences feel attached to: a pussy.

Aesthetically, Flow feels like a convoy of unused clips James Cameron discarded from Avatar: The Way of Water (2022);the boat of beasts shoddily pieced in their resolve. Zilbalodis opts not to use any dialogue, furthering the distance from genuine danger and unease: whatever gasps or howls are uttered remain within the brutes. In terms of scale, the waves reach a mythological high, powering over the land with the might of Heracles battering down the hatches. Land gets swamped by water; liquid expands and ploughs forward. Onwards the animals must venture, commandeering any vessel that comes their way. Clearly, Zilbalodis has their sights on the kitty – it forms the closest thing to a main character – a creature who pauses, prioritises and proceeds.

Scaffolding litters the skyline, suggesting that humans have died off, leaving only the edifices of their creativity behind.The director – an artist who co-penned the story with Matīss Kaža – chooses ambience over narrative, pulling it all together in what is ostensibly a silent film. Whatever the message remains unclear by the end of the film, although a reading on friendship could be gleaned from the backdrop. Despite their different appearances, these critters huddle as one continuous unit, knowing that a drop into the water could spell a frightening and unpleasant death. As it happens, the cat is submerged by water, narrowly being rescued from the depths by a kind soul. If Zilbalodis is being polemical – indicating that mankind could take notes from other mammals – then it’s opaque, buried between one giant silhouette after another. Moreover, the animation is often lifeless, humdrum and meandering.

The titular “flow” recalls the movement a wave of water makes as it tears through the precipice. Greenery catches liquid, going up in pools. Frustratingly, the audience never gets to see what causes the outbreak, or comprehend the after effects it will place on the survivors. Everything feels surface level, as the creative artists lose their nerve in pushing the limits of the setpieces, and mostly end up treading water; ironic considering the storyline.

None of the beasts bears an anthropomorphic smile of any discernible nature, nor do they pander to more realistic diagrams, meaning the finished animated set pieces feel like a mesh of cartoon and authenticity. Younger audiences will get a kick from the cute pussycat at the front; older audiences will probably struggle to invest in this midway world. There is one genuinely impressive moment of daring, one of the animals falls from high above, that fades out too soon, robbing the feature of a bona fide jump scare.

Art takes tremendous bravery and conviction to achieve greatness; aspirations of grandeur are worthwhile too. Flow lacks both of these facets, concocting a world that is banal and often boring to sit through. Texture is an issue: Much of the work is spent skimming the top of the water, or narrowly beneath, making it a pedestrian viewing experience. Blue surrounds the screen, overcompensating for many other colours that sit across the spectrum of light and shade.

Flow showed in the Un Certain Regard section of the 77th Cannes International Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. Also showing in the Baltic Competition of the 28th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.