Cat Cinema
Flow
Kedi
Howdy and meow-dy my purrfect little readers, I hope you’re taking care of yourselves. Amidst the dry despair of December, I am being kept afloat by the promise of my upcoming PTO, the recent (and pretty promising!) Golden Globes nominations, and my sister’s cat, Trinket, who I am catsitting while my sister is eat-pray-loving in Japan. In my inner circle, there has been a lot of mourning and melancholy lately, as several close friends of mine have recently lost their pets. Last month, my family lost our beloved cat Trilby, whom I love more than I can coherently convey. And each time I try to sum up my heartbreak, I am reduced to excruciating tears, so I will shamelessly copy/paste the obituary I wrote on my Instagram: “We had to say goodbye to our bittersweet baby, after 15 miraculous years together. The most angelic face and the scrappiest personality, the idiosyncratic and at times aggressive apple of my eye, the cat I loved for half of my life. Runty and with a stunted, deformed tail, she was abandoned by her mom and left as a pile of fur and claws under someone’s deck. She came into our lives unexpectedly, inconveniently, as ugly stepkittens often are, but we quickly fell in love with her. She taught all of us patience, love, and the profound peace of just sitting in close proximity to one another. She was not what they call a “cat’s cat”, and I'm not even sure if I can call her a “people’s cat”, either... but she was our cat. Our perfectly prickly, at times cuddly, photogenic but frenetic cat. In her old age she became even sweeter, softer, more talkative, more eager for the affection and attention I offered as the annoying 14 year old who first picked her up. My love for her is as boundless and colossal as the massively monstrous chasm that is now in my heart. But a love this big doesn’t go away, it just transforms, just as my weird little Trilby transformed me.” This week’s double feature is all about cats, and it is dedicated to Trilby, Teddy, Vinny, and Roscoe (even though he’s technically a dog) all whom have left the earthly realm but will run around forever in our hearts. Some days are harder than others, and when I planned tonight’s double feature long ago, I hadn’t considered a reality in which I indulged in cat cinema without my own creature companion. That’s why I’m so thankful Trinket is here, temporarily but significantly, with lots of love and curious chirps to share—and she was kind enough to be my movie-watching partner for these feline films. I generally avoid all animal movies because the vast, vast majority of them involve said animal dying. I can watch the most grotesque and terrifying horror movies ever made, but I am a bundle of nerves and an absolute emotional wreck when there is an animal suffering on screen—which occurs far, far too often. Dog and horse movies are the most notorious, creature-killing culprits, but cats are not always safe on screen either, and I don’t wanna see any of them hurt! I love cats, so much. I love cats who don’t even remotely like me. I just think every breed, every personality, every fluffy or hairless variety is the cutest animal to exist. I did too much research on cats this week, and there is not enough time in the world for me to express my genuine, passionate love for them, but I will tell you that humans have been drawn to cats and vice versa for longer than we once previously thought. According to the Smithsonian, the first domesticated cats lived over 8,000 years ago—even before the widely-known, cat-loving Ancient Egyptians took them and mummified them alongside their most important nobles. These creatures were first invited into human hovels as a form of pest control, as they eagerly and efficiently took out disease-carrying rodents and other creepy crawly things. But soon, they became our tiny, feisty, mysterious, curious companions, whom nearly every culture on Earth then inserted into the tales of their lore and religions and myths. Cats are able to adapt to nearly every terrestrial environment, and have been found in forests, grasslands, tundra, coastal areas, agricultural land, scrublands, wetlands, in sprawling urban metropolises and isolated, human-free islands. Their night vision, strong ear drums, capable claws, quick reflexes, and ability to land on their feet make these critters survival experts. Not to mention how the sound of their purring, the gentle bump of their heads against our bodies, and just simply being in their presence, can be oddly, wonderfully calming. I love cats, obviously, and I love movies, obviously, so when a movie can depict a cat in a way that doesn’t stress me out, I am as happy as a cat squinting into a sunbeam. There are lots of memorable cats in media—Tom of Tom & Jerry, Salem in Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Thackary Binx in Hocus Pocus, Jiji in Kiki’s Delivery Service, Jonesey in Alien, Garfield, the cat from Coraline, the cat from A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night, Puss in Boots, The Aristocats, A Cat in Paris, The Cat Returns, The Cat in the Hat, Cat People, the hedonistic Fritz the Cat, and of course, the cursed 2019 screen adaptation of the musical Cats (which many people think started the pandemic)—but then there are movies centered entirely around a cat or cats, my favorite of which is Jordan Peele’s film Keanu. I’m not listing any cat movies that kill off or place cats into any kind of discomfort, so I won’t mention Breakfast at Tiffany’s (her abandoning that cat is almost as offensive and appalling as the rampant racism in that movie.) Most cinematic cats are in animated films because cat’s have no master and are therefore difficult to direct. To quote Ellen Perry Berkeley, “As every cat owner knows, nobody owns a cat.” But at least one of tonight’s films features real, live-action cats, and I am so happy to report that no harm comes to them. Being that I’m in a delicate headspace, I might’ve just sued the filmmakers if anything bad had happened.
Up first is a film I’ve been aware of but avoiding for awhile now, but its little indie film magic and clear cat adoration finally coaxed me in, this is the most recent Academy Award-winning film for Best Animated Feature: Flow. Gints Zilbalodis and the rest of his team in Latvia began working on this film in 2019, and by the time it made it to theaters in 2024, it was already a hit. It premiered at Cannes and became the most-viewed film in Latvian theaters in history. The film was animated on a free and open-source software called Blender, making it an ultra-rare gem of modestly-funded, independently-produced animation. Flow follows an unnamed, non-talking, black cat, with big, curious, blue eyes, who resides in a gloriously-green forest. There is a cozy cabin, surrounded by stunning and gargantuan statues of cats, but there are no humans to be found. There are birds that sing, dogs that annoy, and all manner of other forest critters, and this cat takes care of itself just fine. But soon, this serene setting is overcome with chaos, as a herd of deer all begin running away from something. Before the cat can react, it is faced with a wall of water, taller than the tallest trees and cat statues, but it finds shelter on a nearby branch. This cat seems happy to exist on its own, but as the water rises and a mysterious boat drifts nearby, the cat realizes it might need some help to survive this increasingly-Water World-esque terrain. When the cat hops onto the boat, there is a mysterious creature already aboard—a capybara! And while the cat is anxious and suspicious at first, it soon realizes that the capybara is even more lowkey and chill than any other creature previously encountered, because the capybara is content to just plop on any surface and fall asleep. Thus begins the journey of this cat, capybara, and the other animals they accumulate and save along the way, including: a trinket-collecting lemur, an over-friendly dog, a stoic but elegant secretary bird, and even more dogs—which, shocker, cause nothing but more trouble. The animation, the story, the music, the way these animals interacted with one another and on their own, mimicking the behavior of real animals so accurately, it was all so thrilling to watch unfold. I’ve never seen water animated like this, I’ve never seen light shimmer in the reflection of a cat’s eye in such a breathtaking way, and I’ve never been more stressed in my life. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but I was absolutely panic-stricken watching this movie, just as I knew I’d be. Every single animal makes it out alive in this film, but not before experiencing a harrowing, stunt-filled, life-changing odyssey of survival and unlikely friendship and heroism. Even though it was just animation, I really felt for these brave critters, and desperately wanted them to succeed. I enjoyed watching these animals learn to work together and find solutions for their scary-high stakes, but I would’ve liked it a lot more if none of them were ever in distress. And you may be thinking, “But Lili, without conflict there would be no story to tell and that would be boring to watch.” And to that I say, you clearly haven’t watched the television program Too Cute, where animals are profiled and observed in their homes, just chilling and playing, and let me tell you, it is anything but boring. I was still utterly captivated by this wordless, wondrous film—which now joins the ranks of other wordless films featured on this blog—but I could’ve done without some of the trials, tribulations, and tragedies in this film. The best part of this movie is its central cat character, who reluctantly befriends every flora and fauna it meets, and partakes in some classic cat behavior (knocking items off of ledges, playing with another animal’s tail, and shaking its butt wildly as it stalks its prey.) All of the animals are voiced by actual animals, recorded at a zoo—except for the main character, who was voiced by sound designer Gurwal Coïc-Gallas’ cat named Miut. There was no storyboard created for this film, no deleted scenes, and, of course, no animals were harmed in the making of it. At the end of his Oscar acceptance speech, director Gints Zilbalodis said, “We’re all in the same boat. We must find ways to overcome our differences and work together” and I can’t think of a more succinct and pertinent message to deliver in a speech seen by the entire world.
Like many cats who watched Flow, Trinket was very curious about the flickering lights and colorful fish and effervescent main cat protagonist, but we were both even more enthralled by tonight’s next film: Ceyda Torun’s 2016 documentary Kedi. The film opens on text that reads: “Cats have lived in what is now Istanbul for thousands of years. They have seen empires rise and fall and the city shrink and grow. Though cared for by many, they live without a master. And whether adored, despised, or overlooked, they are undeniably a part of everyone’s life.” We are then taken on a journey through the bustling city of Istanbul, where all manner of cats reside peacefully among the human citizens. Taking care of the many flocks of street cats is an unspoken, understood rule in Istanbul, and on every corner and beside every shop there is food, water, and plenty of love to be given to the beloved furry residents of this city. Kedi is a unique, intimate portrait of these cats, and the people who have cherished them for generations. By utilizing interviews, drone footage, and a specially-constructed, ground-level, remote-controlled rig, Kedi follows the intricate and exciting lives of the street cats of Istanbul—none of whom are truly strays, in the traditional sense. Everyone does what they can to care for the kitties, and everyone has, as one man puts it, “Running tabs at the vet.” While we are shown hundreds of different cats—in alleyways, on rooftops, by the sea, in bodegas, or cuddled in restaurant booths—we are introduced specifically to Sarı, Duman, Bengü, Aslan Parçası, Gamsız, Psikopat, and Deniz, as well as the humans who look after them, respectively and collectively. Each neighborhood cat has a distinct personality, and the people who interact with them on a daily basis discuss all of their little quirks, idiosyncrasies, and what makes them so different from the other cats. As one woman says, “What matters is being on the same frequency as them. They can tell if you don’t like them, and they’ll feed off your negative energy.” She speaks of her apartment building’s cat, how her behavior changed after she had kittens, how you can tell her to leave a place and she will defiantly sit in the same spot anyway. Next, we meet a man who works by the wharf, and he explains how his local cat was the scrawniest of her litter, how all her siblings left but she stayed behind, and how she loves being pet so much that she nearly passes out each time. He says, “I heard they always kept a cat aboard a ship to absorb the excess energy. Prayer beads do the same for me, a cat does the same for me. Besides, we’ve gotten used to her, she’s one of us, coming and going unconditionally, and endless conversations, too.” We also learn a bit of history: how during the Ottoman Empire, Istanbul’s harbor was a major shipping and trading spot, and the cats that were kept aboard ships to kill rats would get off the boat and settle into the cozy community. That’s how Istanbul became home to so many different breeds of cats—not just the Turkish Angora but Norwegian Forest cats, Persian cats, Bengal cats, tabbies, calicos, long-haired cats and short-haired cats of all varieties. As each person gives their cat testimonials, I couldn’t help smiling bigger and bigger each time. Some of them made me emotional, not just because they made me think of my own fallen feline, but because each declaration of love and appreciation for these tiny beings feels deep, genuine, philosophical, even. One person claims that cats are aware of god, because unlike dogs—who think people are god—cats just know better. Another person tells a story of how he was once desperately broke, and a cat led him to a wallet full of cash, so now he makes it his mission to care for every cat he encounters—even going so far to bottle feed kittens that have no mother. One take that really stayed with me, though, was how an older man says with confidence that, “If you can appreciate the simple things, such as just being near a cat, the world is yours. You can have everything… A cat at your feet, looking up and meowing at you, is life smiling at you. They remind us we are alive.” It is all such a delightful, fascinating, life-affirming tapestry of what life could be like, if every human could coexist with every creature—or person—that is different from them. Caring for these cats teaches the humans how to care for one another, despite whatever cultural or societal differences may exist between them. Kedi is a living, breathing document of inter-species collaboration like I’ve never seen before. It’s more than just symbiosis, it is peace and harmony and empathy in active practice. It’s the kind of movie that put an involuntary smile on my face, and made me tear up out of pure, earnest, corny gratitude—or catitude, if you will. It is an artifact of human goodness, a rare example of my species proving ourselves capable of unconditional love and contentment. Kedi was the perfect, peaceful palate cleanser after the rollercoaster that was Flow, and while I recommend both movies, Kedi is an absolute must-watch if you’re a cat parent, cat aunt or uncle, or just a cat appreciator—and you can watch it, for free, on Youtube! I was worried that a week of cat cinema would make me sad, or wistful in a painful way. But I found these movies to be unexpectedly healing, and they acted as sweet, sentimental reminders of how every cat I’ve ever met has been cute, clever, and entirely their own, individual selves. I am thankful for cats, and the simple joys they freely provide. The world is far from purrfect, but it’d be a whole lot worse without man’s begrudging best friend. Until next time, spay and neuter and watch movies with your pets! Meow🐱
