The Plague, which was officially released on 24 December and nationally available soon thereafter, was good but could have been even better.
This psychological thriller, which is set in a summer water polo camp, immerses audiences within teenage social dynamics. Ringleader Jake (Kayo Martin) and the other campers act as if Eli’s (Kenny Rasmussen) acne and rash are symptoms of a highly contagious disease that is transmitted through contact. Newcomer Ben (Everett Blunck) wants admission into this group yet increasingly objects to its exclusionary tactics, which has dangerous consequences.
Author and director Charlie Polinger demonstrates the wisdom of writing what one knows. He reportedly found his old sports camp journals when his mother asked him to sort through the contents of his childhood bedroom where he had been quarantining from COVID ( < > ).
Both inform his script and direction, which along with the lead performances, cinematography (Steven Breckon) and the score (Johan Lenox) establish an engaging experience for audiences as illustrated by an eleven-minute Cannes standing ovation. In the dark theater, I was transported almost immediately to those days, and remained simultaneously mired in this movie and that muck for most of the time.
One such recollection included a brother whom I contacted later that night. I omitted this motivation in my message, but wouldn’t have thought of it, or reached out to him, if I hadn’t seen this movie although he never inquired about any of that.
Nonetheless, I was occasionally distracted by the relative absence of adults except for the coach (Joel Edgerton), who was an unreliable role model. Other adults appeared in loudspeaker announcements in the school for example or the absent part of a phone conversation or were occasionally seen walking through the pool area or eating in the school cafeteria, and were cited in conversations but were otherwise mostly absent.
The effect is an overpowering account of group dynamics that only relents near the end. Until that point, the movie has been a deep dive into the horrors of teenage group psychology, which is where many remain immersed. Nonetheless, the story seems to succumb to its own pressure almost as if the need to end it surprised its author.
Perhaps the body-horror violence could be forgiven. Such violence had been foreshadowed, and at least seems potentially plausible. Neither could be said for Ben’s development.
Ben ostensibly found a way despite challenging circumstances to jump into the deep end and as the coach (Daddy Wags?) advises just be himself. He returns to the coed dance and mimics Eli’s moves, and thus assumes his role. Ben is mostly ignored by the others, which shifts the focus from group dynamics to an individualized, and inconsistent, account.
The significance is too ambiguous. What would, or could, motivate such a transformation? Or had Ben, who also has a rash, become Eli, and if so, is this rash, and the others’ reactions, symbolize a physical and emotional contagion?
These unanswered question rather than deepening this experience only made it murkier, which was a disappointing way to end, and leave, this otherwise engaging, and ultimately worthwhile, experience.