Foreboding title aside, one could reasonably begin watching Charlie Polinger’s “The Plague” and assume that it is a Y.A. coming of age drama— a modern-day “The 400 Blows” or a male “Welcome to the Dollhouse” about a group of teenaged boys spending their summer at a sleepaway water polo camp. However, as the film progresses, not only does its narrative get increasingly sinister, but the look and feel of the film subtly lull the audience away from a vivacious security and into the darkest psychological realms of early adolescence.
Because of the movie’s water polo camp setting, much of it takes place in and around an indoor pool. Anyone who has been to a YMCA in the early morning knows the harsh fluorescence of these environments. Accordingly, the film’s first two acts are brightly lit, appearing almost sterilized at times.
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In the opening shot, the camera is fully submerged in the pool, introducing the first of many underwater shots as the boys jump into the water, their legs kicking around and disrupting the aquatic stillness. While the swimming pool’s chlorine-washed blue is unmistakable, cinematographer Steven Breckon says that he and Polinger were trying to avoid cliched underwater shots. “The classic underwater shot is a perfume commercial with a woman in flowy drapery clothing and there’s like a God light beam on it,” Breckon tells Variety. “That’s nowhere close to what we wanted this material to look like and we were actually kind of inspired by more of a deep focus, like a painting.”
To achieve the underwater shots, Breckon explains that the camera operator was beneath the surface, receiving instructions through speakers. “I could basically talk to him through a giant megaphone speaker that is placed underwater, so it was like garbled instructions and he would just nod the camera ‘yes’ or nod the camera ‘no’ to confirm that he heard me.”
Even as the camera becomes less static, circling around the kids treading water, bobbing up and down with seeming serendipity, Breckon says that it was more carefully orchestrated than it appears. He says that the camera was “on a flotation rig that you can deflate to the perfect level where it’s sort of half in and half out. And by pushing it on the surface through those boys and having all the splashing going on, it has a very chaotic energy,” however, “it was very diagrammed out. There really wasn’t a lot of finding it in the moment because we just had to be so safe with the boys. You know, we had lifeguards on every corner of the frame.”
The sequence’s handheld look is complemented by its sound and score, which synchronously cuts in and out every time the camera submerges and resurfaces. “I’m pretty sure that the actual ducking of the sound of the music was done by Damien (Volpe) and Dave (Paterson) in the sound department. But I was there. I went for those sessions,” composer Johan Lenox tells Variety.
While the cinematography slowly morphs from the deceptive brightness of a bildungsroman to a darkness of a horror movie over the course of the runtime, the music is consistently eerie from the beginning, cluing audiences that not all is well for this group of kids. “The music is scary, but it’s also like, insanely weird,” says Lenox. “We wanted to telegraph early that some goofy and insane shit is gonna happen.”
The foreboding energy is accented by music’s surreal, sometimes liminal qualities. “You’re just hearing me wailing into this microphone,” Lenox continues, noting that while the music is strange throughout, there are subtle escalations as the movie progresses. “I don’t think there’s a string instrument in the first third or half of the movie. And then these gritty, noisy sounds from string instruments start to creep in on top of the vocals and eventually supplant them just as the fun sort of stops,” explains Lenox. “Then also there are these tense swelling drone sounds pushing into these hallways and stuff like that. I think there’s a shorter one early in the movie and then there’s like a fucking three or four minute long one by the end.”
“The Plague”’s sight and sound does have conspicuous breaks from its sinister mold. Notably, when the kids sneak out at night partway through the film, a handheld long take captures them partying in an alley.
“That’s probably the scene that’s the most extreme version of what I describe as ‘the sandbox,’” says Breckon. “There’re these broad strokes that were very set up and diagrammed out, but then within that, it’s just chaos, letting them go every which way. In terms of actually approaching it, I was trying my best to get us to commit to a 180 degree plus area, thinking we’ll flip around and get the other side, but the kids were going in circles and doing everything, so it very quickly became a 360 area and that posed some challenges. As a cinematographer, you want everybody to be in the back light, and you don’t want moments of too much front light. So I was trying to keep up with that scene as it was unfolding in front of us, but there was no version of me being like, ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. This isn’t the way that I want it to look.’ Instead, it was like, ‘No, the kids are telling us what it needs to be.’”
The scene reaches a crescendo when one of the boys pops a CD into a boom box and an Italian pop song plays. While the song could easily be mistaken for an obscure, but fitting needle drop, it is still an original piece composed by Lenox for the film. “Let’s fucking write our own thing. Like, why not?” reflects Lenox, appreciating how that the film’s “sonic world is 90% of one thing and then this other thing that comes in. It’s intentional. It could not be more opposite to everything else. I really like it as a structure and shape.”
The song is titled “Corsa Notturna” and it features Italian vocals from a child. It is some of the only vocals in the soundtrack that do not belong to Lenox himself. The song returns once more at the end of the film, in a dance sequence that once again showcases innovative camera techniques.
As the main character dances freely, we spin with him until a unique effect takes hold and it seems as if the rotation is continuing while seamlessly cutting between the boy and his revolving prospective. Breckon, however, explains that the shot was not cut at all. The team created a rotating six-sided mirror that the actor was stationary inside of, allowing him to intermittently appear in the reverse shot while maintaining the outward-facing circular motion.
“As he becomes part of the image, and it goes from the people looking at him to just him, he’s actually slowing down. He’s not himself spinning anymore, and he’s starting to take stock of the situation in the moment, but its contrasted by the fact that this mirror is spinning faster and faster,” says Breckon. It is a transfixing effect that closes the film, effectively encapsulating the story’s dizzying approach to self-acceptance.
The influences for “The Plague” are manifold. Between Breckon and Lenox, they mention taking inspiration from “Raw,” “Carrie” and “The Shining,” but also “Full Metal Jacket,” “8 ½” “The Dark Knight” and “Superbad” to shape the look and sound. The result is something wholly unique: a coming-of-age horror movie that explores the social, psychological and physical viscerality of growing up.
“The Plague” debuted at the Cannes Film Festival in May. IFC acquired its distribution rights in August and will release the film in theaters on Dec. 24.
Andrew McGowan
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