In The Plague, writer-director Charlie Polinger delivers a bracing, tactile descent into adolescent cruelty and contagion, crafting a horror film that feels less interested in jump scares than in the slow seep of dread. Set within the pressure-cooker ecosystem of a boys’ water polo camp, the film uses genre as a prism, refracting familiar rites of passage into something diseased, hallucinatory, and quietly devastating. With its brutal group dynamics, The Plague often feels like a modern, chlorine-soaked Lord of the Flies, where social order erodes not on some remote desert island but in plain sight.
Tune into Inside the Arthouse to catch writer-director Charlie Polinger discussing his debut film with co-hosts Greg Laemmle and Raphael Sbarge ahead of its release on December 24th at the Laemmle Royal.
From its opening moments, The Plague announces its intentions through sound and image. Polinger’s approach is intensely sensory, and nowhere is that clearer than in his score, which pulses with a discordant, off-kilter rhythm. Rather than underlining emotions, the music destabilizes them, oscillating between menace and melancholy while subtly complementing the film’s meticulous sound design: splashes echo too loudly, breathing feels amplified, and the ordinary acoustics of locker rooms and pool decks take on an oppressive weight.
Visually, The Plague is just as unsettling. The cinematography leans into sickly color palettes and claustrophobic framing, transforming sunlit pools and suburban spaces into arenas of quiet menace. Polinger and his cinematographer repeatedly trap characters at the frame’s edge or obscure them behind bodies, water, or architecture, reinforcing the film’s fixation on hierarchy and exclusion.
The cast grounds the film’s escalating unease with remarkable precision. Joel Edgerton brings a coiled intensity to his role as an authority figure whose presence looms larger than his screen time, embodying the institutional blindness that has allowed such abuse to metastasize. The younger ensemble, led by Everett Blunck and Kayo Martin, delivers performances of unnerving authenticity, capturing the volatility of adolescents caught between bravado, fear, and complicity. Their interactions reveal how quickly cruelty can become currency in closed systems, and how survival often depends on knowing when to look away.
That cruelty manifests most explicitly through the film’s body horror, which Polinger deploys with remarkable restraint. The physical affliction at the center of The Plague is never treated as spectacle for its own sake; instead, it becomes a grotesque metaphor for how shame and violence spread when left unchecked, infecting bodies and communities alike.
By the time The Plague reaches its unsettling conclusion, it has established Polinger as a filmmaker with a precise command of mood and an unflinching eye for social rot. Anchored by its inventive score and unnerving cinematography, the film lingers long after its final frame, less like a scream than an infection you can’t quite shake.
“An eerie sense of unreality runs through The Plague… Polinger uses horror conventions to tease out the psychic terror and intimidation of pre-teen social codes.” – Lovia Gyarkye, The Hollywood Reporter
“A film that harnesses its many offbeat and potent powers in service of a unique strain of reassurance.” – Sophie Monks Kaufman, IndieWire
