In a water polo camp team, a couple of teenagers must endure the bullying of their teammates.
Very… very… slow… The Plague is one of those slow-burn films that places enormous faith in atmosphere and gradual character development. The lengthy first act carefully introduces its young protagonists, establishing the fragile social ecosystem they inhabit: who dominates, who submits, who bullies, and who becomes the inevitable victim. It is a patient opening, perhaps even an admirable one, as the film clearly wants us to understand the dynamics between these kids before anything truly dramatic unfolds.
The problem is that very little does unfold. For over an hour, the narrative moves cautiously or reluctantly, if you may, toward a promised escalation that never quite arrives. The film repeatedly signals that something ominous is approaching, but those signals come primarily from the soundtrack rather than the story itself. Johan Lenox’s music, with its dissonant vocal textures and occasionally arrhythmic structures, evokes the minimalist unease associated with the one and only Philip Glass. Writer/director Charlie Polinger constantly suggests that something terrible is just around the corner. Yet the narrative rarely matches that promise.
Instead, the film presents sequence after sequence of childish cruelty. Bullying, in all its ugly forms, becomes the central spectacle. And while these moments are undeniably unpleasant – and convincingly performed by all youngsters – they ultimately circle around familiar questions. Why does bullying happen? What role do parents, teachers, or coaches play in preventing it? Why is intervention so often insufficient? And most importantly: what is the solution?
Unfortunately, the film does little to move beyond raising those questions. This creates an odd imbalance. The elements surrounding the narrative are genuinely impressive. The young cast delivers strong, believable performances. The cinematography is often beautiful, capturing the uneasy youth in carefully composed images. And the music, by far the most striking component, continuously hints at psychological depth.
But the story itself struggles to justify the long build-up. When a film spends so much time promising a meaningful culmination, the absence of one becomes difficult to ignore. The slow-burning coming-of-age structure ultimately leads to a climax that feels familiar and dramatically underwhelming. Actually, that climax reminded me of one of my favourite films of all time, Swing Kids (1993); it just didn’t work the same way here.
It almost feels unfair to criticise a film that clearly demonstrates craft and sincerity. Yet sometimes strong performances, elegant visuals, and thoughtful music cannot fully compensate for a narrative that never quite finds its destination.
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