Barry Levinson is not a name one would usually associate with the horror genre. The Academy Award-winning director — best known for “Rain Man,” “Wag the Dog,” and “Diner” — has mostly leaned toward satirical comedies or tense drama-thrillers throughout his career. While prepping for a documentary about the pollution plaguing the Chesapeake Bay in 2012, Levinson decided to forego the project in favor of a found-footage eco-horror that would mix fact with fiction to disturbing effect. This endeavor was “The Bay,” a mockumentary-style exploration of a contagion premise that feels almost prescient within the context of our post-pandemic world. Despite being the director’s sole foray into horror, Levinson re-invigorates the found-footage subgenre by injecting it with one of the most primal fears accompanying a pandemic: the callous cruelty of wilful inaction.
It is worth noting that Levinson incorporated the scientific research for the abandoned Chesapeake documentary into the film’s narrative framework, and crafted an aura of credibility by shooting a chunk of the footage with commonly-used digital cameras. In an interview with Mother Jones, Levinson explained how he had to take an unconventional filmmaking approach to do justice to the inner workings of the found-footage genre:
“We made this film for $2 million, shot it in 18 days with a small crew using a lot of first-time actors, and used 21 different types of video cameras, including iPhones and cheap underwater video gear, to make it seem credible. This made for more complicated editing. Everything had to be plotted out and done in one shot.”
The mixture of reality-based fact and inspired fiction helped create something truly frightening, prompting a delicate suspension of disbelief that is perhaps one of the greatest strengths of “The Bay.” Although not perfect, this overlooked horror entry must be scrutinized for its uncompromising vision, along with its brutality and gruesomeness which bring uncomfortable quasi-real undertones to the surface.
Barry Levinson’s The Bay poses apathy as the true source of terror
In Levinson’s 2012 film, journalism intern Donna (Kether Donohue) is assigned to cover a Fourth of July celebration in Claridge, a quaint little town in Maryland that thrives on its water supply. Trouble brews when a local chicken farm is found dumping toxins that end up polluting the Chesapeake Bay, and this snowballs into the townsfolk falling ill and exhibiting concerning physical symptoms. The Centers for Disease Control (CDC) is contacted once the situation spirals out of control, but a mix of apathy and inaction makes matters much, much worse. Droves of dead fish wash up on the shore, infected folks start dropping dead after writhing in unimaginable pain, and dead birds start hitting the bloodied streets. Donna and her cameraperson witness these events firsthand, torn between documenting the horrors of a real-time catastrophe and sheer helplessness when faced with the bizarre symptoms among the infected.
Not everything that unfolds on the screen feels novel or unique, but Levinson is able to use some well-tread tropes to ramp up tension in a situation that comes with no silver lining. Donna’s footage, which is later confiscated by the government and subsequently leaked by a third party, is interspersed with frantic Skype calls, cellphone videos, and digital vlogs that capture the visceral nature of an unchecked epidemic. The bodily horrors of pus-filled rashes, violent vomiting, and exploding entrails add to the heightened narrative, with a couple of mutated creatures thrown in for good measure. No one knows what to do, and those in a position to do something, like the town mayor Stockman (Frank Deal), seem more mortified by the prospect of Claridge losing tourists.
What I appreciate about “The Bay” is that it situates ecological horror at the forefront, and exposes our callousness towards the environment even when our transgressions corrupt the sanctity of life. There is more to this story than the revulsion it elicits, as we are forced to contend with the evidence left behind by the countless mini-vlogs and distressed digital calls that dissect the nature of the mutating outbreak. The shameful display of insensitive apathy accompanying this catastrophe — both during and after — is not pretty, and Levinson deliberately ends “The Bay” on this bitter, discomfiting note.
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