The Bay takes a somewhat staid genre and pushes it several steps further by using the footage from a range of sources, not just one camera: mobile phones, home movies, video conferencing calls, news coverage, security and police cameras, and piecing it all together to relate a story, told in flashback, of gross negligence resulting in an environmental disaster. In an era, where everything is recorded, photographed, broadcast, uploaded and shared almost instantly, the film becomes disturbingly relevant, tapping into the zeitgeist of our media-saturated reality. The horror at the heart of the movie is a biological aberration caused by mindless pollution. What begins as a sunny day by the seaside populated slowly turns nasty, when residents break out in nasty rashes which deteriorate rather quickly into festering boils, blisters and a painful death. With the cause of the outbreak only briefly glimpsed, what we often see are its effects and aftermath: it’s all the more horrific as it is rarely seen. The story itself benefits from some varied storytelling techniques, allowing the director to follow unusual lines of enquiry, and even freeing him from having to pursue certain characters after their footage has been shown, or has been brutally terminated due to circumstances beyond their control. While this is an interesting gimmick, it also keeps the viewer at a distance, and you end up not getting too involved or caring too much about the characters. As a cautionary tale, The Bay’s intentions are certainly honourable; it’s a caustic warning of something that could easily happen, and it will appeal to those with an eco conscience. As a horror movie, it doesn’t quite have those jump-out-of-the seat moments; there’s no distinct denouément, but The Bay is nevertheless subtly disquieting. Where Levinson has excelled is in taking an unfamiliar genre and pushing it into murkier new waters. The Bay is out now in UK cinemas.