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The conceit gives the movie shots of everything from medical examinations to the inside of a fish's mouth—a fascinating way of looking at a horrific event, even a made-up one. But there isn't room for the characters in these tiny subplots (subshots, really) to develop; the only one with significant screentime is the young journalist (Kether Donohue) who pops in to narrate the footage, offering awkward interjections like "every time I watch these FaceTime videos, it makes me sad." The movie can't fully depart from its vaguely polemic roots as an environmental cautionary tale.
Still, the outbreak effects from Hydraulx (masters of convincing effects on the cheap, as seen in their founders' terrible but surprisingly not-cheap-looking Skyline) are vividly creepy, and though the movie stretches itself gaunt even under 90 minutes, it's great to see Levinson trying something unexpected. His attempt at horror makes an intriguing double feature with Passion: Levinson revitalizes his filmmaking by sewing a quilt of faux-objectivity, while De Palma revels in an off-kilter ultra-subjectivity. They should give into these genre-twisted whims, by turns familiar and adventurous, more often.