There are many scary things in the world, but few amount to provoking the dread of feeling like something is watching you. Specters of the past move about in our environments in ways for which our minds can’t quite nail down an explanation. Doesn’t that give you the creeps? Ghosts have come in forms – cartoonish depictions of floating bedsheets, the three spirits that visit and warn Ebenezer Scrooge in “A Christmas Carol,” and a child psychologist unaware of his state in “The Sixth Sense.” Steven Soderbergh’s “Presence” is entirely framed from the ghost’s perspective. It’s less concerned with spooking you; it operates from a restrained and measured perspective.
At just over 90 minutes, “Presence” invests in Soderbergh’s chosen focal point, which is meant to evoke certain emotions through simple observation. The film’s opening moments occur in an empty house, where something peers through an upstairs bedroom window. Life goes on; cars drive by, people go about their day, and the camera moves around the dust-caked rooms as if it’s longing for something. Soon after, it retreats to the upstairs closet before real estate agent (Julia Fox) breaks up the routine. A family has taken a liking to the home and is interested in buying it. There’s an automatic juxtaposition as play-given married couple Rebekah (Lucy Liu) and Chris (Chris Sullivan) and their two teenage children, Tyler (Eddy Maday) and Chloe (Callina Liang), are looking for a brand new start in a place imprinted by something, not of their doing. These four are trying to leave something behind while their unknowing roommate feels it’s continually longing. Problems don’t exactly hang out at the place you left behind; they often follow you.
Chris Sullivan (Chris) and Lucy Liu (Rebekah) in “Presence” directed by Steven Soderberg / Photo by Peter Andrews
As quickly as the family obliges to buy, Soderbergh propels the audience forward in time where the home is fully furnished and lively. David Koepp’s story looks to fill in some color in partnership with Soderbergh’s visual formula. The characters within “Presence” are in various states of disillusionment. Rebekah is the strongest voice and matriarch, locked in on pushing Tyler to be all he can be in the high school where that will happen. She showers him with praise instead of Chloe, who probably needs it the most. Chloe is locked in a depressive state of sadness due to two of her best friends dying from apparent drug overdoses. Chris is trying to keep it together as the emotional center of the foursome, but that proves futile as his marriage feels like it’s barely holding on. Tyler, well, he’s just a typical bully/jock. Given these ingredients, the “presence” focuses on Chloe. Even in her state, she has the awareness to know something is going on.
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“Presence” works best when Soderbergh and Koepp collaborate and use their methods to show a divided family. For example, there’s a moment in the film when Chris breaks down and cries uncontrollably. The camera views this from the standpoint of a friend or someone who wants to help but can’t. Chloe’s story takes prominence, and as more phenomena happen, she arrives at the belief that one of her deceased friends is trying to contact her. Liang’s ability to portray longing to get out of the deep end of the pool is the most substantial character progression “Presence” has going for it. In the ways of finding an antagonist, that’s where the film falls short. Within the second act, Ryan (West Mulholland), Tyler’s rather problematic friend, enters the fray and begins a relationship with Chloe.
Callina Liang (Chloe) in “Presence” directed by Steven Soderbergh /
Photo by Peter Andrews
Ryan can’t entirely hide his nefariousness (even though the apex of where it’s coming from doesn’t resonate), and “Presence” becomes swept up in breaking out of the deliberateness in which this story thrives. Soderbergh exacts confidence in the melodic textures he uses to paint over secrets and concealed motivations inside one location. It makes the gimmick worthwhile. The third act uses sudden violence and a confusing monologue, stating specific intentions that clash with the mood “Presence” sets. It’s interesting to see how the ghost progressively interacts with the world around it — the rules flow as the narrative does. A simple turning of pages in a book gives way to inspiration as things grow more dangerous. What would have been a bit more satisfying is if the main problem wasn’t so far-fetched.
But Soderbergh recognizes that his method is the draw, and his experiment with vantage point proves to be mostly successful. Ghosts are often depicted as lonely — wandering the earth until they’ve solved the unfinished business of their former life. For the living, the equation is that simple to solve. Trauma can be long-lasting, and society can be unforgiveness in the pursuit of relief. “Presence” may not reinvent the paranormal genre, but it’s a welcome deviation.
