Steven Soderbergh has never been a director to rest on his laurels. With a filmography that veers from big-budget capers like Ocean's Eleven to intimate experiments like Bubble, he has proven time and again that his creative appetite knows no bounds. His latest release, Presence, adds yet another feather to his cap. This eerie haunted house drama, written by David Koepp (Kimi), trades conventional horror tropes for an introspective, atmospheric approach that's as emotionally resonant as it is spine-chilling.
At first glance, Presence appears to be a typical haunted house tale: a family moves into a suburban home and begins experiencing strange phenomena. But from the moment the film begins, it's clear that Soderbergh is up to something far more ambitious. By choosing to shoot the entire movie from the perspective of a ghost, he creates a voyeuristic experience that draws viewers into an unsettling, almost claustrophobic intimacy with the characters. The ghost's omnipresent gaze is both haunting and empathetic, watching events unfold with quiet detachment and a strange yearning.
The story revolves around Chloe (played with piercing intensity by Callina Liang), a troubled young woman grappling with the recent loss of her best friend. Chloe becomes convinced that her friend's spirit is haunting the new family home. Her mother (a stellar Lucy Liu) struggles to keep the family together amidst mounting marital woes, while Chloe's brother (Eddy Maday) dismisses her fears, distracted by his mysterious new friend whose presence feels ominous. The result is a tense and layered family drama, where the supernatural is intricately intertwined with human fragility.
Soderbergh's minimalist style is on full display here. Shot in just ten days, Presence is a lean 85 minutes, yet every frame is meticulously composed. Using wide-angle long takes and a restrained color palette, Soderbergh transforms ordinary suburban spaces into alien landscapes. His use of sound is equally masterful—the creak of floorboards, distant whispers, and the low hum of unease contribute to a soundscape that keeps viewers on edge without resorting to clichéd jump scares.
David Koepp's script strikes a delicate balance between eerie mystery and heartfelt drama. Chloe's grief is palpable, her desperate attempts to make sense of her experiences lending the film a raw emotional core. Meanwhile, the ghost's perspective lends a poetic quality to the narrative, as if the house itself is silently bearing witness to the family's unraveling.
While Presence is undoubtedly experimental, it never feels self-indulgent. The film's brisk pacing ensures that its artistic flourishes serve the story rather than overshadow it. As the ghost's perspective reveals hidden tensions and buried secrets, viewers are drawn into a narrative that is as much about the pain of loss and disconnection as it is about spectral hauntings.
With Presence, Steven Soderbergh proves once again that he's a master of reinvention. The film's unconventional approach to storytelling breathes new life into the haunted house genre, offering a chilling yet profoundly human exploration of grief, family, and the lingering echoes of the past. Callina Liang's performance is a standout, anchoring the film with vulnerability and strength, while Soderbergh's direction ensures that every element—from the evocative cinematography to the intricate sound design—works in harmony.
At a time when so many horror films rely on cheap thrills, Presence dares to be different. It's a ghost story, yes, but it's also a deeply affecting meditation on what it means to be seen and unseen, remembered and forgotten. Soderbergh has crafted a film that lingers in the mind long after the credits roll.
Personal Impressions: Few directors have the versatility and courage of Steven Soderbergh, and Presence is yet another testament to his ability to surprise and delight. I found myself mesmerized by the ghost's perspective, which offered a fresh and deeply poignant lens through which to view the story. Callina Liang's performance left a lasting impression; her portrayal of Chloe's grief felt achingly real.
The film's refusal to rely on jump scares or conventional horror tricks was refreshing, instead leaning on atmosphere and emotional depth to create its chills. It's not just a film you watch; it's one you feel. For me, Presence stands out as one of Soderbergh's most inventive works, a hauntingly beautiful film that's as much about life as it is about death.
Do you think unconventional storytelling devices, like the ghost's POV in Presence, enhance or detract from the emotional impact of a film? Why or why not?
