‘Presence’ Review: Steven Soderbergh’s Haunted House Drama is Quietly Terrifying | TIFF

Haunted houses are scary, but the hidden personal demons that are common in our modern society are at least just as disturbing. In Steven Soderbergh’s latest film Presence both types interact, resulting in an unsettling, crisp tale of a family haunted by personal and spiritual ghosts. The end product is one of the scariest movies you will see this year—an incredible achievement considering Presence is hardly a horror movie at all.

The story opens with a first-person point of view ambulating through an empty, suburban house at dawn. Cars whistle by on the street below, while what is very clearly some form of spirit roams the rooms and stares down on them. Soderbergh’s perspective immediately evokes the iconic opening scene in 1978’s Halloween—a creepy presence moving through a claustrophobic house with big windows and stalking its inhabitants. The trick is effective in setting the stage, but Soderbergh does not strictly adhere to its rule even through the film’s quick 85 minutes—at times stepping away from whatever the ghoul is supposed to be doing. This is the second film this year to feature this approach (the other one being Nickel Boys), and I sure hope it is the last.

Soon, the Payne Family arrives, looking for a new home. Matriarch Rebecca (Lucy Liu) is the A++ type personality in charge of it all. She sizes up the house but does not really care about it—all that matters to her is that the address is within the school district she guns to inhabit so that she can push her son Tyler (newcomer Eddy Maday) into the school of her choice. All of this is much to the chagrin of her daughter Chloe (Callina Liang, another newcomer), who futilely asks father Chris (Chris Sullivan) if anyone else has a say in the matter. The spirit that inhabits the white picket fence home, meanwhile, observes them, sometimes very closely.

We cut to the next scene after another fade to block—a quirky presentation choice that Soderbergh (once again the cinematographer under his pseudonym Peter Andrews) and editor Mary Ann Bernard make. They are telling you this story through very short, very discreet scenes, little vignettes in these people’s lives (again, the entire film is less than an hour and a half). Somehow, David Koepp’s script makes it all work, another impressive feat considering he is not exactly known for dramatic personal dramas, having instead focused his career on films such as Jurassic Park.

Soon, the family has moved in, and we find out additional details about the haunts that they each carry inside. Daughter Chloe, in particular, is troubled. Her best friend recently died of a drug overdose, and Chloe soon becomes convinced that whatever is creaking the wooden floorboards of her new house is actually that friend, trying to stay behind. Her impulses are reckless and destructive, not necessarily dissimilar to her brother Tyler’s, all of which becomes way worse when Tyler’s cool new friend at his new school shows up with a coterie of drugs—and an overworked libido.

The father, Chris, meanwhile, tries to be the steady steed of the family, reminding his son to be nice to his sister and his wife that she even has a daughter. The mother, Rebecca, is too self-involved, caring only about her ambitious career and how to improve her son Tyler’s life. Her face is consistently buried in her phone or laptop. She is the kind to be typing up a film review or work report while reaching for a thick glass of wine, and then make a biting remark when someone she considers inferior questions her. Sometime later, in a particularly revealing scene, she confesses she would “do anything,” including anything illegal, in furtherance of those she loves—which, again, is just her son.

These people’s various secrets are sinister and unnerving. All five of them—the four Payne family members plus the friend—ambulate alarmingly between meanness and tenderness. From a psychological perspective perhaps the characters’ personas are unrealistic or unbelievable, but as a cinematic trick it is effective in that they all keep you guessing and, therefore, mostly bewildered.

And while you are disconcerted by their erratic behavior, the phantom continues to announce its presence, louder and louder. At first, it simply blows some air on one of the inhabitants. Later, it purposefully makes itself known to Chloe by moving a number of her belongings. Why is it doing all of this? Presence provides a purposefully unsatisfactory answer early into the movie’s third act. As the contours of a grizzly, perturbing answer present itself (perhaps in somewhat predictable ways), you will continue to shift uncomfortably in your seats, perhaps wishing that your inhabiting these increasingly tight quarters comes soon to an end.

Most notably, the obvious inexperience of the two young actors upon which the film is anchored, is one of the film’s biggest drawbacks. During that scene in which Liu as the tipsy mom makes strange, Jocasta-like comments to her son, Maday can barely hold back laughter, robbing the setting of some of its effectiveness. And while the sister Chloe is arguably the film’s most important character, Liang mostly maintains a monotone presence, despite the story requiring her to be, in essence, bipolar. Also problematic at times is the otherwise profound script, which causes the ghost to behave illogically at times and which delivers closing lines that are also somewhat nonsensical, at odds with most of the movie’s prior 84 minutes.    

Still, despite being plainly imperfect, Soderbergh also plainly achieves his purpose with Presence. He plays effectively with space (the entire movie is set in the creepy house) to create discomfort. He moves the camera around (including hiding what he needs to hide) to create anxiety. He paints believable characters (all of which are brought down by modern sensibilities) to create self-reflection. And, through all of these effective elements, he weaves a very simple, old, and indeed boring trope—a spirit, and a mystery. There will not be a single jump scare, not a single beheading or special effect of blood gushing. Indeed, Presence hardly involves death at all. The end result is, magically, still terrifying.

Grade: B

This review is from the 2024 Toronto International Film Festival. NEON acquired Presence out of Sundance and will release it theatrically in the U.S. in January 2025.