Rated R, 85 minutes
Director: Steven Soderbergh
Starring: Lucy Liu, Callina Liang, Chris Sullivan, Eddy Maday, West Mulholland, Julia Fox
It wasn’t until I read Cormac McCarthy’s NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN that I realized the rules of grammar need not apply when it comes to writing. Because once you know the rules, you can then bend them, break them, and even throw the rulebook away. The analogy can also be applied to filmmaker Steven Soderbergh and his process. Once the pioneer of modern independent filmmaking with SEX, LIES, AND VIDEOTAPE, Soderbergh, then 26, would struggle for nearly a decade before making the pivot to more mainstream features and working with the likes of George Clooney and Jennifer Lopez (OUT OF SIGHT), and Julia Roberts (ERIN BROCKOVICH).
Through his struggles and successes, Soderbergh has never shied away from what should be standard or actualized using a film camera – or, in some select cases, an iPhone (the device he used to make features UNSANE and HIGH FLYING BIRD). He also has a knack for fast productions and subverting expectations with each new project.
His latest, PRESENCE, is an experimental ghost story confined to a single home location, all interior shots, and a series of single-take scenes from the perspective of a specter. If you didn’t already know this was a Soderbergh project going in its opening sequence will either get you acclimated for the next 85 minutes or have you looking for the nearest exit. An extended Steadicam shot takes us through an empty house. We go from a second floor bedroom closet downstairs through the main room and kitchen before finally retreating back upstairs. Cut to black. New scene. Another single take (aka “oner”), this time with prospective homebuyers that become our central characters.
Lucy Liu plays Rebecca, a mother with a type A personality. She makes all of the decisions, and husband Chris (Chris Sullivan) is comfortable with it. His bowing to most of the major tasks is not to say he is without struggle. Actually, this small chamber piece ensemble, when including teenage siblings Chloe (Callina Liang) and Tyler (Eddy Maday), is full of struggles. It’s just that some hide it with self-effacing humor, a drink of alcohol, or out of sight and earshot from others. Except the ghost sees and hears all. We do too.
Chloe suffers the most. She’s still grieving the death of a friend who OD’d and is in a perpetual state of remoteness. Always combative with her brother whose jocularity is more jock-ularity on account he’s an elite swimmer who pals with Ryan (West Mulholland with his golden-haired surfer locks and glazed eyes), one of the more popular kids at school. The presence will move around the house, sometimes frantically, observing what’s going on. It sees quiet moments, minor flair ups, and loud outbursts. But it always returns to Chloe and her bedroom closet. It’s like a ghostly Roomba.
The passive observation and fragmentation of the scenes feels like trying to remember a dream. Vignettes strung together with flashes of black. David Koepp, who previously scripted KIMI for Soderbergh, tells us some of the things we need to know while leaving us to fill in the blanks. He never makes a point to explain what the presence is, how long it’s been there, or why it can’t leave. The ghost is just a vessel; a visual cue to engage audiences beyond cheap scares. Although, there are moments of parlor trickery meant to scare the family and not us.
PRESENCE is visually impressive, though I wonder what audiences will think. The forced first-person perspective with no cuts inside the scenes is quite a choice, allowing Soderbergh to build tension even if we can’t truly connect with how the characters behave. Everything is skewed. We are with the characters throughout, but we aren’t up close and personal. Perhaps this was intentional: to create distress with spatial awareness.
A simple ghost story that is anything but simple, Soderbergh is seriously cooking and I love it. Playing with tropes and form, and with a skeleton crew, PRESENCE, in the end, is both a trick and a treat.
Grade: B
