Presence: Steven Soderbergh's Intense Family Drama Enough to Spook the Dead

By Thom Ernst

Rating B+

Director Steven Soderbergh, who invariably adds a unique touch to storytelling, softens the haunted house genre in his latest film, Presence. It’s a ghost story, a minor entry in Soderbergh’s oeuvre but still worthy of attention. Well, perhaps slightly less worthy, depending on your tolerance for a film that unfolds in distinctive beats, reminiscent of chamber dramas.

Sudden, sharp, dark screens separate scenes before moving into the next one. There are no detectable smooth, unintrusive cuts. Each scene unfolds in a single continuous take, contributing to a naturalistic tone in the dialogue.

The story is set in a charming blue wood-paneled house in a quiet, upscale neighbourhood. However, the home’s apparent tranquility hides an underlying menace, which contrasts sharply with the sleek, modern lines of the appliances and the warmth of its mahogany-framed doorways and wooden staircases.

Characters are the pulse of a Soderbergh film, and Presence is no different. Lucy Lui is the film’s marquee name. She plays Rebekah, the strong-willed, pragmatic mother of two high schoolers, Tyler (Eddie Maday) and Chloe (Callina Liang).

Father Chris (Chris Sullivan) is conflicted by the overt favouritism that Rebekah shows towards Tyler, the athletic and socially minded eldest. In a scene more frightening than any haunting, Rebekah tells Tyler in the kitchen that she has never loved another human being as much as she loves him, without any reluctance.

Audiences could trace similar qualities in Rebekah back to Mary Tyler Moore’s memorable role in Ordinary People (1980) as a grieving mother whose heart has hardened towards her surviving child. The difference is that Rebekah’s children are both still alive, making her unapologetic favouritism — which she seems incapable of recognizing — even more tragic.

As Tyler, the favoured child, newcomer Mayday delivers a wonderfully understated performance. However, strong, subtle performances appear to be the gift actors give Soderbergh — and the singular reason films like Ocean’s 11 are successful. A secondary character informs us that Tyler has a mean streak. This seems to be a misguided judgment of Tyler’s character, but Soderbergh gradually reveals the truth of that statement. The camera — the ghost — plays witness.

Chloe grieves the loss of two close friends to drug overdoses. Heartbroken and overlooked by her mother, tolerated by her brother, she finds some solace in the privacy of her room and in the admiration and patience of her new boyfriend, Ryan (West Mullholland). Suffering in isolation, she survives on the love and concern offered by her father, who openly defies Tyler’s privileged standing in the family.

Chris’s vulnerability stems from his belief that Rebekah was and continues to be “out of his league.” In his quest for her acceptance, Chris willingly relinquishes all responsibility to his wife. However, he addresses his personal weakness by advocating for Chloe, whose depression threatens to spiral into a critical state.

Amidst this flurry of dysfunction, angst, and death, stands the ghost. A watchful villain or a guiding light?

Within the trappings of a ghost story lies a mystery nestled behind a family drama. It’s so quintessentially Soderbergh. Yet, it’s also very much David Koepp, who penned the script.

Chloe suspects that one of her deceased friends is trying to communicate with her. A psychic attempts to alert the family of looming peril. Tyler proudly confesses to orchestrating an extraordinarily cruel prank on a fellow student. Chris contemplates leaving the family. And Rebekah is involved in some dubious business dealings.

The dominant presence throughout is Soderbergh’s camera, locked in like a spycam, eavesdropping on conversations in the kitchen, family room, and bedroom, or moving through the home and up the staircase with impossible ease and speed, as if the camera were a ghost.

The illusion is, of course, intentional, allowing the audience a ghostly view. Although the stunt of positioning the camera to make the audience a voyeur seems redundant — since watching a movie is inherently voyeuristic — the effect remains compelling.

Presence. Directed by Steven Soderberg. Starring Lucy Lui, Chris Sullivan, Eddie Maday, Callina Liang and West Mullholland. In select theatres January 24.