A family tours an empty home—grand hardwood floors and beaming-bright, naturally lit bedrooms—and buys it almost immediately. But this alluring estate is more intriguing because of the perspective from which we see it. The soon-to-be furnished rooms seem to protract and grow hazy through the gaze of a hidden spectator: a ghostly “presence” that haunts the home and from which we, as viewers, spectate the events of the film.
Directed by Steven Soderbergh, Presence (2025) initially appears to subvert a key element of the haunted house genre—that the ghost always remains out of our eyeline. Here, it’s a perspective we cannot escape. Using point-of-view filmmaking and elongated takes, this quiet film insists that the ghost certainly stays out of sight, yet we cannot forget its existence. Instead, we watch thoughtfully, angrily, or passively at the family in the house—Rebekah (Lucy Liu), Chris (Chris Sullivan), Chloe (Callina Liang), and Tyler (Eddy Maday)—through the eyes of this mysterious ghost, always aware that our, and its, company is unacknowledged, feared, or forgotten.
This opening premise makes one curious about the results: does the forced perspective ever become monotonous? Does the gimmick reveal itself as a tempting farce instead of an inventive tool? And is it scary, in the end, when we always know exactly where the ghost is hiding?
Unfortunately, the answers to these questions are neither straightforward nor, ultimately, satisfying. Yes, the perspective is monotonous — and it is also compelling, disquieting, and effectively observant, especially in moments of silence or as we come to understand its purpose for the family. Yes, the gimmick will always be a gimmick; it also invites a compelling medium for the ghost story and even harkens to other horror genres, such as found-footage films, for its isolating, erratic perspective. And yes, sometimes it is scary. But not quite enough.
These conclusions feel dissatisfying primarily because of the film’s failure of that third meditation. Presence film lacks any pure emotional foundation that would elevate it from its mediocre thrills to a memorable horror entry to begin the year. I don’t necessarily mean it needs to be scary in the traditional sense of the word, or the genre. But with the ghost’s sudden visibility, a perspective we might be excited to inhabit, we must also demand equally enthralling visuals.
To be fair, the first two questions I pose are answered with nuance and striking elements, such as how the family’s interpersonal connections deteriorate under the ghost’s actions. We align quickly with Chloe and Chris, the gentler pair who believe in the ghost’s existence, and against hotheaded athlete Tyler and bitter Rebekah, who question the others’ beliefs. Meanwhile, Chloe mourns her friend, Nadia, who died suddenly, and believes the ghost could be her.
But while some moments of drama and thematic arguments are effectively rendered, they are not matched by what the film desperately needs: an equally suffocating or mesmerizing atmosphere, courtesy of the ghost, that would perhaps resemble their brittle relationships or make the viewer feel the claustrophobia inherent to this one-location film.
I would even welcome a tone of bewilderment, as we learn that the ghost is not necessarily a mean or cruel being, and in fact, the opening is its “birth” into the world. Why not make its discovery of the house and its capabilities a subject of wonderment? What is it like to be this ghost? What powers does it wield, beyond the usual moving of objects and closing of doors? What does it feel like to flicker the lights, to watch the family argue without being able to intervene, to feel stuck in another world?
Only one such attack—when the ghost ransacks Tyler’s room, smashes his sports trophies, and breaks a mirror—comes close to an enchanting experience. Other moments of what could have been intense dread between Chloe and her strange boyfriend, Ryan (West Mulholland), falter under poor writing and the ghost’s unreasonably passive attitude. Rather than draw us into these scenes, these moments wrongfully remind us of our separation from the ghost and its supposed control over the house—and isolate us further from the characters and the story as a result.
Though certainly not flawed enough to dissuade against seeing—and perhaps more deserving of a prime release than the January slush pile—Presence does not excel beyond its initial premise, lacking the necessary beguiling atmosphere to cement a defining, well, presence in the horror genre.
Review Courtesy of Arleigh Rodgers
Feature Image Credit to NEON via IMDb