Presence

Unusually, for this genre of thriller, there's very little attempt to invoke supernatural malevolence in Steven Soderbergh's Presence. David Koepp' screenplay, not to mention Soderbergh's camera, defy the rhythms and reveals typically associated with big screen phantasms to concentrate on a spectre that is, largely, passive but still ever-present. This ghost is observational, our free-floating perspective on these lives, able to drift around the cavernous household and nose into pertinent conversations. Presence's spook, lingering on the edge of human perception, seems to be most comfortable crouching in the wardrobe of Callina Liang's Chloe, the youngest and least appreciated child in the Payne family. Quickly, Chloe picks up on their unseen companion, believing it to be some fragment of a recently departed friend: another depressive teenage girl who was also rumoured to be experimenting with drugs. Since we are privy to all of this phantom's coming and goings - and not just those picked up upon by paranormally attuned cast members - we are able to note the less consequential ways in which this viewpoint expresses itself, be that tidying up notebooks in the bedroom it seems anchored to or literally looking down upon Lucy Liu's Rebecca as she ignores her floundering children to hurriedly empty her inbox of incriminating emails. Although this strange consciousness is thoroughly described by the film's conclusion, there are enough clues scattered throughout the piece to suggest something trapped but penitent; an emotional sensation that his persisted in these walls, hoping to connect itself to a vessel that can then enact real physical change.