In 1988, I saw a terrific psychological thriller called Apartment Zero that was so fresh, surprising, sexy, suspenseful and original that it has haunted me for decades. It was in a class by itself, with hypnotic early performances by Colin Firth and Hart Bochner and a debut screenplay by a young writer nobody had ever heard of named David Koepp. Around the same time, fledgling newcomer Steven Soderbergh directed an acclaimed low-budget independent drama, Sex, Lies, and Videotape. While neither of these films cleaned up at the box office, they developed important cult followings and launched important careers that skyrocketed their creators to fame and fortune. Mr. Koepp followed Apartment Zero with an unparalleled number of blockbusters, including Mission: Impossible, Spider-Man, Jurassic Park and two Indiana Jones epics, while Mr. Soderbergh won critical acclaim and numerous Best Director awards for Erin Brockovich. So now we bring them up to date with a hokey, hackneyed and resounding bore called Presence.
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PRESENCE ★ (1/4 stars) |
When two creative artists with this much talent and value decide to collaborate, attention must be paid. But this movie is mistakenly titled because if there is any evidence of the kind of presence either Mr. Koepp or Mr. Soderbergh is capable of, it is clearly nowhere to be seen in Presence. Even the plot suffers from chronic fatigue syndrome. A man with a wife, teenage son and daughter moves his family to a deserted country house in a remote section of the woods. It’s a beautifully decorated Hollywood manse replete with silver nitrate glass windows, beautiful colors on the walls of every room, varnished floors and a marble kitchen replete with devices that haven’t been invented yet. But before they can so much as say “Amityville,” all of the old movie cliches begin. Books slide off the bed, float through air and land in the bookcase. A presence has arrived before they have and is now sharing the house, but who? The daughter had two friends who died of drug overdoses, and she thinks it might be them. A psychic is summoned and, without ever entering the house, predicts gruesome things will happen. They don’t.
Subplots fill time and space just to drag things out in a film more convoluted than it deserves to be. The husband plans to divorce his wife for no discernible reason. Loopiest of all, there’s the entrance of a homicidal dork who plays an important role in a bizarre, doubly confusing finale. For a film with so many setups, nothing ever happens. OK, the “presence” is creepy but never scary or suspenseful. Something happened to it, probably in this house, and now it needs to do something, but it doesn’t know what it is. Mr. Koepp’s languid screenplay offers no feeling of apprehension or anxiety. Instead, it forces the inhabitants, who are more annoyed than frightened, to say things like “Make smart choices—the stupid ones tend to last forever.” A line that vapid cannot be the work of the same David Koepp who wrote the thrilling Apartment Zero. It’s hard to label a film this empty, but the word “worthless” comes to mind instantly.
Footnote: The acting in Presence is so bad that it’s a favor to the cast not to mention any names.
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