Ghosts, Gorgeous People, and Glacial Pacing
Let’s begin with the undeniable: Mira Sorvino is a beautiful, talented actress who radiates intelligence even when the script around her collapses like a haunted Jenga tower. Unfortunately, in The Presence (2010), written and directed by Tom Provost, her performance is trapped in a movie so lifeless it makes the ghosts look energetic.
This is not so much a supernatural thriller as it is a cinematic nap. It’s as if The Others and Ghost Story had a child—then forgot to feed it drama, suspense, or coherent dialogue. The Presence is the kind of film where nothing happens for so long that when something finally does, you check your pulse just to make sure it wasn’t you who died.
Cabin Fever, but Without the Fever
The plot—if one can use that word without offending actual plots—follows an unnamed woman (Sorvino) who retreats to an isolated cabin on a foggy island to “find herself.” What she finds instead is a spectral squatter (Shane West) who watches her like a bored Airbnb host.
The ghost can’t talk, can’t leave the cabin, and apparently can’t even find a decent lighting angle. So he just lurks in corners, staring at Mira Sorvino as she journals, sighs, and contemplates wood grain for the better part of 45 minutes.
Then her boyfriend (Justin Kirk) shows up uninvited—because if there’s one thing women crave during introspective isolation, it’s clingy men—and the movie briefly threatens to become interesting. But instead of romantic tension or emotional catharsis, we get awkward small talk and an engagement subplot so tepid it could be used to calm tea.
The Haunting of Mild Inconvenience
Remember when ghosts used to do exciting things? Rattle chains, flip tables, whisper ominous phrases in Latin? Not here. The haunting in The Presence consists primarily of subtle sound effects and invisible tapping—basically the paranormal equivalent of someone texting “u up?” at 2 a.m.
The “action,” if we’re being generous, involves a glass tipping over, a whisper in the breeze, and a door creaking open slightly faster than usual. By the hour mark, you start rooting for a demon, or at least a squirrel, to liven things up.
Director Tom Provost seems convinced that silence equals suspense. In reality, it equals confusion and the occasional yawn so loud you might summon your own spirit of disappointment.
Enter the Ghost in Black: Because Why Not?
Just when you think the movie couldn’t possibly get any murkier, along comes the Ghost in Black (Tony Curran)—a supernatural figure who looks like he wandered in from a rejected Matrix sequel. He whispers dark thoughts into Mira Sorvino’s ear, causing her to become snippy with her boyfriend, who in turn sulks like a man allergic to chemistry.
This “evil whispering ghost” gimmick could have been intriguing if the dialogue weren’t so vague. The Ghost in Black doesn’t tempt her with power, lust, or vengeance—he just kind of mutters, “He’s not good for you,” like a passive-aggressive life coach from the underworld.
The result is less “battle for her soul” and more “toxic relationship counseling with ectoplasm.”
A Boyfriend, a Crawlspace, and a Whole Lot of Nothing
Eventually, Justin Kirk’s character decides he’s had enough and tries to leave, which, to be fair, is the most relatable choice in the film. But before he can escape, he gets himself knocked unconscious under the cabin, because apparently the script couldn’t think of a more interesting way to keep him around.
Meanwhile, Mira Sorvino discovers his absence, panics, and starts yelling at walls—which, in fairness, is what most viewers were doing by this point.
When she finally finds him trapped beneath the house, the Ghost in Black encourages her to finish the job and bash his skull in. She briefly considers it (and so do we), but ultimately resists, because even in a haunted cabin, consent matters.
The Woodsman Cometh (Eventually)
Just when it seems like the movie might actually climax, another spirit enters: the benevolent Woodsman (Deobia Oparei), a ghost so underwritten he makes Casper look like Shakespeare. He’s the moral compass of the afterlife, apparently, and swoops in to save the good ghost (Shane West) from eternal limbo.
It’s touching, I suppose, if you haven’t already emotionally checked out and started googling “how long do spirits linger after bad movies?”
The Woodsman exorcises the Ghost in Black, the good ghost ascends, and Mira Sorvino learns… something about love, self-acceptance, or the importance of maintaining better property boundaries. It’s never entirely clear.
The Sound of Nothing
One of the strangest aspects of The Presence is that most of it unfolds without dialogue. For long stretches, all you hear is ambient wind, creaking floors, and Mira Sorvino sighing like she’s trapped in an arthouse ASMR video.
The silence might have worked if it built tension, but instead it feels like the movie accidentally muted itself. Every sound effect—footsteps, doors, whispers—arrives half a second late, like the film’s own ghost editor haunting the timeline.
Even when characters finally speak, it’s in cryptic fragments:
“Something’s here.”
“It’s always been here.”
“Do you feel it?”
“Yes… no… maybe?”
These aren’t lines—they’re fortune cookies from Purgatory.
Cinematography by Fog Machine
Visually, the film has moments of eerie beauty—the mist rolling over the lake, the cabin’s flickering lanterns, Mira Sorvino’s expressive face illuminated by candlelight. But after a while, the constant gray palette feels less atmospheric and more like someone accidentally applied the “depression filter” in Final Cut Pro.
The cinematography keeps trying to convince us that the emptiness is profound. But there’s a fine line between “minimalist horror” and “didn’t have enough budget for lights.” The Presence proudly plants itself on the wrong side of that line.
Mira Sorvino: The Saving Grace (Barely)
Let’s give credit where it’s due: Mira Sorvino does her best with the material. She brings a raw emotional core to a role that mostly involves staring, crying, and having existential arguments with ghosts no one can see. She’s graceful, magnetic, and far too good for this whispering séance of a movie.
Her beauty and talent are almost distracting—they remind you that she deserves to be in something worthy of her skills, not mediating between mopey specters like a paranormal couples therapist.
But even Sorvino can’t salvage the slog. Her performance is like watching a Ferrari stuck in traffic—it’s powerful, elegant, and utterly wasted.
Final Thoughts from Beyond the Grave
The Presence wants to be a haunting meditation on grief, love, and redemption. What it ends up being is a 90-minute foggy stare into the cinematic void. It’s not scary, not thrilling, and barely coherent. It’s the kind of movie that could be used as an insomnia cure—though you might wake up halfway through, confused, and realize the movie is still quietly happening.
Tom Provost’s directorial debut is ambitious but misjudged, mistaking stillness for depth and silence for substance. It’s a ghost story that forgets to be alive.
Even with the luminous Mira Sorvino anchoring every frame, The Presence remains a haunting only in the sense that it lingers afterward—not in fear, but in regret.
Final Grade: D+
Proof that even with Mira Sorvino, not every spirit is worth raising. Sometimes, the scariest thing is the runtime.
