The Most Interesting Presence in Presence Is Not a Ghost—It’s a Giant Elephant

“Soderbergh sure enjoys telling stories about the ways in which women are oppressed, but does he ever question his own role in reinforcing structures of oppression?” ancient deceased reviewer asks.

Feb 01, 2025

Warnings: Non-graphic mentions of SA, spoilers for Presence

Steven Soderbergh’s newest talkie Presence opened last weekend and has already grossed over $5 million. This movie is a lot of things. Horror is not one of them. The misleading marketing as such, though, has summoned me from my cursèd slumber, which makes this feature fair game for my horror Stubsack. And so it has come to pass that I have manifested in physical form here today to review it. Beware—I’m cranky.

Steven and the Curse of the Haunted PSA

Distilled to its After School Special essence, Presence is a cautionary tale about drug-assisted sexual assault.

Which, fine. We’re still having a big cultural conversation about this topic, since men can’t seem to stop doing it to people.

But I can’t ignore the hypocrisy of this movie, and I suggest you shouldn’t either.

I’m talking about that petition—you know, the one that Harvey Weinstein circulated in 2009? If you’re old and unfortunate enough to know what I’m referring to, feel free to skip the next section.

The Polanski Petition

For the rest of you: Celebrated filmmaker Roman Polanski, who was 43 at the time, drugged and raped a 13-year-old girl in 1977. (This is undisputed.) He rich-personed away five of the six charges and pleaded guilty to the sixth in a disgustingly sweet deal, but ended up fleeing the U.S. anyway, hours before his sentencing—because, wait, you don’t understand—he was very rich! And super famous! This shouldn’t have been happening to him!

Polanski then lived happily in France for many years, and successfully evaded extradition until 2009. That’s when he was arrested on arrival at Zurich Airport. You see, he was en route to accept his Lifetime Achievement Award from the Zurich Film Festival, because despite what men would have us believe, a little rape conviction never ruins a man’s career unless he’s poor already anyway.

The international film community went up in arms! (Can you picture them, flailing their arms all about?) How could this be happening to such a golden citizen of the biz who made movies people loved and—more importantly—served as such a useful and powerful network hub of people who know people? “This is a miscarriage of justice,” the wealthy and powerful serial rapist and sexual harasser Harvey Weinstein wrote in an Independent op-ed. (Make sure you really want to read that before you click it.)

Hence, the now-infamous Polanski petition was born, a document in which a whole Who’s Who in Filmmaking stood in solidarity with Roman Polanski, a man who—remember—raped a child (undisputed) and then fled justice (undisputed). The petition’s tone was outrage. Not at the rape of a child, nay. At the inconvenience befallen the rapist, who happened to be a beloved artist.

The petition demanded Polanski’s release on the basis that a film festival ought to render its host country a safe haven for criminals for the duration, so long as those criminals make films that people like. It referred to the criminal matter as “a case of morals,” which makes it sound subjective and probably something only the prudes would clutch pearls about. I’m not making this up; you can read the full text of it here.

There’s so much more I could say about the crime, the petition, the campaign to blame the child rape victim, the several other victims that would come forward, et cetera. But this is a movie review. (Okay, no it’s not. Not yet. But I’ll throw in some more stuff about the movie before I click the publish button.)

Yes, He Signed. No, He Never Apologized.

You see where I’m going. Soderbergh signed the petition. A lot of Hollywood people did.

As far as I have been able to find, he has never publicly apologized or expressed regret. Only a few signees have.

He Made a Movie About the Same Kind of Crime

(More spoilers ahead!)

The storyline in Presence culminates in the high school-aged protagonist explicitly not consenting to a sexual act with an acquaintance, and then being drugged by that young man, who assaults and attempts to murder her.

For Soderbergh to make a film about the violation of bodily autonomy, with no public apology on record for being part of the problem—or even the mildest acknowledgment of a misstep, for Christ’s sake—is the kind of thing that makes a long-dead crone like me truly rage. I mean, it really lights my pyre. My coffin is rattling for a battling. You get the idea.

No, Sir: In Which I Address Mr. Soderbergh Directly Although He Will Not Read It

You do not get to make a film about sexual assault.

I mean, obviously you can, but you shouldn’t.

And if you choose to do it anyway, why not accompany it with an actual apology?

Do not wave your little indie-auteur flag, sir, and try to show-not-tell us how much you understand the issue when you publicly supported a man who, with minor rewrites, could be the villain of your story. Worse than the villain of your story, because the actual movie villain is a teenager.

People like your damn movies. It’s not like people won’t forgive you. But it’s hard for us to forgive what you aren’t sorry for.

It’s About More Than Just Presence: In Which I Return to Addressing the Reader

Soderbergh has long styled himself as a filmmaker who is willing to explore women’s perspectives. sex, lies, and videotape (1989) was hailed as a feminist work, even as its male protagonist got to play the wise, “celibate” voyeur, a sort of Woman Whisperer who actually exploits women and violates their consent in his own solitary way.

The Girlfriend Experience (2009) ostensibly attempted to humanize sex work—at least a very particular brand of white, hetero, fairly vanilla, very high-end sex work—but in the most banal and emotionless way possible. It manages to stay far away from any of the real issues (internal or external) this kind of work implicates in the lives of most sex workers and their families around the world. A lot of its runtime consists of the 21-year-old leading lady’s character listening to the complaints of her boring, misogynistic clients. Apparently it took two whole men to write the nearly plot-free screenplay for this slice-of-life film, which was released the same year that Soderbergh signed the Polanski petition.

The Me Too movement (which actually predated the petition by three years) went viral in 2017 due to allegations against industry giant, Polanski supporter, and petition originator Harvey Weinstein. That would have been a great time for everyone who supported Polanski to publicly apologize. But that didn’t happen.

It’s not like Soderbergh never thought about Me Too. In 2018, he gave a whole interview to The Daily Beast (that one is paywalled; see Indie Wire’s reporting if you’d prefer) in which he expressed concern that there would be an industry backlash against it, that powerful men in Hollywood would stop hiring women, I guess the logic being they might not get away with sexually abusing them anymore. Sure, this sounds like something men would do, rather than changing the actual power structure and holding themselves accountable, which are things he, a powerful man in Hollywood, didn’t suggest in the interview. If women just stopped getting hired, well, what could be done about it? Certainly not the hiring of women, that’s for sure!

The Hollywood feature film industry went on hiring pretty much the same number of women year over year, though, up through the present. Meaning, at a low ratio to men. That’s important not just because of the Hollywood pay gap, which outsizes even the regular gender pay gap. (And here I would link you to official sources on the gender pay gap such as this one, but the current dictatorship has scrubbed them.) It’s important, because who decides which women’s stories get told and how? By the numbers, it’s mostly men.

In a way, Soderbergh’s 2018 interview reflects exactly the way he prefers telling stories about women being oppressed: Without questioning his own role in reinforcing the structures of oppression.

Two months after that interview, his movie Unsane was released. It’s a story about aggressive stalking, as well as the gaslighting of women in mental health institutions—ultimately a thriller about a woman and her would-be rapist. I hear it was entirely shot using this device called an iPhone.

Which gives me an idea. Keep reading though.

Who Even Cares? It Was a Long Time Ago.

1977 was a long time ago, unless you’re a centuries-old, long-dead crone like me. 2009 might also seem like a long time ago, unless you were one of Polanski’s victims. Is it time to just let this shit drop?

Abso-fucking-lutely not. Are you kidding the long-dead crone? Now? When the Equal Rights Amendment has failed to become law despite over 100 years of effort? Now, in the year 2025, the year that Meta has canceled DEI programs (and fact checking) and Mr. Zuckenberger has gone on Joseph Rogan’s radio programme to complain that corporations need more “masculine energy” despite the fact that only 10% of Fortune 500 CEOs are women (only 1% women of color)? Now, in the year that a serial rapist has been elected U.S. President for a second term, so you can be sure it was no accident? Not to mention all the male billionaires currently licking the serial rapist dictator’s butthole?

No no no no no. This, my pretties, is exactly the best time to stir all this shit back up.

This is the time to hold every surviving signatory accountable. Look where we got by playing nice. There is no “statute of limitations” on expressing a despicable opinion, and releasing a new movie should absolutely open the filmmaker up to scrutiny when the movie’s messaging and the despicable opinion in question are incompatible. That is hypocrisy that we should be unwilling to ignore any longer.

And, you know, plenty of people did NOT sign that petition.

Shouldn’t We Separate the Art from the Artist?

Oh, excuse me, is that what everyone who signed that petition did with Roman Polanski? They appreciated the art while holding the artist accountable for his criminal actions, right? [The crone cackles.] Of course they didn’t.

Have you ever noticed that “separating the art from the artist” is something people want us to do only when it benefits the offending artist?

So no, we aren’t doing that anymore. It turns out it just encourages artists to keep doing bad things.

Who Should Be Telling Women’s Stories?

The industry is still built in such a way that it takes monumental effort for a woman to get a film made, while men—especially men who have proven themselves bankable in the past—can continue to churn out work with the full weight of institutional support behind them. In 2024, women made up only 16% of directors and 12% of cinematographers in the (domestic) top-grossing 250 movies.

Men are obviously going to keep telling stories about women.

Should men tell feminist stories? It might surprise you that my answer is “Yes,” but with annotations. Hear me out.

After all, to tell a feminist story is to actively challenge gender stereotypes, to highlight the experiences and perspectives of women, and make a statement for gender equality. Honor our agency. Question power dynamics. Challenge societal expectations. Tell stories that promote positive change and a more equitable view of women in society, even if they are sad, scary stories. Especially if they are sad, scary stories.

Every storyteller should aspire to tell this kind of story. I don’t think any modern, alive person should be telling non-feminist stories about women. Think about what that would mean.

But that doesn’t mean we can’t call the storyteller out for hypocrisy. Art is not a defense, nor an excuse, nor restitution for heinous behavior, nor for the offense of using one’s celebrity to endorse others’ heinous behavior.

Nor does it mean we can’t criticize the storyteller when they tell the story poorly, or in a way that centers men or exploits our pain while pretending to uplift us. Especially when movies are made in a system that still makes it a whole lot more difficult for women to make them.

Nor does it mean we can’t criticize the storyteller for not hiring 50% women (which no one in Hollywood is doing, although when the director is a woman, other women are employed on and off screen in greater numbers than the norm). Or for not hiring more people of color, more trans and nonbinary people, and more people with disabilities.

Nor does it mean we have to buy that movie ticket or stream that movie.

First Call to Action

Women, we make up 50% of moviegoers. It bears remembering that when the carriage wheels meet the road, most men will prioritize the comfort of powerful men over the actual lived experiences of women every time.

I suggest that those of us with an entertainment budget ought to support more movies made by women, by people of color, by queer and trans and nonbinary people, and by disabled people. They can take away DEI and they can ban abortion. But they haven’t yet come for our right to choose a movie.

Going to spend money on a movie? Look that shit up. Who wrote it? Who directed it? How equitably did they cast and staff it?

When you really want to support a filmmaker, go see their movie opening weekend, or the second weekend. And then, if you want the writer and director to see the most money from your view, rent it from your streaming service. If you liked the movie, tell your friends.

Second Call to Action

I say this as a long-dead crone who has watched the centuries come and go: Time is precious. Money is limited. And I know that owning an iPhone is a privilege. But you know what there is an infinite source of? Rage. You know what else? Hope. (Or so I am told.) And you know what there’s no time like? The present.

Remember how Soderbergh shot an entire 4K film on fucking iPhones? The actual technology to make your own movie has never been more accessible. Hollywood is slow, and hopelessly entrenched in its outdated institutions. We shouldn’t stop demanding better of it, but if there was ever a time to make your own movie, the time is now. Go crowdfund that shit. There’s a good chance you know someone who has an old iPhone or two lying idle in a drawer. Consider this the gentle but firm spinsterly push you might have needed, and tell us your story.

Let’s fucking do this. We don’t need anyone’s permission.

Oh Right, This Is a Movie Review

Presence? It was all right, I guess.