Misguided Psychological Horror Presence Is Lost at Sea

Christian Schultz’s Presence is a possession thriller gone aimlessly adrift over international waters. Where seafaring horrors like Triangle and Harpoon made quite the splash, Presence barely leaves a ripple of a wake. Schultz and co-writer Peter Ambrosio try mixing social psychological insidiousness with everyone’s favorite yacht-life reality show Below Deck, but it’s more frustrating than perpetually choppy waters. Presence treats paranormal frightfulness with the least enthusiasm, hinged on a third-act twist that sinks fast by recalling not only one of the most frustrating finale tropes in horror, but film and television history.
Jennifer (Jenna Lyng Adams) and business partner Sam (Alexandria DeBerry) hope to get rich with a new zipper patent. Jennifer worries when Sam goes missing for weeks with no contact until an out-of-nowhere call demanding that she join an impromptu yachting adventure. Millionaire entrepreneur David (Dave Davis) bought Sam’s sales pitch hook, line and sinker, but needs the girls to join him for a private cruise to his offshore manufacturing plant. Jennifer says yes, hops a charter jet and is soaking in rays upon an unspeakably expensive yacht with the promise of a $25 million payday—as long as her nightly visions, a looming figure she sees and her possibly being a sleepwalking murderer don’t ruin the partnership.
Presence introduces Jennifer as a mentally unwell New Yorker trying to cope with her best friend’s relationship ghosting, who sees this spectral figure in the dead of night. It’s the cheapest representation of supernatural hauntings, as Jennifer’s shadow—the part of Jennifer she can’t shake—stands motionless in the background now and again. Horror derives from the visions Jennifer suffers in a mania of quick-cut montages, questioning whether she’s actually killing her possessive, barroom-brawling ex, or stabbing nondescript yacht crew members. The spirit doesn’t participate beyond being a statue prop—Presence is a commentary on the brink of sanity that doesn’t boast much to scream over.