Presence

Steven Soderbergh’s reputation as the most experimental of mainstream filmmakers remains intact with Presence, a slight but consistently creepy study of paranoia.

The latest side project from the versatile auteur freshens some familiar elements, from ghost stories to haunted-house thrillers. Light on plot, it’s immersed in an atmosphere of unresolved grief and domestic despair that sneaks up on moviegoers as it does on the characters.

It starts out as a family melodrama in which Soderbergh’s camera is sequestered inside of a two-story, middle-class suburban house as if it’s being held by someone who’s trapped inside — darting between rooms, climbing stairs, and invading personal space.

The new inhabitants are parents Rebekah (Lucy Liu) and Chris (Chris Sullivan), and their bickering teenage children, Tyler (Eddy Maday) and Chloe (Callina Liang). They seem well-adjusted at first glance, even if the mood suggests something is off.

Gradually, veteran screenwriter David Koepp (Jurassic Park) sprinkles hints of darker secrets the family is trying to escape in a script that’s both simple and sophisticated.

It turns out Chloe is still reeling from the tragic deaths of two classmates, one of which was a close friend named Nadia. When she begins experiencing strange sensations in her bedroom and becomes convinced Nadia’s spirit is to blame, it tears the family apart.

Chris tries to be supportive, Tyler turns hostile, and Rebekah is caught in the middle. Who’s behind these visions, who are they targeting, and what do they want?

The extended takes and extensive camera movements create a fish-eye sensation that’s appropriately disorienting, especially when combined with abrupt cuts to black during the chronological transitions. However, the single point-of-view approach never turns gimmicky, as the camera and the house become as intriguing as the human characters.

Taut and stylish while dialing back the supernatural effects, the film effectively uses ambient sound and natural light to enhance the discomfort while subtly tweaking genre tropes. It’s restrained almost to a manipulative fault.

Still, as the film’s unique visual perspective makes clear, fear is more about what you feel than what you see. The chills become more visceral — especially a startling climactic twist — as Presence gets under your skin.

Rated R, 85 minutes.