David Koepp Reveals Shocking Twist in ‘Presence’ and His Return to the ‘Jurassic’ Franchise!

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SPOILER ALERT: This article discusses the plot and ending of “Presence,” now playing in theaters.

As with many ghost stories, the presence in “Presence” has a good reason to haunt its house.

Following the distressing spectacle of the Payne family’s internal strife, an unseen Entity hovering around their newly acquired luxurious dwelling decides to take dramatic action to rescue its troubled inhabitants. As drugged Chloe (Callina Liang) is moments away from being brutally murdered by her new partner Ryan (West Mulholland), the spirit swiftly descends to rouse Tyler (Eddy Maday) from his roofie-induced unconsciousness on the rooftop. With a frenzied determination, Tyler dashes up the staircase, down the hallway, and bursts into the bedroom to confront Ryan, who has already slain one of Chloe’s friends and falsely depicted the death as an overdose. In the ensuing struggle, the two boys unexpectedly plummet out of a second-story window. The Entity then gazes down to see their limp bodies sprawled in the driveway.

In a recent interview conducted over Zoom, screenwriter David Koepp expressed his puzzlement about the origin and motive of a certain character in the story’s conclusion. He admitted, “It’s truly unsettling.” Reflecting on his personal life, Koepp shared that guiding his four children, with two of them still teenagers, has been an incredibly challenging journey. This experience, he said, has instilled in him a great deal of apprehension, and perhaps some of these fears found their way into the script-writing process.

In a sudden switch to darkness, the climactic scene of “Presence” unfolds. We find the Payne family again, likely after the funeral of their son, with an eerie vacancy in their home. Despite the house being largely empty, Rebecca (played by Lucy Liu) feels a lingering presence. Pursuing this sensation into what was once the living room, she catches sight of her son’s reflection in a mirror, causing her to break down and weep uncontrollably.

In an earlier scene, it was hinted that the mysterious entity, later revealed to be Tyler, is perplexed by our world’s sequential flow of time and is instead immersed in the past to prevent a tragic occurrence. When we learn that Tyler is the Presence, the movie’s narrative takes on a new perspective: that of a spirit who has just passed away, reflecting on his heartless treatment of his sister and making amends by rescuing her. In what could be an act of remorse, he then sacrifices himself to meet his own end.

Koepp explains that the entity serves to aid them, not hurt them, and its purpose is to rescue his sister in the finale. He proposes a theory: whenever a new ghost story is crafted, it’s essential to devise a reason for people to see ghosts. One possibility he suggests is through trauma. In his personal experience, when faced with traumatic situations, he becomes more perceptive of the world and those around him compared to usual times. When one is in pain themselves, they seem to notice the pain of others even more keenly.

For filmmaker Steven Soderbergh, “Presence” signifies a creatively bold yet efficiently made experiment: producing a horror movie entirely from the viewpoint of an unnamed spirit. Interestingly, this concept seems to bring Koepp back to his roots; his second directorial venture was the supernatural thriller “Stir of Echoes,” featuring Kevin Bacon, where a child’s gaze into the camera at the start of the film is actually that of a ghost.

As a dedicated fan, I’ve witnessed Michael Crichton’s successor in Hollywood’s golden screenwriting scene, David Koepp, shine since Steven Spielberg handpicked him to script “Jurassic Park” at just twenty-something. Yet, amidst the grandeur of blockbusters, he consistently revisits intimate settings, as seen in David Fincher’s “Panic Room” and Steven Soderbergh’s “Kimi.” However, it was with “Presence” that Koepp ventured into a gloomier realm than before. He confides that after initiating the screenplay, he started having dreams as if from a ghostly perspective. Upon awakening from these visions, he would immediately put pen to paper, completing most of his work before 6:00 a.m.

Initially, when I watched the movie for the first time, I was taken aback by its voyeuristic approach that made it seem incredibly real,” Koepp explains. “You’re essentially spying, overhearing things you shouldn’t be privy to and peeking into places where you don’t belong. This element surprised me with a level of realism I hadn’t anticipated.

How do you write a screenplay accounting for this formal premise? Are you blocking the Presence or scripting its psychological state?

In the screenplay, I consistently employed “we” for narrative purposes. For instance, “People begin arguing vehemently. We grow uneasy. We step cautiously away.” Or, “We’ve witnessed enough and lose interest, exiting the scene.” It’s quite fascinating how this perspective comes across as if it were a character. In this film, the ghost is portrayed by none other than Steven Soderbergh – through his camera lens. The camera moves stealthily, mirroring the ghost’s skittish behavior. You’ll often observe it retreating from confrontations or hiding in closets, reflecting the character’s timid nature. The camera behaves as if it were the ghost itself.

Many viewers won’t know that this film is shot from a ghost’s perspective before seeing it. Did you feel that this premise had to announce itself to the audience at some point in the film?

One explanation for why Steven seems to wander through the house in the initial scene is that he’s attempting to convey, “Observe, each perspective is unique.” Audiences are generally astute, and horror fans have become accustomed to creative approaches due to the need to innovate within the genre. However, as you progress deeper into the film, it becomes clear that this entire narrative will maintain a consistent style.

I hadn’t even thought about a person expecting it to stop being from the ghost’s perspective.

Initially, Steven believed that the film shouldn’t drag on for too long – this was due to budget constraints as well as the robustness of the visual concept. He felt 85 minutes would suffice. If we went beyond that point, the story might become tedious and lose its appeal. Originally, I had envisioned a ‘shuttering’ technique for transitions, but Steven preferred fades instead, since they allowed him to adjust the duration of these transitions based on the length of time jumps or the need for audience reflection in each scene. Each scene was intended to be continuous without cuts, so a blackout would represent a passage of time, and anything else might have been too disruptive.

I’m half-Asian, so I’ve always got an eye out for films with half-Asian families. They are rare enough that each feels notable. Were the ethnicities of the characters written into the script?

In a different phraseology:
Steven wondered aloud if Lucy could possibly be of Asian descent, perhaps because she was the person he had in mind. My immediate response was, “I don’t see any reason why not.” It seemed to me that he, like you, noticed the scarcity of such representation in stories. That’s how I approached the character development for “Stir of Echoes.” I didn’t want to portray an affluent family living in a picturesque mansion, as it’s a common trope in ghost stories. Instead, I wanted to depict a working-class family from Chicago. It adds authenticity and offers a more diverse perspective on screen, making the narrative feel more genuine and contemporary.

You’ve mentioned in previous interviews that Soderbergh had been pushing you to follow through on an idea you had for a movie. Was this that idea?

This particular concept was his brainchild, which eventually blossomed into the title “Kimi”. He repeatedly urged me, saying something along the lines of “You really need to make that happen.” There’s another idea we’ve been discussing, and he’s reminded me several times I’ve been remiss; it seems like this year has been quite hectic. During one dinner conversation, he suggested, “I want to create a project that explores the perspective of a ghost. It should all take place within a single house and focus on one family.” This idea really resonated with me. I’m drawn to stories with a limited setting. The constraints of such a narrative concept intrigue me. I find that these limitations actually inspire creativity, pushing me to think of innovative ways to approach the project at hand.

Did he give you much direction for the overall story or the identity of the Presence?

The main points were as follows: A house with an unusual atmosphere was presented to a troubled family by a real estate agent. I moved on from there, and we completed the project rather swiftly. Additionally, a strike was imminent, which I informed him about a week prior to its commencement; he obtained a waiver and filmed it. Regrettably, I couldn’t attend the set since the strike took place. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to witness his work on it, which is unfortunate. However, many times good things happen quickly; it’s those that take an eternity that somehow never come to fruition.

A family saw a peculiar house through a real estate agent. The project was completed swiftly before a strike happened. I couldn’t go to the set during the strike, so I didn’t see him work on it. It’s a shame because good things often happen quickly, but those that take too long never seem to materialize.

These movies don’t unfold in confined settings, but do you find a similar thrill in restrictions when you’re writing for an established property, like “Jurassic” or “Indiana Jones”?

These projects are challenging due to the absence of constraints. The original “Jurassic” film marked the early days of computer-generated imagery (CGI). I inquired from Steven [Spielberg], “So, what are the boundaries here?” To which he replied, “Only your creativity.” I thought, “Okay, that’s a bit brusque.” However, we were essentially given free rein to create whatever we desired, and he was checking if we could actually pull it off. Given their size, these films carry immense expectations and substantial budgets, resulting in a significantly higher level of tension and pressure. In this instance, the smaller budget and the fact that Steven was financing it himself meant fewer layers of approval were involved.

You’ve returned to the “Jurassic” franchise to write “Jurassic World Rebirth,” which releases this summer. What was the impetus behind that homecoming?

The first two movies were among my most cherished memories. Then Steven suggested starting fresh and trying something entirely new. I thought that was a great idea and proposed a few more suggestions in return. This is similar to exchanging ideas with friends or collaborators. Sometimes, these ideas stick, but not always. However, at the beginning, there was no pressure – just the excitement of exploring our ideas.

In other words, we brainstormed, shared ideas, and sometimes those ideas took shape. But initially, it was all about the joy of ideation without any immediate pressure.

There isn’t even a source novel you’re pulling from for this one, right?

I re-read the two novels as a way to refresh my mindset about them. We did borrow some elements from these books, and there was a particular scene from the first novel that we’ve always wished to include in the original movie, but couldn’t due to time constraints. Now that we can use it, it feels exciting! However, after 30 years, I wondered if the excitement would still be there. But as it turns out, my affection for dinosaurs remains just as strong – they are still a source of endless fascination.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

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2025-01-25 22:48