Bonkers film skewers Hollywood’s obsession with youth and beauty
Anyone who thinks Hollywood has no original stories left should immediately go see The Substance. It’s one of the most unique, startling, and unforgettable films you’ll see this year. It also happens to be one of the most insane, visceral, and downright gory pictures in recent memory, so if you’re at all squeamish, this movie isn’t the best choice for your Friday night cinema outing.
But if you enjoy – or at least can tolerate – body horror, then boy is The Substance the movie for you. French writer/director Coralie Fargeat takes us on a wild ride that has to be seen to be believed, though her film will have you averting your eyes nearly as much as they’re fixated on the screen.
Writing about the picture is tricky, since it holds so many surprises and jaw-dropping plot turns. But I’ll give you the basics. An aging starlet, Elisabeth Sparkle, played with intense ferocity by Demi Moore, is unceremoniously fired from her Jane Fonda-esque exercise show on her 50th birthday, as the producers search for younger talent. Fearing for her career and lamenting her lost youth, Elisabeth procures a mysterious substance that, upon use, will allow her to become a brand new, wholly separate woman. This second self is a young, vivacious, and beautiful 20-something–a “better version” of Elisabeth, per the promise of the substance’s purveyors.
The only catch is that Elisabeth has to alternate between living as Sue (an equally energetic Margaret Qualley), the younger, substance-induced version of herself, and as her current, older, Elisabeth-self. But, as the substance instructions explicitly warn, this switch must be made weekly, without exception. What happens if the warning isn’t heeded? By pushing the limits of the one week deadline little by little, Elisabeth/Sue soon finds out, and the results comprise the film’s most audacious scenes. If you can imagine a mash-up of the Sissy Spacek revenge/horror classic Carrie and the empathetic leanings of The Elephant Man–but dialed up to about a thousand–you’ll have some idea of this picture’s singular sensibilities.
To discuss much more would be difficult without revealing just how unhinged and shocking the story becomes, but suffice to say your astonishment level will be off the charts. I’ll only advise that with its squirm-inducing close ups of food, needles, flesh, and dentistry, the film may put you off cooking and doctor visits for good.
The point of all this extremism, though, is to make an underlying point about the way women’s bodies are judged, valued, and de-valued, especially by men. While certainly effective at relaying its theme, the film often comes across almost too heavy-handed in its metaphors, although that obviousness seems to be the point. How society treats and often discards women can be grotesque and perverse, and so a grotesque and perverse film about the topic may well be what it takes to truly force viewers to confront that fact.
On the performance front, Moore, Qualley, and Dennis Quaid, as Harvey, a particularly loathsome and slimy television producer, are all terrific. Moore, with her long career and start as a Brat Pack darling, is especially perfect for the role of a former toast-of-the-town actress facing sexism and ageism. She goes for broke here, mercilessly channeling decades of rage and exhaustion at the entertainment industry’s impossible beauty standards.
The picture was nominated for the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival this year, and deservedly took home the Best Screenplay prize. While you may walk out of the theater saying, as I did, “Thanks for the nightmares,” you won’t soon forget the images you’ve seen, or why Fargeat, Moore, and Qualley want to share them. They may not be pretty, but they can’t–and shouldn’t–be overlooked.
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The Substance is in theaters now.
