The Substance, 2024.

Written and Directed by Coralie Fargeat.
Starring Demi Moore, Margaret Qualley, Dennis Quaid, Gore Abrams, Hugo Diego Garcia, Olivier Raynal, Tiffany Hofstetter, Tom Morton, Jiselle Burkhalter, Axel Baille, Oscar Lesage, Matthew Géczy, Philip Schurer, Daniel Knight, Namory Bakayoko, and Bill Bentley.

SYNOPSIS:

A fading celebrity decides to use a black-market drug, a cell-replicating substance that temporarily creates a younger, better version of herself.

A good while after things have disastrously spiraled out of control between forgotten Hollywood star Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) and her younger, prettier, popular clone Sue (Margaret Qualley), in which they each take turns living seven days at a time (such are the rules of the titular black-market drug), the former has reached her mental breaking point for a variety of reasons, but chooses to continue the experiment while uttering to that younger self the hauntingly depressing and sad-but-true words (depending on how cynical you are about society) “you’re the only part of me that people love.”

Steering clear of the spoilers that have brought viewers to this point in writer/director Coralie Fargeat’s bonkers body horror The Substance, that line also feels like the moment where this already imaginatively demented cautionary tale grabs hold of all themes played with and stirs them into a sustained explosion of stunningly grotesque imagery and astonishing prosthetics, following the story to its natural conclusion while keeping one simultaneously asking themselves what the hell they are looking at, and what the hell they could be looking at next.

That’s not to say anyone behind or in front of the camera was playing around before that point, but this film gradually builds to a series of events so feverishly insane it transcends the movie into something masterfully unhinged of the highest order. It is nutty, bloody, and howlingly funny with, well, substance, going where few filmmakers and actors would ever dare go.

However, Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley go there with fearlessly. As mentioned, the former is Elisabeth Sparkle, a once-beloved actress with her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, a star people were once enthusiastically visiting. After some seamless transitions of seasons and time, it is now cracked, with those who cross it either unaware of who she is or jogging their memories about what she has been in. No, the metaphor is not subtle, and that’s also not the only one. That’s also the point, as anyone can get away with a lack of subtlety so long as the messages are driven home with relentless force and courageous creativity.

Currently, she hosts an exercise show for middle-aged women, wishing she could go back to the days of her youthful beauty and star power. No one will be necessarily surprised to hear that Hollywood doesn’t exactly have the best track record with women over the past several decades, swallowing up women and disposing of them when they have outlived their usefulness to the industry, aka beauty. Dennis Quaid’s talent manager, Harvey, also couldn’t make it any more clear that he wants to revamp the show with sexualized dancing and is looking for someone young and pretty. Speaking of Harvey, he isn’t only depicted as externally gross but disgusting all around as the queasy cinematography lingers on his cruel face and harsh outbursts at tilted angles or sometimes focuses on the inside of his mouth, shredding apart shrimp with his teeth just like the women he uses and discards over time.

Through a bizarre set of circumstances, Elisabeth comes into a potential solution, being made aware of a secretive black-market drug called The Substance, first seen tested on an egg with a duplicate emerging from the side. Imagine that replicated with actual human beings, and you now have a small fragment of how graphic and gory the film’s setup is alone. Out comes Sue (Margaret Qualley), alongside a handful of rules that mainly involve injecting serums into the other unconscious body to maintain stability. Refusals to stick by these rules and the aforementioned 7-day request result in gnarly body horror, everything involving blood to decay to mutation.

In contrast to Elisabeth, mentally hard on her middle-aged body, Sue is confident, repeatedly seen idolizing herself, whether it be fondling her breasts, admiring her buttocks, and almost always wearing crop tops and underwear around the high-rise suite. Unsurprisingly, much of this positivity transitions into self-absorbed vanity, which the likes of Harvey propagate. Elisabeth gets what she wishes for; a way to experience the rise of fame again vicariously, but at the cost of creating a monster she’s unsure if she wants to destroy. Nevertheless, there are consequences on both ends, as the rules state that what happens to one body by neglecting the rules can’t be undone. In other words, it’s beauty as a drug to overdose on.

Also noteworthy is that men suddenly have a drastic change in attitude toward Sue (assuming that someone new has moved into the building), practically foaming at the mouth to get some action with her. Meanwhile, even with her dwindling fame, most people treat Elisabeth like an object in the way of their day. Again, this is also a darkly comedic film and Coralie Fargeat knows exactly the right time to give these men the scare of their lives. Then again, the whole movie could be attributed as one sick and twisted joke about women trying to meet up to the unreasonable beauty standards expected by men in power.

The slow unravelling snowballs into something extreme: an audiovisual annihilation of the senses that appropriately distorts sound and hypnotic camera movements. For an hour, Coralie Fargeat wears her influences on her sleeves and keeps one-upping herself in outrageous body horror and a twisted sense of humor. The phenomenal performances from Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley also ground The Substance in inevitable tragedy and internalized pain, proving that this is more than shock and thrills. It is diabolically exceptional, in a highwire freakout class of its own, and unforgettable, searing every nasty image into the mind. It is rare to be this mortified and laugh this much in awe while simultaneously feeling something human. 

Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Robert Kojder is a member of the Chicago Film Critics Association and the Critics Choice Association. He is also the Flickering Myth Reviews Editor. Check here for new reviews, follow my Twitter or Letterboxd, or email me at MetalGearSolid719@gmail.com

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