Every time a new body horror movie comes out, stories are circulated by PR reps about how audiences are projectile vomiting in disgust. Then you actually see the film and think, “Hold on, I’ve cleaned up stuff worse than that.” I have not cleaned up anything worse than what writer/director Coralie Fargeat delivers in The Substance.
It is a kaleidoscope of grotesqueries, a cornucopia of nightmares that range from worrisome dental problems to “wait, that its mouth!” Some films rely on subtly and nuance, others bludgeon viewers with metaphors shaped like sledgehammers. Both can work if done right, and The Substance is brutality done super-superbly right. Again, that is if you are cool with seeing a lot of things typically kept inside of people on the outsides of people.
Elizabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) is a former very-big Hollywood star now grinding out a living making a jazzercizing morning TV show. While in a bathroom, a location where a shocking amount of the film takes place, she overhears her unscrupulous, sexist producer, Harvey (Dennis Quaid), planning to replace her for someone “hotter and younger.” You can see some of that subtly and nuance in naming the sleazy executive “Harvey.”
After she gets into a car accident watching her face get ripped off a billboard, Elizabeth is given information about an injection that will unlock a younger “better version” of whoever takes it. Guess what she does? After going through a series of weird, secretive steps that visually look like Wes Anderson designed them and have the vibe of something from Being John Malkovich, she gets the necessary medical supplies.
One quick injection of glowing toxic goo later, Sue (Margaret Qualley) emerges from Elizabeth. It’s a grisly scene that feels like a children’s toy commercial compared with what follows. The instructions explain that the two women are the same person. As such, only one can be “active” at a time. They must “switch” who is active every seven days. There are consequences for not following the guidelines. Those consequences involve way more spinal fluid than you may be comfortable seeing.
During her active weeks, Sue replaces Elizabeth on her show and touches her own butt a lot. During her active weeks, Elizabeth watches TV and eats whole rotisserie chickens. Team Elizabeth, all the way over here. You think you know where this is going, and you’re mostly right. But if you imagined the actual gory specifics, please immediately seek treatment.
The Substance ain’t for everybody, just us weirdos who revel in puke-inducing practical effects. I have only recently come to realize that my appreciation for this subgenre may be because I find the human body to be the most terrifying haunted house of all. It has a 100% mortality rate. Watching horrible things happen to fake flesh feels like some kind of revenge maybe? I don’t know. You came here for a movie review, not to watch me work stuff out.
Speaking of working stuff out, the gratuitous shots of Sue exercising feel exploitative, as does much of the probing cinematography in the first half. They are a masterful setup by Fargeat. “Oh, do you like these body parts? Would you like them if they were in all sorts of different places?” she asks. To be clear, just because The Substance is on-the-nose doesn’t mean it’s not meticulously done. This isn’t empty style or overindulgent nonsense. Fargeat is a revelation.
Even the film’s extended length works. Yes, it is overlong, but it evokes the interminability and panic Elizabeth feels. And then the whole thing loops back around and into a frenzy that also goes on for just an insane amount of time. It is grade-A shocking madness that will absolutely slake Cronenbergian thirsts.
Whatever cocktail Fargeat whips up next, I will inject it into my eyeballs so fast…
Grade = A
Other Critical Voices to Consider
Amy Nicholson at the LA Times says “Moore lived through the Hollywood that Fargeat is satirizing, and in her 40-something years in the business, she’s probably been asked more about her workout routine than her craft. Her conviction gives the movie credibility. No one would allow themselves to be lit that harshly if they didn’t believe in the cause. In return, she’s received a big, bleak, brave, funny, showy role that demands an entire career reappraisal, plus the flattery of, at age 61, convincingly playing 50.”
Shakyl Lambert at CGMagazine says “While the film does run a bit long at 2 hours and 20 minutes, those last 20 minutes unleash a grotesque bloodbath unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It flips the movie’s previous leering at bodies in a way that’s as disgusting as it is hilarious. The moment you think it can’t get any worse, it jumps higher from there. And then even higher after that. Seriously, even the most jaded gorehounds will wince at how extreme it gets.”
Aisha Harris at NPR says “The film’s final protracted shot is a stunning vision, at once grotesque and cathartic. When it unfurls, following nearly two and a half hours of all manner of jabbing, slurping, pummeling, bleating, and rotting – not to mention butts; so many butts – it is, surprisingly, relatively subdued and almost soothing. It’s the kind of bold conclusion which elicits deep admiration for its creator’s ambitions as well as a sense of accomplishment within the self for having endured the ever-escalating madness all the way through to the end.”