Every time I have thought about The Substance since watching it — most often in my attempts to write this review — I have felt a pit in my stomach and an unshakeable feeling of disgust. Two women left the theater halfway through, probably finding the unending shots of sharp needles, pus-filled wounds and bloody organs to be more than they bargained for. When the movie ended, my friend took a moment to sit down because she thought she was going to pass out. It’s a spectacle you must see for yourself, but it was gory enough that I watched the last third of the movie through the gaps of my fingers, which was getting so gross that much of the theater quietly laughed from sheer discomfort. I felt the alternative to laughing might be to gag.
Plasticky, playful, absurd and most saliently disgusting, Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance follows aging aerobics instructor, Elisabeth Sparkle, in her devolution after she takes a substance that will produce a newer, better, younger version of herself. After she produces (births? hatches?) her tighter, hotter offspring, the Bond-girl-esque Sue, you see just how far Elisabeth and her subsequent evolutions are willing to go to stay attractive and relevant.
Perhaps the movie only glows in the wake of the various horror disappointments of the year (See: Longlegs, Maxxxine and Trap), but wow, it stands out. The Substance masters the restrained march into absurdity where its recent horror competitors jump the shark too quickly. By the time Elisabeth evolves into a repulsive, hunchbacked woman, you hardly remember the normal, conventionally attractive heroine we began with. The movie still had my attention by the time of its gorey, campy climax — an absurdity that, if executed any worse, would’ve elicited an eyeroll and hope for reprieve.
Between Longlegs and Maxxxine’s boring satanic panic and Trap’s forgettable serial killer scare, I have to consider why the insidious creep of The Substance’s mad science is so much more viscerally effective than other recent horror attempts. The Substance begs me to ask the extremely obvious question: “What if this really happened?” to which you might answer, “Chloe, that’s an extremely obvious question” to which I might answer, “No, but really.”
No, but really. The Substance isn’t making anything up. Women are already sticking needles in their bodies in hopes of looking younger and they’re already getting cosmetic procedures that might have dire consequences. According to the NIH, the mortality rate of the infamous Brazilian butt lift may be as high as 1 in 2,351. A woman cracking open her spine to hatch a better version of herself doesn’t seem so far-fetched when middle class women, with spouses, children, hopes and dreams are willing to risk their lives for a bigger butt. Black market cosmetic procedures aren’t new either. Countless Mexican women were permanently disfigured in the 1990s after they were injected with motor oil by a fake doctor who told her clients that she would make them look like “Barbie dolls.” I don’t bring up these tragedies flippantly, but only to say that if The Substance existed, people would definitely take it and they’re already taking the closest approximations that we have.
Actually, many critics’ biggest qualm with the movie is that it is not creating anything new; their issue seems to be that it is so derivative and well, that’s true. Upon watching, a beginner cinephile can quickly spot the movie’s top influences: David Cronenberg’s The Fly, Darren Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream and most obviously, Robert Zemeckis’ halloween classic Death Becomes Her. All three are absolutely worth watching and so is The Substance, even if it’s not the most original movie of the decade. The Substance builds upon Death Becomes Her’s didactic warning against vanity and becomes an elegy for insecurity, as Elisabeth’s struggles for beauty are not for the attention of a man, like they are for DBH’s Madeline Ashton and Helen Sharp. Rather, Elisabeth is struggling for belonging in a world that tells middle-aged women that they have no place but the sidelines.
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The movie’s thesis is even more poignant because Elisabeth is portrayed by Demi Moore, an actress who has personally struggled with aging in an industry that’s constantly searching for the younger model. Her performance is excellent, with Moore staying in control of the taciturn Elisabeth’s subdued moments, and properly exploding in her hard-hitting emotional climaxes. Sue is played by Margaret Qualley, who with this, handily solidifies herself as Hollywood’s most interesting new actress (and also, as my personal favorite nepotism baby). As Sue, she’s hot, confident and charming, and she brings humanity to a character whose status as a human is a bit unclear. The Substance’s strong lead performances, stellar pacing, and focused aesthetic and message, make it a must watch this year.
The Substance is not admonishing women for doing the common things to feel confident under current beauty standards and neither am I. The movie isn’t trying to be smarter than it is; it’s warning you that if you see your body as a mutable entity to be improved upon, rather than the vehicle that allows you to live your life, you will always be an unfinished project. You’ll forever be Elisabeth Sparkle standing in front of the mirror putting your lipstick on and taking it off again, losing your sanity — and yourself — in the process.
Chloe Asack is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences. She can be reached at [email protected].