Review: The Substance — Crooked Marquee

Whether Coralie Fargeat is making a rape-revenge film with the lurid neon nightmare Revenge or a body horror like the gory satire The Substance, she captures female rage on screen like few other filmmakers can. She’s not choosing to write and direct subtle dramas that quietly interrogate women’s stoic responses to various injustices visited upon them; instead, she’s making big, bold movies and no apologies. These aren’t nice films that everyone will like. Fargeat doesn’t give a fuck — and that quality makes her work all the more mesmerizing. 

For her second feature, the French filmmaker goes Hollywood, literally and figuratively, as she brings in recognizable American stars and sets the action in Los Angeles. Played by Demi Moore, Elisabeth Sparkle is an actress whose star has lost its luster; both her literal one on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and the metaphorical something that made her the object of lust and attention when she was younger. After she is unceremoniously fired due to her age from her role as the lead of an ‘80s-style aerobics show by icky network exec Harvey (Dennis Quaid), she is desperate to regain her youth and beauty. She is offered The Substance, which promises to turn her into the best version of herself.

That version is Sue (Margaret Qualley), who is perky and bouncy in both personality and form. Yet there’s a catch (as there always is in fairy tales like these): Elisabeth can become Sue for seven days, but then she has to switch back into her older self for seven days. Inevitably, that seven-day period feels too short for Sue, but there are consequences for dwelling too long in the younger body. 

Fargeat has made a gloriously gross movie that made me cackle like the witch that society imagines me to be at the ripe old age of 42. The Substance is wild and wildly funny, unafraid of going there with scenes that make your skin crawl while simultaneously making you giggle at the gore. Shot by Promising Young Woman’s cinematographer Benjamin Kracun, the colors are bright and the sun is shining, a fine contrast to the thematic darkness. Its cultural references range from The Picture of Dorian Gray to The Fly, but it is a distinctly female take on the genre and the horror of existing in a woman’s body in this world.

A lot of The Substance is marvelously over the top, but it still rings true. One of the most affecting moments involves Elisabeth preparing to go out—but she is never quite satisfied with the results of her work on her hair and her makeup, redoing and erasing and overdoing her look for the night as the clock ticks by. She’s late, but she’s more concerned that she just can’t get it right. As someone who has attempted and failed (and attempted and failed) a smoky eye, a cat eye, and any makeup look requiring a modicum of skill, I’ve been there. But this isn’t about the makeup; it’s about Elisabeth’s basic unhappiness with her looks, especially at this point in her life, and she won’t find a fix through even the perfect application of blush or lipstick. 

The Substance mulls over the time spent and the pain experienced in the name of beauty, but those efforts are never enough. Moore is absolutely stunning at 61, but even she is discarded. It also interrogates what men are allowed to get away with in both their looks and their behavior; Quaid’s Harvey is a disgusting character who remains in power despite his advancing age and awful suits, with the camera zooming in on his pores and his leering grin in tight, shudder-inducing close-ups. At 2 hours and 20 minutes, it sometimes feels like an endurance test. Elisabeth’s experience is a grueling one that we feel in our bones and in our guts. The Substance is arguably too much, but that is absolutely its intent.

“The Substance” is in theaters this weekend.