Even if I told you where Coralie Fargeat’s Palme d’Or-competing The Substance ends up, you’d probably order a psych evaluation before believing me. It’s impossible to understate how audacious, disturbing but ultimately satisfying the conclusion to this twist on The Picture of Dorian Gray by way of Sunset Boulevard by way of a bloody body horror—think The Fly or The Thing or Julia Ducournau’s Palme-winning Titane. The movie lures us in with a straightforward satire on Hollywood beauty standards and actresses’ shamefully short “shelf life” before transforming and twisting itself into a completely different monster (this is foreshadowing).
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The movie begins with a time-lapse of Elisabeth Sparkle’s (Demi Moore) star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame going from newly minted and adored by fans to cracks forming on the surface and passersby noting “She was in that one movie.” It highlights one of the many inspired choices Fargeat made with The Substance‘s conception. By casting Moore in the leading role, whose physical image blanked Hollywood for the better part of a decade but now “past her prime” by industry standards, she’s turned the movie into a meta-commentary that grounds you—that won’t last.
Elizabeth’s time is now spent hosting a morning workout TV show—think Jane Fonda circa 1982—in neon spandex and her signature long black hair. She looks terrific—for any age. But not to her intentionally-named eccentric producer Harvey (Dennis Quaid) who breaks the news that the network wants to go in a fresh direction. Read between the lines: younger and hotter. After getting into a brutal car accident after the news, the attractive male nurse gives her a flash drive that contains an advertisement for something called “The Substance.”
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A mysterious phone call leads her to an abandoned warehouse where she finds a package—beautifully designed like the best DTC companies—with three pouches (it’s easy as 1-2-3, if you will). The first is “The Activator,” the second is “The Stabalizer,” and the third is “The Switch.” After injecting herself with the neon green “Activator” serum, Elisabeth’s body convulses violently before her spine begins to rip open and… something crawls out. That something is a younger body who names herself Sue (Margaret Qualley). She stares in the mirror the same way Elisabeth did before injecting herself. Where Elisabeth noted the imperfections, Sue noted her perfections.
Sue sews Elisabeth’s gaping wound with the provided needle and thread and hooks her up to the included IV food supply to give her nutrients while Sue lives in the world. We’re thrust into the colorful world of Hollywood through Sue’s eyes where she is instantly adored for her good looks, bubbly personality and impressive flexibility. Of course, though, there’s a catch. The newly matched Jekyll and Hyde pair must switch every week for a week, which we learn is because without “The Stabalizer,” which is essentially Elisabeth’s spinal fluid, Sue begins to deteriorate.
Thus begins the push-pull relationship between Elisabeth, who is enjoying her second shot at stardom but isn’t able to enjoy any of it, and Sue, who gets addicted to the adoration, but is beholden to the deal of only seven days at a time. Naturally, complications arise, which catapults the movie into full-on diabolically grotesque body horror that I will leave unspoiled but assure are as satisfyingly shocking as you could imagine.
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At one point, I began questioning the movie’s treatment of Elisabeth. Did she deserve this kind of punishment for a mindset that is simply out of her control? But that is until the movie takes its full third act turn that clears up Fargeat’s intentions. While there is an obvious message splashed on the surface of the neon surface of the movie, this is a body horror exploitation through and through. One that isn’t meant to be picked at and examined but rather enjoyed for its surface-level pleasures—perhaps another meta-commentary or perhaps a plea to make movies fun again.
The number of homages in The Substance is almost impossible to quantify. At a story level, there are shades of the duality of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the obsession with image (and its ensuing deterioration) from The Picture of Dorian Gray, a sendup of the Hollywood system much like Sunset Boulevard. Then there are its roots in body horror like the magnificent (and practical) special effects makeup of The Thing and playing god with science as in Cronenberg’s The Fly. There’s even direct homages like a devilish sequence set to the score of 2001: A Space Odyssey or a near-recreation of the prom scene from Carrie. It is a filled to the brim with stylistic and story choices that would destroy most other movies. Instead, all those mismatching debauched pieces come together to form a Frankenstein’s monster of a diabolically delightful B-movie that brings laughs, thrills and blood… lots and lots of blood.
Hey! I’m Karl. You can find me on Twitter here. I’m also a Tomatometer-approved critic.
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