Disclaimer: This article contains spoilers for “The Substance.”
Much to the disappointment of women and movie-lovers around the globe, recent feminist films have seldom been able to deliver in their nouveau-age, fight-the-man doctrines. “Barbie” (2023), “Poor Things” (2023) and “Blink Twice” (2024) come to mind; while highly stylized and daring, they also lacked in their message of female empowerment. Coralie Fargeat’s “The Substance” teeters precariously on the precipice, dangerously close to joining the leagues of its fallen sistren.
The film follows the age-old quest for youth — this time set in an idealized hallucination of Hollywood bound to neither space nor time. Elisabeth Sparkle, played by Demi Moore, is a fading celebrity and fitness instructor, who no longer has ‘it,’ according to her sleazy producer played by Dennis Quaid. With her 50th birthday and impending termination fast approaching, her life — as well as the world — might as well be ending. After a near-fatal car crash, a mysteriously youthful nurse suggests an alternate solution: the substance. The titular fluid is luminous both in its neon green appearance and its promise of a “better version of yourself.” In her desperation, she injects the fluid and then gives birth, in Cronenbergian fashion, to this second self, Sue — played by Margaret Qualley. Sue is lithe and taut in all the areas Elisabeth is not, radiant in every way Elisabeth used to be. However, according to the rules of the anonymous drug provider, the two must switch off every seven days, without exception. While Elisabeth is left to waste away watching TV and ‘being old,’ Sue takes the reins of her consciousness and lives the glamorous, enviable life of Hollywood’s latest sexpot.
The discussion surrounding Hollywood’s inexorable beauty standards is nothing new. Often and without pity, once idolized starlets are thrown down the chute to make way for the next big thing. Turning 50 is the equivalent of death, and perhaps even more depressingly, erasure for women in the industry. I would be remiss not to acknowledge the irony in having Moore play an aging celebrity who’s no longer attractive. Yet, her casting is one of the smartest decisions in the film, revealing how even the most beautiful and perfect of women can’t escape this fate. However, because “The Substance” dares to take on such a large subject, it struggles to add anything new to the conversation. Its cleverness and its downfall both lie in the film’s lack of subtlety: In its attempt to add something new, it throws everything at the wall to see what will stick.
Fargeat’s most obvious angle is that of the body horror genre. Living in the female body is already horrific enough, yet Fargeat dares to go further. She explores the body without hesitation or propriety, continuously probing the boundaries of what one thinks and hopes is enough. Her depiction of aging is gloriously gross, often inducing laughter and groans of disgust at the same time. However, the obviousness progresses to the point of patronization, as if she’s worried the audience might just not get it. With the two-hour and 20-minute runtime and a bloody finale that puts Brian de Palma’s “Carrie” to shame, I can promise you that we get it.
Evoking the same tropes and visual rhetoric as David Cronenberg’s “The Fly” (1986)and John Carpenter’s “The Thing” (1982), the camera’s treatment of the body is crucial. Fargeat and the cinematographer, Benjamin Kracun, manage to depict the female body in a manner both humorous and grotesque, loving and punishing. However, the camera’s gaze really shines in its depiction of the young and beautiful Sue. She has now taken Elisabeth’s place as a famed fitness instructor, replacing all that’s old and drab with the new and shiny. The camera is as leery as Sue’s audience, often lingering on her scantily clad rear or perfect bosom. This sexualization was perhaps a purposeful choice on the director’s behalf, but one that weakens rather than empowers its feminist tone. Given that similar attention is never given to the older but just as beautiful Elisabeth, the camera seems to be perpetrating the very gaze it tries to subvert.
The performances of Moore, Qualley and Quaid, which are unforgettable in their extravagant and stylized nature, are only augmented by Fargeat’s promising and witty direction. While the camera is sometimes complicit and the narrative repetitive, “The Substance” does not fail to make an impression.
