Beauty is a Beast
Holy goopy, Batman! French director Coralie Fargeat’s sophomore feminist salvo is one for the ages.
The Substance
Director: Coralie Fargeat • Writer: Coralie Fargeat
Starring: Demi Moore, Margaret Qualley, Dennis Quaid, Gore Abrams
UK / France • 2hrs 21mins
Opens Hong Kong Oct 10 • III
Grade: A
Director Coralie Fargeat has zero fucks to give. Truly. Fargeat made a serious splash back in 2017 when Revenge injected a fresh, feminist and entirely fist-pumping jolt of energy into the rape revenge actioner. It became pretty obvious to anyone who actually cared to pay attention that she was being ultra-French in her gore: There were lots of symbols, lots of pitch black humour, lots of heightened neo-western reality – colour, sound, texture – and lots of internalised misogyny. As is too often the case, the woman that is raped, Jen in this case, has to claw her way to the realisation that she had nothing to do with her assault. Revenge confronted, head on, how easy it is for women to blame themselves when they’re stuck in a world seemingly built to make them think assaults and harassment are their own fault. Zoë Kravitz riffs on the idea in Blink Twice. In a way JT Mollner does it in Strange Darling (look for it).
Fargeat, who picked up an award at Cannes for her screenplay, is doing something similar in her latest film, The Substance, a balls-to-the-wall, lunatic, social commentary body horror bonanza that David Cronenberg would stand up and applaud. Fabulously photographed by Promising Young Woman DOP Benjamin Kračun, realised by production designer Stanislas Reydellet (oh my god, that corridor, that coat, that apothecary-style bathroom!) and anchored by an awesome, almost revelatory performance by Demi Moore, The Substance is not for everyone. Plenty are going to utterly loathe it; the two-hour-plus run time won’t help. But if raising a middle finger to “ideal womanhood” hits your sweet spot and you like your horror to land somewhere between goofiness and gravitas, this is a gonzo treat.
We see you, Demi
The less you know about where – and how – The Substance goes the better the experience. But here goes nothing: Elisabeth Sparkle (Moore) is an aging fitness guru, kind of a Jane Fonda workout star of the undefined time period in the story here. I say “undefined” because TV workout? Leg warmers and thongs? It’s now, but really? Like Fonda, she’s an award-winning actress with a star on the Walk of Fame, but as she’s coming up on – gasp! – 50 her producer Harvey (Dennis Quaid, perfectly buffoonish) tells her the show is moving on, regardless of whether or not she’s the headliner. Distraught after her worst work day ever, Elisabeth drives home distractedly and sure enough gets into a car wreck. While recovering in hospital, a perfect specimen of a nurse slips her a USB drive with some info about a serum that can create a younger, prettier, perfect version of her. She’s intrigued. She buys in, despite the complex, explicit instructions that come with the juice and dire warnings of the consequences of not following the rules. After injecting herself with an “activator”, a younger, hotter version of her is born (is it ever). “Sue” (Margaret Qualley, Poor Things, deranged) steps into Elisabeth’s life, taking over her job, her apartment and her position as famous person at large. In the end, things go… poorly. Elisabeth winds up bingeing on chicken legs and Sue gets back at her slovenliness by turning her home into a party den maggoty with vapid dudes. By the time the almost inevitably viscous Cronenberg-meets-Dario Argento-meets-John Carpenter finale rolls around we think we’re able to brace for impact. We are not and it. Is. Bloody. Glorious.
There is absolutely nothing subtle, or understated, or subtextual about The Substance. The Fonda reference, “Harvey” the producer, the obnoxious neighbour entirely uninterested in Elisabeth but all horned up for Sue – are all incredibly on the nose and Fargeat doesn’t give a shit. She’s not in it to be low-key and erudite. This is audaciously and aggressively gross, upmarket grindhouse horror that rails at, illuminates and questions our collective biases and fears of ageing, of obsolescence, of being alone, of being “unattractive”. If anything is “wrong” with The Substance it’s the short shrift Fargeat gives to the persistent ways women are made to be complicit in the ceaseless quest for physical beauty. In fairness, that’s such a can of worms it could be the subject of its own film.
Kračun keeps things equally lurid and vivid, starting with a graceful opening shot that comes with a tremendous bookend, that sets the tone and is one of the film’s most indelible images despite its relative stillness. Elisabeth’s wardrobe is rich and vibrant, indicating a rich and vibrant woman whose vitality is being marginalised because of a few wrinkles. The sickening extreme close-ups of Harvey power-noshing shrimp is hilariously ironic – it comes during the moment Harvey tells Elisabeth she’s disgusting. For all its visual creativity – Elisabeth is shot in primary colour blocking and hard shadows, Sue is all soft, moist focus and pink – and some dark, dark comedy, The Substance has considerable, erm, substance (sorry) and it demands you pay attention. And many of its best moments come thanks to Moore. In a bit of meta casting – check out the podcast You Must Remember This if you’re at all unconvinced Moore’s been done dirty for a long time – Moore both leans into and defies her image as a hottie (and nothing else), strips it down and stomps all over it.
And the performance goes a long way to giving Fargeat’s writing some much needed emotional veracity, particularly the stand-out scene where Elisabeth lets self-doubt and outside forces blow a date. It’s a recognisable moment that underlines Fargeat’s point with an exclamation mark. In some ways it is a brave performance; everyone’s talking about how wondrous it is a sixtysomething woman dare take her clothes off (like she should be allowed to, lolz) but the bravery is in putting voice to that draconian thinking and making us all confront it. The Substance is often funny, super-squishy and great fun, but it’s also angry and tired AF of the beauty game. One of 2024’s best. See it on a real screen.