Societal expectations are a weird and terrible thing, and that seems to be something that there is a consensus on no matter where one turns to look; whether its in print, our screens, or our socials, standards of physical beauty – or at least what is deemed as physically attractive – have been decried as unhealthy, unreasonable, and unattainable. And yet, we have celebs on our ‘Insta’ feeds, Botox-ed and Ozempic-ed and full of fillers, showing us how wonderful and photogenic their lives are on a daily basis. What is the cost of perfect beauty, really? Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance offers Demi Moore’s Elisabeth Sparkle the chance to attain it – and pay for it, whatever the bill costs.
Elisabeth Sparkle (Moore) is an aging successful actress, keeping her name in the media by doing an early morning workout show for older woman on cable television; Elisabeth’s career, much like her montage-introduced ‘Walk of Fame’ star, is faded, in need of repair, and probably largely forgotten. On her 50th birthday, Elisabeth is told by the network producer that she is going to be allowed to ‘retire’ and move on from her show as they are looking for someone fresh…and young to lead the show. Devastated and distracted, Elisabeth gets into a serious car accident on the way home, where she is examined by a remarkably attractive nurse who tells her that she would make an excellent ‘candidate for the process’ before discharging her…but not before leaving a USB drive and a note in her trench coat. The drive – labeled THE SUBSTANCE – contains a video offering Elisabeth the chance at obtaining perfect youth in a genetics exercise involving a ‘substance’ that will copy her DNA and create an edited and perfected copy of her (Margaret Qualley) for her to control and use in a symbiotic life relay; seven days lived in as the ‘other self’, seven days back as ‘the matrix’ or original. “Remember,” the anonymous narrator of the substance reminds Elisabeth, “you are one.”
As the process starts, Elisabeth is split down the seem of the spine and literally births the other self – petite but buxom, smooth, supple, ample, smiling and flexible. The other self needs to be stabilized daily with spinal fluid – provided by the matrix – and the other self needs to start an intravenous feeding process for the matrix while conscious and active. After a week, the bodies switch back; the matrix is the host and must provide feed for the other self, and then has seven days before the switch occurs again. Perfect balance. Seven days for you, seven days for the other. The other self – naming herself Sue – lands the job as Elisabeth’s replacement on the morning show, ensuring Elisabeth’s continued legacy. But what happens if the balance is broken?
It is evident from the outset of the film that Fargeat’s focus on the visual elements of the film are meant to do more than simply horrify, but to truly show the audience what is going on and with whom, rather than lean on exposition and conversation to do so; the film is a primal, colorful barrage of visceral body horror, concussive music, and female rage unleashed. The visual language employed here is at times highly stylized and metaphorical, at others incredibly polished and technical – sometimes, Fargeat utilizes both approaches and creates shots of incredible technical expertise that showcase the bizarre and intentionally abstract, providing trauma for Elisabeth, or dark satire for the audience. Even the use of color seems coded to prime the audience for meaningful insights and responses; Elisabeth’s wardrobe in solid but darker shades, while Sue beams in vibrant pinks and lighter shades, all obvious allusions to age and youth, as well as the brooding darkness of the matrix, and manic potential of the other self.
Horror becomes her, as Demi Moore endures toxic beauty standards - and feminism - in what is easily one of the giddiest and goriest thrillers of the year.
And then there are the horror elements themselves. The film is every bit as gross and graphic as advertised; there is enough blood, spinal fluid, loose teeth, and dislodged fingernails for several horror films. But the real horror lingers on Elisabeth’s body as Sue begins to literally steal every last milligram of youthful essence in the weekly exchange. As Sue swings the balance in her favor to remain stabilized and out of the seven day rotation, Elisabeth obtains liver spots and swollen joints – just a finger at first, then hips and knees and more – hair loss, varicose veins and cellulite…advanced, uncontrollable betrayal of the body as Sue breaks the rules, living it up with work, partying and sexual escapades. Fargeat uses old age and the visual antithesis of beauty as a horror mechanism to underscore both a cliche and a rebuttal of the tropes of old women in the genre; for every second of screen time that presents Elisabeth’s decaying body as something to be reviled, it is always presented to us in association with Sue’s youthful exuberance and selfishness going unchecked. It is as if Fargeat is keenly aware of the giddy gross-out reaction that aging bodies can provide, but dually aware that the gross-out almost always comes at the expense of a female character in the genre. So in writing the script with its focus on the symbiotic relationship between two females who are, in fact, the same person, Fargeat subverts the tropes by aiming squarely at female beauty standards and still uses the mere display of accelerated aging and ‘undesirable’ nudity to disturb and to scare. Fargeat sees traditional female beauty standards as accepted by women, inflicted by women on other women through the work of men, and the definitive element of toxic femininity. The ‘substance’ itself represents all of that in a neon fluid – eagerly taken to achieve unrealistic expectations; a supposed solution costing way too much and ultimately failing due to human insecurity and weakness, turning women against one other, or on themselves, for value and worth in places where there is very little.
Moore and Qualley play the divergent halves of Elisabeth and Sue with the right amount of pathos and rage that the violence and horror hits just as hard as the darkly self aware comedy elements. The most poignant scene has Moore’s Elisabeth attempting to dress herself for a date after Sue has stolen a small amount of vitality for the first time. The scene is a powerful dive into private mania as Elisabeth – paranoid about her newly found old crone finger – cannot seem to be satisfied with full length gloves to hide her disfigurement. Attention shifts to her short red dress, and then finally to her makeup choices, as Sue’s lycra-adorned form haunts Elisabeth’s living room in the form of a massive billboard right in sight of Elisabeth’s home. As Elisabeth removes, reapplies, applies more, and finally rubs her face raw and clean in a ferocious meltdown, Moore – herself sixty years old – is the epitome of the toxic female experience and its ‘cure’ – in moving images. The self hatred, the sadness, the rage against the accepted standard – the demand for female perfection in order to be accepted – burns through the screen. Moore, her body itself having been scrutinized, criticized, condemned, deified and quantified throughout her career, bares all in this film – wrinkles be damned – to sell the idea of just how and why women would contemplate a black market drug for an idea of perfection. It is a robust and brave performance – perhaps the most robust of Moore’s career – and it is only further enhanced with the mirror opposite of Qualley’s Sue. Vivacious, flirtatious, and driven, Qualley’s Sue is all id to the defeated ego of Elisabeth, and the volatile juxtaposition of these opposing sides of one woman at war for control further underlines the toxic values still held as essential for a woman to be valid or valuable. The fact that Fargeat goes so far as to allow the audience to see how women are complicit in the degradation of their sisters, for the sake of an appearance, is the great horror reveal of the film. No monstrous prosthetics or gallons of blood necessary…though it certainly does not hurt to toss it in there.
The film is bonkers, messy, and always offering something to look at, and to think about. The Substance is a contender for many ‘Best of 2024’ lists this year, but will linger for its artful, outrageous, and primal examination of beauty and female culture for many years to come.
Final Thought
Fargeat’s script will be an awards feature going forward, and expect Qualley to be the next up and comer.