The Substance 2024 Movie Review
Body horror is the house for mad creatures to concoct their carnal visions, dreams, and nightmares. The exploration of the body is endless in this canvas. Why would filmmakers limit themselves when crossing into this subgenre when it is all about venturing into the unknown? There are many ways you can tie these bloody brigades with everything in life, not necessarily limited to the classic theme of trauma. Filmmakers like David Cronenberg and Julia Ducournau – the king and queen of body horror (and two of my favorite directors of all time) – have found fascinating, unique ways to implement these elements to a plethora of themes, whether it is the 80s obsession with violence on the media in Videodrome or finding unconditional love in Titane.
The two have revolutionized what can be done with the horror genre. However, a new name is emerging that can be placed on that short list. That is Coralie Fargeat, known for her excellent debut, Revenge, in 2017. The French filmmaker had dabbled before with the subgenre, although it was just passing moments rather than complete focus on it. But in her follow-up, The Substance (screening in competition at this year’s Cannes Film Festival), she decides to go all out, to degrees that both Cronenberg and Ducournau would be proud of. As grizzly as her previous work, yet more audacious, The Substance has Fargeat not wanting to hold back.
She tests the audience to see if they can stomach the brutal beast she has created. And if they can’t, well… good luck then! The procedure Fargeat uses is similar to how two-time Palme d’Or-winner Ruben Östlund creates satires: having the subtlety of a sledgehammer and putting the audience through an array of loud scenarios that provoke and detach. But unlike him, Fargeat isn’t blindsided by the fact that she has done this; it is a part of the aberrant painting she has covered in bodily fluids, in all of its cinematically delightful carnage that will leave gore-hounds and horror freaks enamored by its madness.
The Substance centers around Elizabeth Sparkle (a magnificent Demi Moore who has never been better). She is a veteran actress and a top talent of her time whose name immediately hints at the sledgehammer-wielding Fargeat’s unsubtle satire. Elizabeth is a star fading away from the spotlight that used to caress her face with a soothing luminescence. Even with the trophies that ensure she doesn’t vanish from the ostentatious world of Hollywood – an Oscar for a movie that nobody remembers and a now cracked star in the “honored” Walk of Fame, which Fargeat shows from its installation to the stepped-on present during the film’s first-minutes – none of that is stopping the cruelty of how this society focused rejuvenation value women when they are young, leaving them to roost once they are not youthful.
This is Fargeat’s crux, seen early in the film as a more grounded (in comparison with what the rest of the film has to offer) and unsubtle critique. However, she doesn’t want to stop there. You already might get the point, yet Fargeat intends to construct a carnal attraction of her own. And it is a thing of horrific beauty. The once A-lister is now turned fifty, looking for a way back into the bright lights after the TV executive, Harvey (Dennis Quaid, ever so despicable in his performance, tuning into the material perfectly) lets her go from the dance workout show she hosted, Sparkle Your Life, because he wants a young face in the poster. Elizabeth doesn’t know what to do; in Hollywood’s eye, her glamor is fading.
With a string of back luck on her side, the day gets worse. She gets into a car accident that sends her to the hospital, even though no injuries were suffered. It is here where she has an encounter with a stranger, a moment that might seem insignificant if it wasn’t for the USB she has now in her possession. Arriving as a “guardian angel” at first, later revealed as a “be careful what you wish for” devil, the hard drive has information about a procedure that will make her young again via a cloning process. As explained in the USB, the experiment involves injecting a serum called “The Substance”, which will allow the user to live a new life in a young, beautiful body for seven days at a time.
The two women can’t be conscious simultaneously, as they are one person, just separated into two different bodies. Intrigued by the idea, Elizabeth decides to proceed with the unorthodox experiment since she doesn’t have another idea. Out of her spine, she hatches a younger version of herself, Sue (Margaret Qualley), in an amusing, disgusting way. She can’t believe it; right before her eyes lies a new creation. “The Substance” plays a god-like role, breaking the rules and notions of the body and its capabilities. Sue then follows to audition for the role Elizabeth has lost and gains immediate stardom, the slimy Harvey rejoicing as the fresh meat earns him money. But a huge problem arises. Sue doesn’t want to share her time in the world; meanwhile, Elizabeth is comatose in a private room, her life slowly draining and decaying as the starlet gains vivacity. The arrangement fractures as time passes and spinal fluid is removed.
This ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde’ meets ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’-like story develops into an amalgamation of gory inventions, referencing multiple cinema legends (Stanley Kubrick, David Cronenberg, Lucio Fulci) as well as some of the genre’s cult classics (Society, The Stuff). You immediately notice not only how well-versed Coralie Fargeat is in cinema history but also her great confidence behind the camera. The film oozes, both literally and figuratively, in style and flash, adopting hallucinatory and gruesome techniques that make each horror set piece have a great force of cinematic prowess. Consequently, it feels like a breath of fresh air, a unique addition to a vast genre filled with many ideas and concepts that are as striking as they are thrilling.
Fargeat demonstrated in Revenge how she could take a subgenre such as rape revenge-thriller and make it her own via her unique feminist methodology in her filmmaking, which lines up with what Carol J. Clover said about the victim-hero and final girl in her excellent book ‘Men, Women, and Chainsaws’. And the French filmmaker, who might win an award at the end of the festival, does the same thing with body horror. It is a movie that is influenced, yet savvy and prolific, made within the confines of a subgenre that hasn’t seen much reinvention since the aforementioned Cronenberg and Ducournau. Fargeat is in full command, never letting the boat she’s sailing go close to sinking.
In terms of horror, The Substance is a work of sheer expertise. You are perplexed by the tastelessness in the brutality, in awe of the vision in her creations, and captivated by the approach to this damning story. When it comes to the satire, that’s where some audience members might find the most faults. The whole ordeal is more than obvious; the joke that “The Substance doesn’t have much substance” will be thrown around many times in cheap one-sentence Letterboxd reviews. The mechanics of the narrative and the world the film builds revolve around that on-the-nose laughability. The comedy and horror elements are heightened due to the hollowness of the film’s casing, catching the viewer easily off guard when the director mutilates and deconstructs the body of her characters. With a blood bath that emerges later in the story, it might be possible that the Grand Auditorium Louis Lumière might be strained in crimson red for a very long time. The Substance, a beast of its own, is a total uncouth jewel.
