The Substance

Rating 8/10

There’s a fine line between being so creatively audacious that it’s thrilling and pushing the boundaries of propriety so far that the exhibitoion becomes tasteless. It’s fair to say that The Substance crosses that threshold. This is not a movie about subtlety. However, the infraction is so ridiculously unique and wild that you can’t help but forgive the transgression.

Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) is a prominent fitness guru. She abruptly faces a career setback. Upon turning 50, she is unceremoniously dismissed from her TV aerobics show by a network president deliberately named Harvey (Dennis Quaid). Desperate to stay on top, she turns to the “Substance,” a mysterious drug that promises rejuvenation. Injecting it, Elisabeth undergoes an unnatural transformation that produces a younger version.

Bizarre doesn’t adequately describe the change. Sue (Margaret Qualley) hideously emerges from Elisabeth’s back and will have free reign for seven days. The mind and memories will remain the same, but her original physique lies dormant while the younger copy is active and awake. Oh, but first, she must stitch the wound back up so it can heal. That’s not a pleasant task, but it’s just the beginning of the problems.

The instructions that accompany the serum are clear. Black boldface words on white index cards instruct that Sue must return to her old self every seven days, without exception. The process can continue in this manner. Respect the balance. The two individuals are one. Not adhering to the rules can result in severe consequences for the older body. The effects are irreversible.

Elisabeth Sparkle desperately wants to be young in the form of Sue. The film explores the complexities of their shared existence. We see the results of her obsession to live as a “better” version of herself. The unraveling of identity, self-worth, and physical form is grotesque. This is an uncomplicated narrative. The concepts of vanity, aging, and the desire to reclaim lost youth at any cost are handled in a simple — almost hackneyed– critique. It’s about society’s preoccupation with physical beauty and the pressures on individuals—especially women—to remain youthful in order to stay relevant. None of this is new, and predictably, some of it is laid to rest on a man.

Dennis Quaid portrays the network president as a character that exists on the periphery. Harvey is a callous, shallow executive who promotes ageist and superficial attitudes. He’s photographed through a fisheye lens that renders this depraved opportunist as a parody. A repulsive lunch in a restaurant where he stuffs his face with shrimp is the ne plus ultra of his buffoonery. He is an absolute cartoon that is too much of a caricature to be taken seriously.

It should be noted that while his actions initially contribute to Elisabeth’s insecurity, it is by her own hand that she administers and abuses the drug. She must accept partial blame. In fact, as we will eventually understand, the entire audience is complicit in Elisabeth’s downfall. This is a condemnation of society writ large.

I have to commend Demi Moore. The actress fully commits to the role, giving a performance that presents the vulnerability of a woman clinging to fading youth but with the tenacity of someone who still demands to be noticed. Incidentally, the actress is 61 and effectively conveys Elisabeth, an individual 11 years her junior. Moore shifts between the contrasting facets of the character’s personality, especially when grappling with a deteriorating anatomy and some questionable choices. There is a physical transformation here that is not easy to present, and her ability to still evoke sympathy is a testament to her dramatic abilities.

The Substance is not subtle, and it hammers this idea way past the point of acceptability to an almost surreal vision of outrageousness. Many will reject the insanity, and I completely understand that, but to my own surprise, I did not. What saves this account from overindulgence is the sleek and polished technique of it all. The film presents a high-gloss hyper-real aesthetic that heightens the tension.

It makes sense that a movie all about beauty would feature visually striking cinematography. Benjamin Kracun’s frequent use of close-ups highlights basic actions. From the opening shot of the egg yolk splitting after an injection, the visual style sets the tone. The way Elisabeth stabs the olive in a martini glass or the use of reflective surfaces—mirrors, glass, and even the luster of outdoor advertising. The 2D poster of her visage amusingly falls from a massive billboard as workers rip the face at the exact moment she drives under it.

There’s such a clinical precision to the way it unfolds. Witness the unnaturally vibrant colors that celebrate youth. Glamorous shots of Sue leading aerobics classes convey perfection, drawing inspiration from the hypersexualized but hopelessly dated fitness scenes in 1985’s Perfect. The picture also pays homage to classics like The Shining, Carrie, and Cronenberg’s body horror (Scanners, The Fly). Bernard Herman’s “The Nightmare and Dawn” composition from Vertigo underscores one scene. It all serves to mine the stark contrast between beauty and ugliness. It’s a tricky balancing act that somehow French director and screenwriter Coralie Fargeat (Revenge) maintains and pushes far past imitation into something exhilarating.

09-24-24