Let the ‘Demissance’ begin! In Coralie Fargeat’s bonkers new body horror which, ironically, lacks substance.
Producing a great satire is a true highwire act. It needs to be somehow both bold, direct, and meaningful but without feeling obvious, smug, or preachy. At the same time, it still needs to be enjoyable on its own terms and prove genuinely entertaining. It’s a delicate balance which is incredibly difficult to pull off.
On the other hand, one can simply dispense with all that needless nuance or subtlety, and instead opt for the crazy balls-to-the-wall option taken by Coralie Fargeat’s Cannes Best Screenplay winner The Substance. The film is an outrageously fun, though utterly silly and threadbare, body horror which can best be described as Death Becomes Her meets The Fly, with a bonkers Carrie-esque inspired dénouement tacked on for good measure.
The film stars Demi Moore, who I am sure will soon be described as having a ‘Demissance’, as a television aerobics instructor Elizabeth Sparkle. Unfortunately, her once glittering stardom has faded over time, as spelt out to us by a timelapse of her Hollywood Walk of Fame Star becoming cracked and faded (This is just one of many things the film feels the need to spell out for its audience). You see, Elizabeth has committed the great Hollywood sin of turning 50 and so her network boss Harvey, played by a delightfully repulsive Dennis Quaid who replaced the late Ray Liotta on production, conspires to replace her with a younger, more attractive woman. Things go from bad to worse when she gets caught in a car crash that same day, and it is at her lowest ebb in the hospital that she is introduced to the eponymous ‘Substance’.
Provided by a shadowy organisation, The Substance splits Elizabeth in two (quite literally) producing a younger and suppler version of herself, played by Margaret Qualley, who under the name Sue takes over Elizabeth’s TV position allowing her to live vicariously through it. However, ‘The Substance’ comes with strict rules meaning only one woman can be conscious at any one time, as the other remains in a comatose state. They must take turns living their lives in strict seven-day increments. Unfortunately, Elizabeth and Sue have attended the Gremlins school of following instructions and fail to adhere to this with graphic results. This in turn causes both women to turn on each other through mutual self-destructive acts.
The film serves as an extended conceit for the dangers of unattainable beauty standards, corrupted body image, and the increasingly drastic acts taken to turn back the ageing process. This is all told through some great horror sequences and bloody slapstick comedy. Sue’s first appearance in which she erupts from Elizabeth is properly squeamish, and the sequence is helped along by a committed, if slightly over-egged, physical performance by Moore. The film’s third act is especially good fun as it unfurls into a fabulously balletic movement of guts, gore, and spewing bodily parts (although without any spoilers I will say Doctor Who did it first).
It struggles to find its footing in its middle section, however, as the narrative descends into an orgy of spandex and hip thrusts. There are honestly more lycra catsuits than a Berlin night club and more long lingering ass shots than a Michael Bay film. I concede as a man I should not be the one to make this call, but I couldn’t help but feel the film was replicating the very male gaze it was seeking to critique. Perhaps that is the point, but I don’t believe the film provides the necessary framework or commentary to make the scenes feel anything more than a bit fetishy.
Ditto this for the film’s attitude to ordinary food as something gross and disgusting. I appreciate that this is meant to serve as an exaggerated reflection on societal attitudes placed on food and dieting. However, it simply proved a nauseating bugbear that felt very similar to the treatment of food found in Darren Aronofsky’s abominable The Whale.
I am also rather surprised a screenplay which explains character motivations quite so obtrusively (at one point Moore delivers the very on-the-nose line ‘I need her because I hate myself’) managed to take top writing honours at Cannes. Thematically the film could be kindly be described as a bit blunt. However, none of that detracts from what an utterly fun romp of a film The Substance is. It is unashamed, unabashed, and has some great crowd-pleasing horror moments which certainly won’t be forgotten for a very long time.