A fixed frame hunches over a star being neatly installed onto the Hollywood Walk Of Fame— for a prime-time dance show host, Elisabeth Sparkles (played by Demi Moore). The crowd carefully steps around, photographing & admiring it. Seasons merge rapidly with the passing of time. Noticeable cracks start to appear on it as people carelessly walk all over it & even tarnish it with an accidental ketchup smear. The camera slowly inches closer to the star to intimately observe its displeasing, vulnerable & stained atrocity.
Coralie Fargeat’s “The Substance” opens with a noteworthy scene lasting a little over two minutes as a metaphor for a withering star—one of many such instances, establishing exposition as its primary language of storytelling. It doesn’t shy away from vehemently bombarding every choice & nuance throughout, with glaringly stylish & ginormous text alongside the nudging symbolic visuals. As an ardent admirer of purposeful & gory body horror — “The Substance” came with its own qualms. Building up a world with contempt for food, joy, life, and women’s bodies, it sits faithfully well within its celebrity vanity & blandness.
Elisabeth Sparkles is a Hollywood celebrity residing in the infamous city of Los Angeles. Clad in her iconic, tight & sparkly blue bodysuit, she displays her fitness, confidence & glamour on the TV show set. The giant studio wall is adorned with her poster, as is her lavishly minimal home—wherein we see a humongous-framed photo of her as a reminder of her grandeur. After being subtly yet disrespectfully disposed of from her beloved show by Harvey (played by Dennis Quaid) for being “too old”—Elisabeth deduces that she no longer sparkles.
She soon discovers a black-market DNA-altering drug called the substance offering the tantalizing promise of “a better version.” Followed by a YouTube-style expository unboxing scene hammering the film’s driving force using text flashes, we finally see packaged in a tiny glass bottle, a cartoonishly green injectable miracle— the substance. If you missed that, don’t worry, they will tell you and they will tell you again.
After a few grotesque minutes in the sterile white bathroom, Sue (played by Margaret Qualley) is born out of Elisabeth’s spine— an airbrushed, petite & charming woman determined to be the next Elisabeth Sparkle. Sue is somehow born with the knowledge to sew and patch Elisabeth’s wounds and later build a whole secret room within the bathroom by herself. The camera insolently and shamelessly ogles Sue in her glittery pink bodysuit, zooming into her bodily assets and presumably sculpted perfectness. However, the viewer is often reminded of her artificiality, as she once yanks a whole chicken leg out of her belly button.
To quote “The Fly” by David Cronenberg—“Where our greatest creations meet our deepest fears”— “The Substance” balances its entire thematic crux on it. Does shock value override the storytelling in “The Substance,” or is it more like an ornament that enhances the narrative? A little bit of both. The film builds up its strong premise yet quickly swerves into total insanity, even at times feeling so removed & reduced from the reality it is placed in. It is impossible to take your eyes off the screen, and it has its own absolutely spectacular moments. Is it an outstanding idea taken too far for too long? ”The Substance,” at times, fails to reconcile logic within its own world.
“Remember You Are One, You Cannot Escape Yourself”— Elisabeth’s conscience seems to be independent of Sue’s. Sue behaves more like an autonomous extension of her than a clone who shares a mental connection or collective consciousness. Despite Sue literally being born out of Elisabeth, the only cord holding their relationship together seems to be the spinal one. Elisabeth doesn’t quite seem to either benefit from Sue’s actions or, in hindsight, from the substance itself. Elisabeth & Sue display a very twisted mother-daughter-like dynamic, also affirmed by Sue’s request for leave to tend to her “sick mom.” She slowly turns herself into a sacrificial lamb to surrogate her dreams through Sue at her own expense.
Her apartment overlooks an almost artificial sky, towers & a billboard— advertising Sue’s new show, successfully replacing her. Elisabeth is filled with curiosity & jealousy as she watches Sue on TV. After approximately an hour and fifteen minutes into the film comes the most powerful scene in “The Substance,” which remains particularly memorable in its earnestness. Elisabeth contacts Fred, a high school acquaintance who still cherishes her after all these years, to foster a connection and receive some validation in a world that otherwise sees her as forgettable.
In a painful unraveling of events, Elisabeth dresses up to meet him for drinks, only to utterly despise her appearance in the mirror. The scene cuts to Sue on the billboard in her pink bodysuit multiple times while Elisabeth has a meltdown. Her relentless attempts to cover her body with a scarf, reapply her makeup, and finally give up left me utterly broken as a viewer. Elisabeth no longer believes in her self-worth, rejecting Fred’s sincere compliments & efforts, thus also forfeiting a chance at love.
“The Substance,” at times, is too cruel towards women like Elisabeth & Sue— in a world wherein self-worth doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It unintentionally punishes the very characters it intends to defend & evoke empathy for without as much disdain toward the culture that so conveniently discards them. As a woman, this film raises a rather dark & pressing question— Would I be as kind to my current self as I would if I were to achieve my presumed beauty standard? Does the self-hatred ever go away, or do we keep finding new things to dislike about ourselves?
The once clean, spacious & chic apartment turns into a chamber of madness, gluttony & discomfort. Sue substance abuses & depletes Elisabeth to finally replace her before unrealistically kicking her twenty feet across the room. She horridly stares at herself in the mirror, as once Elisabeth did & notices her teeth falling out. Harvey introduces her to the investors & she is forced to smile with her lips sealed shut because “pretty girls should always smile.”
The grandiose & luxuriously decorated premise for the New Year’s Eve Show awaits Sue’s arrival on stage. In a dire attempt to revive her youth, Sue injects herself with the original activator serum, rapidly transforming her as the consequence of killing, yet not being able to sever Elisabeth out of her. Adorning herself in a similar shade of blue as Elisabeth’s iconic bodysuit, she steps out in a flowy gown, wearing diamond jewelry & even super-gluing her own face from an old poster. Monstro-Elisasue, as the film addresses this creature, is born and reborn out of the desire to be cherished. Practical body horror reaches its pinnacle with brilliantly done detailing, mesmerizing soundtrack, and anxiety-inducing camerawork. Being a fairly twisted tale of self-acceptance, the film infamously envisions the body of its “monster” cloaked in folds of flesh, aged, worn, and “disfigured,” yet yearning for & deserving of love.
Reminiscent of Gloria Swanson’s Norma Desmond in the closing scene of “Sunset Boulevard” (1950), “The Substance” ends with a nerve-rackingly delirious scene that can only be described as slipping into pure cinematic hysteria. Monstro Elisasue is persistent in seeking approval and fame and even visualizes the audience loving her the same way they once did.
She walks onto the stage and proudly welcomes the audience before shockingly expelling her body parts along with blood. In her only moment of sheer bravery, she is yet again dejected and called a monster. People cause a stampede outside as the last remnants of her manage to slither away. The film takes us right back to where it began— Elisabeth’s star on the Hollywood Walk Of Fame. In her final moments, she rests atop her name, gazes at the stars in the night sky, and reminisces her glory in literal golden glitters before withering into nothingness.
“The Substance” was an experience I only had the stomach for to watch once. Margaret Qualley & Demi Moore’s breathtaking performances deserve endless praise & so does Cannes Best Screenplay winner Coralie Fargeat’s craft. Oftentimes, parallels are drawn in body horror films between women and the act of transgression—accepting a new physical form and committing acts of self-mutilation. Despite the source of “malady” residing within, more than external to the characters, body horror films like “The Substance” shine because of their convincingly strong practical effects, additionally due to their nuanced attempts at trying to translate physical manifestations of contemporary fears on screen.
In a growing celebrity-worshipping, ozempic & botox-obsessed culture, the impact of Fargeat’s film thus stays inimitable. It is unforgettable, unforgiving & rather terrifying. An intense love letter to directors of body horror like David Cronenberg, Ridley Scott & Paul Verhoeven, ”The Substance” feels like the best black-mirror episode, which somehow could have been done differently and with lesser spoon-feeding.
