The Substance (2024) Movie Review: Old-age Refuses Oblivion in Coralie Fargeat’s Demented Body-Horror

Hyper-fixation with beauty is often perceived as a contemporary malaise, a convincing fallacy considering it seems so befitting of the superficiality post-Kardashian generations exhibit as a direct result of their social media conditioning where reality is filtered through a prism that rewards unrealistic façades of physical aestheticism and glamorous lifestyles with social relevance determined by engagement—be it views, likes, comments or shares; a phenomenon that has given value to creators that promote and celebrate vanity and content that fosters vacuous consumerism. Hence, Coralie Fargeat’s “The Substance” (2024), an ultra-violent satire about the obsession with eternal youth set in Hollywood – a perfect scenario to explore ageism, particularly towards women—feels tailor-made for the current zeitgeist.

However, the human desire for an eternal spring did not blossom in the technological era. In fact, it can be traced back to Ancient Greece, where it was held as an ideal. While the main focus of Fargeat’s latest cinematic proposal is not the filmmaker’s first examination of it, in many ways, the thematic concerns of “The Substance” are a thorough expansion of those found in her debut short “Reality+” (2014), a sci-fi story where people get to customize their looks. Interestingly enough, she framed this through the eyes of an insecure man unsatisfied with his appearance who receives an implant on his vertebra, enabling him to modify his image into an ideal version for a duration of twelve hours—needing another twelve to recharge.

This time around, a woman takes center stage as the carrier of our deepest insecurities. Elisabeth Sparkle, played by a never better Demi Moore, is a major Hollywood star who has cemented herself in Tinseltown, figuratively and literally, as she is a Walk of Fame honoree. However—and this is a pretty big however—Sparkle’s light is flickering, as she is now past her prime, or so she is bluntly told by Dennis Quaid’s overtly sexist character, Harvey, a big-time producer of the network for which she stars in her own aerobics show (do those still exist?). At 50 years old, there is nothing for her in Hollywood other than retirement. When young and beautiful, she reached stratospheric heights, and now gravity will do its thing.

If the news about her show’s cancellation wasn’t enough, while driving back home, Elisabeth sees a billboard with her face being replaced and suffers a pretty bad accident of which she somehow comes out without a minor scratch. At the medical clinic, a young man informs her—via a USB drive he smuggles into her coat—about something that changed his life and might just be the solution to all her problems. The substance is a drug-like serum that produces an enhanced version of oneself when injected. A body violently birthed into the world by ripping the user’s backbone, which must then be stitched back together—a gruesome visual recall to the aforementioned short film.

Enter Sue, a perky Margaret Qualley as Moore’s idealized iteration ready to take over Hollywood once more. The only condition is to respect the balance between the two selves, alternating seven days of life each. It doesn’t take long for the allure of success to seduce Elisabeth into just wanting to exist as Sue, sidelining her older self in the same fashion society does.

Since, apparently, the substance does not cost a dime, the price Elisabeth will pay for it is far more destructive than spending a good chunk of her fortune. The consequences for her actions, like in Wilde’s book “The Picture of Dorian Gray,” are a putrefaction that is only apparent in the fraction of the self that has a soul. At the same time, the other gets to live vicariously through the degradation of its complementary half. And soon, Elisabeth goes from looking like a Demi-goddess to a deformed monster.

While amusingly exciting, the film’s premise is at odds with itself in several ways. For starters, the very casting of Moore, a woman in her 60s playing someone a decade younger, makes the point of ageism feel somewhat like an anachronism—based on the supposition the film takes place in modern times as there is no indication of it being a period movie. Make no mistake, Hollywood has a long history of disposing of women once they aren’t considered ‘bangable’ anymore. And while that still remains true, there’s been some progress.

Gone are the days when the Norma Desmonds of the world would get cast aside and left to rot in their desolate mansions. Now, if an actress can no longer have a life on the silver screen, television offers a second career—just ask Jessica Lange. And if not TV, there are endless opportunities for celebrities to capitalize on their image, from skincare and make-up lines to clothing and lifestyle brands—just ask Gwyneth Paltrow. All of this suggests a prosperous future for someone like Elisabeth, and her apartment overseeing the Downtown LA skyline should give her enough perspective to know she is not facing the end as much as it is a new beginning.

Another issue regarding its conception is how the mysterious male voice at the other end of the Substance’s phone line repeats over and over that both women are one, even if not exactly the same. Yet the film does little to sustain that hypothesis other than verbalize it. Sure, each woman obviously has her own body, but they also have a wholly independent conscience, neither knowing what the other does or thinks. Each half also thinks of itself in its own separate way, holding little to no remorse over the other. A disconnect that gives way to the film’s central conflict between old vs. new—a dynamic that exhibits self-contempt.

There is also some glaring lack of basic geographic understanding that reminds Fargeat not to be from the States and most certainly never to the capital of cinema. A risible moment early on of a snowy blizzard frosting up Elisabeth’s pink star at the Walk of Fame indicates the film we’re about to see is, without a doubt, a work of fiction that takes place in a parallel universe. Another proof of that is how Moore and Qualley’s primary means of transportation is walking, both always shown strutting down the streets, going from the apartment to the storage room, to filming sets, audition rooms, as if it was possible to get anywhere walking in Los Angeles.

In its final act, the movie goes overboard—as if it hasn’t already—in a bloodbath reminiscent of “Suspiria” (2018). But where Guadagnino’s operatic crimson carnage offered a cathartic sense of divine justice, Fargeat’s merely feels like a desperate and empty act of provocation. Beauty comes from within, or so we repeat ourselves while only giving importance to what is in the eye of the beholder. And Fargeat’s sophomore outing does precisely that, giving too much attention and care to its visual presentation without having much of, well, substance.

Read More: The Substance: Release Date, Plot, Cast, Where to Watch, Trailer & Everything we know about MUBI’s Body Horror starring Demi Moore.

The Substance (2024) Movie Links: IMDb, Rotten Tomatoes, Wikipedia, Letterboxd
Cast of The Substance (2024) Movie: Demi Moore, Margaret Qualley, Dennis Quaid
The Substance (2024) Movie Runtime: 2h 20m, Genre: Horror/Drama

Where to watch The Substance