Cast:
Demi Moore (Elisabeth Sparkle), Margaret Qualley (Sue), Dennis Quaid (Harvey), Edward Hamilton-Clark (Fred), Gore Abrams (Oliver), Oscar Lesage (Troy), Christian Erickson (man at diner), Robin Greer (nurse), Tom Morton (doctor), with Hugo Diego Garcia (Diego, boyfriend), and Yann Bean (The Substance voice) Written and Directed by Coralie Fargeat.
Review:
"“It’s really a movie about our bodies and about the reality of how we feel in our bodies. I needed to speak to the reality of the way our flesh can reflect our mental deformation, and I knew this had to exist for real.”
Honestly, I probably should've tried to make the trip to see the movie when it was new. I vaguely remember checking a showing for this particular film a city or two away from where I was when it was still in theaters...and, well, sometimes it seems better to wait for it to hit DVD like the champion for physical media that I strive to be. In honesty, I didn't really know anything about Coralie Fargeat prior to going in with this, but I'm sure her first feature Revenge (a rape and revenge action thriller released in 2017) was something I should've paid attention to. She wanted creative freedom for her next film to go along with casting and arranging a movie that was quite a venture to do when it comes to prosthetics and the like. Apparently, the movie was originally signed to be distributed by Universal Pictures (through a deal with Working Title) but go figure, a few film executives (take a guess at the gender) did want to release it as is, which led to Mubi acquiring rights to release the movie, which resulted in what you might call a bonafide hit; the movie was nominated for five Academy Awards and won one for Best Makeup and Hairstyling.
One of the things I will say is that for some odd reason, certain parts of horror actually makes me have a laugh when seeing the execution of, well, the guts of a movie. I probably enjoyed this movie far more than if I had seen it in a theater with people if only because I had such a good time from the get-go looking at the absurdity that comes with the obsession we have with women's bodies at all costs. We care so much about how an ass looks because it's real to them, damn it. I joked once that it had been a while since someone tried to do a movie about a woman so obsessed with trying to turn back the clock that they would take anything to get it back with The Wasp Woman (1959)*, and that was a bit on my mind when watching this movie, but I really should've tried to guess that the movie would remind me the tiniest bit of Being John Malkovich (1999), a movie that technically is also about someone trying to manufacture a life away from the one they are currently inhabiting, complete with using a larger-than-life image of its star at a certain juncture (why else would one feature a large picture of a younger Moore?); one had a film tag about being someone else, this one asks about being a better version of yourself. I probably should see or mention movies that also apparently come up such as Death Becomes Her (1992) and Seconds (1966). In short: we have a fairy tale kind of movie that can be as horrifying as much as it can be darkly amusing by the time it closes its 141-minute runtime of messiness about the way we can rip ourselves apart when it comes to image that is captured in gloriously symbolistic ways. The movie coasts along on visuals and vibe more so than trying to get too invested in, well, the substance within the substance (if you think about it, by doing this process, one is stuck in a place in perpetuity when having to await the next delivery week after week while only getting older and older). For all we can try to be in united for others in helping and promoting people...we really can rip the hell out of each other when the opportunity presents itself. We can hate each other just as much as we can hate ourselves and what we look like because some people really do crave love like it was crack. It just so happens we have a quality trio to hold the movie up when it comes to listening and hearing just what we see in one's self-image as we move through the tunnel of light. I'm probably not as familiar with Moore as I would like to admit.** However, she pulls off a tremendous performance, one who manages to sell the visceral pain that comes with being so alone in a body that can only go so far and be so much before it all snaps. Having to be caked in makeup of varying levels (turning the idea of playing a role a decade younger than they actually are on the head) is quite the endurance test for anyone, and Moore handles it with the type of grace that can only come from someone who clearly is committed to the material in knowing what it all is about when wrapped in a business built on flesh and bone that can be comprised of truth and plenty of lies (consider that we never see her interact with anybody that seems like an actual friend). Qualley matches her with a burning intensity and energy that is hypnotic to see play on screen in the furor that comes with youth and trying to control oneself in maintaining an image at all costs, particularly since we sure see plenty of Moore and Qualley in skin that probably says more about us that we'd like to admit (such as living through others, perhaps).***
And then of course there is Quaid, who was cast a few months into preparation for the film because the original choice in mind (Ray Liotta) died. Suffice to say that it is interesting to see Quaid here.**** He manages to evoke a type of disgust and excess that is so easy to see in our actual everyday lives and make it strangely amusing to see pop in from time to time, particularly with the camera angles used to see him (consider the shrimp eating scene to how he is seen by the end). I can certainly see where one might wonder just where the film could've ended, because technically there are two other ways to envision film before it splatters its way to the final realization, but then I say to myself: is there really such a thing as going too far in horror? The answer, to those with the skin to say it, is no, no, no, and hell no. I sometimes wonder when rating a movie to hopefully not come back to it later and think it was a tad too high...but this is the kind of movie where I wonder if I will like it more the second time around (when I can just say some of the highlights without spoiling the curiosity for those who haven't seen it) because of the visceral delight I had in seeing it, one that manages to make one see and hear the horror (and darkly amusement, in my mind) that comes with the body and we would do for perfection. Fargeat clearly likes to experiment with what she wants to make for films, and I look forward to seeing what might lurk next for her as a whole.
Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.
Starting now, I'm just going to put some notes down here rather than waste space on parenthesis.
*I was wondering a bit what Corman would've done in trying to ape off The Substance for a knockoff, because you could certainly lean in on that theatricality.
**Well, Mr. Brooks (2006) was okay. Interestingly, I had considered Striptease (1996) for Acknowledged in August in 2024 but, well, Showgirls seemed more suitable, suffice to say.
***I applaud anybody who likes to make a movie that actually goes ga-ga for gore and/or nudity because duhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
****(speaking of movies I dragged my feet on, I actually thought about seeing him in Reagan [2024]...if the movie was actually as ridiculous at it sounded).
