There is an extended, brutal bludgeoning about two-thirds of the way through The Substance, and an ungenerous description of the movie would be to say that it’s a bludgeoning itself. Even before The Substance spins off into flagrant violence and body horror, writer-director Coralie Fargeat jams it with extreme close-ups of eyes and mouths, as well as eye-popping colors and pulsating music cues. It’s a lot, and only becomes more so, but something about the movie’s central idea—as well as the black streak of humor Fargeat brings to the proceedings—kept me hooked. Demi Moore stars as Elisabeth Sparkle, a fiftysomething television fitness star who can sense her decades-long reign coming to an end. With nothing else to cling to in her life—she lives alone in a lush penthouse overlooking Los Angeles—Elisabeth is a prime candidate for a mysterious, anonymous offer of “the substance”: an injection kit promising “simply a better version of yourself.” Practically, this means (spoilers ahead) that a seam rips open on Elisabeth’s aging back, out of which emerges a lithe, dewy, younger woman (Margaret Qualley). The two must switch places every seven days (I’ll spare you the details regarding how)—or else. And so we get something like David Cronenberg’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, from a distinctly female perspective. An intensely committed Moore keeps things rooted in some form of reality, especially in a sequence in which Elisabeth, while getting ready for a date, is repeatedly made insecure by the sight of her doppelganger and therefore returns to her bathroom to desperately adjust her outfit or makeup. The situation only spirals downward from there, with an excessiveness that extends to the picture’s running time. (Nearly every scene could be cut in half without losing any of its import or impact.) If you can stomach it, however, The Substance will leave you giggling as much as gagging. Certainly you’ll never hear something like, “That chicken leg will go straight to your thighs,” in the same way again.
(9/17/2024)
