The opening couplet minutes ofThe Substanceare elegantly effective — words that do n’t much saltation to mind during the remaining 138 minutes of this outrageous movie . A tenner - spanning montage lays out the advance and descent of a Hollywood renown entirely through the condition of her star topology on the Walk of Fame . From an overhead vantage , we watch it cast in concrete and illuminated by flashbulbs . As the old age mark off , the camera angle does n’t change , but its inanimate subject does — cheapen by the element and foot traffic , more and more ignored by tourists ( “ She was in that pic , ” one manages ) , this symbol of showbiz immortality eventually symbolizing the opposite . It ’s a remorseless small forgetful film on the inconstancy of celebrity , punctuated by a final indignity : a sloppy slice of pizza that lands on the star with a splat .
A lot go splat inThe Substance , the most disgustinglywetmovie you ’re potential to squirm or hurl through this yr . Were this deranged nightmare satire somehow booked in America ’s apparent movement - synced gimmick auditorium — its 4DX or D - Box theaters , where patrons get upcharged for the “ pleasure ” of getting rock and spritzed in their fanny — the audience would pull up stakes as soak as the front row of a Gallagher show . But there is method acting to the moistness : In taking her own beetle to bodies and gag reflexes alike , French filmmaker Coralie Fargeat has made a motion picture as grotesquely flesh- and fluid - ghost as the industry it savage . Its gore is matched only by its contempt;Sunset Boulevardlooks affectionate by equivalence .
The Norma Desmond figure here is Elizabeth Sparkle , a one - time starlet meet — thanks to a savvy triumph of casting — by literal one - clip starlet Demi Moore . Now comfortably entrenched in her post - A - leaning life-time as the host of a democratic boob tube fitness broadcast , Elizabeth is surrounded by reminders of her advancing years and fading stature , like a peeling hoarding with her smiling face on it . On her 50th birthday , she ’s unceremoniously canned by her boss ( Dennis Quaid , putting thechewinginto scene chewing ) , who sees no further use for a woman of her age . In vitrine his leer eyes and slurp lips do n’t make it clear that we ’re seeing the lecherous i d of Tinseltown , the fact that he ’s named Harvey should do the thaumaturgy .
Elizabeth ’s plumb bob from live to not in the estimation of the money men makes her a choice candidate for The Substance , a mysterious and observational drug that forebode all those who sign up a “ new you . ” If the clean white publicity of injectant and applier suggestsCronenbergby way of Apple , the corresponding education are as ominous and rigid as theGremlinsrules . Is Fargeat taking aim at the Ozempic craze or at operative solution to the inconvenience of hoard wrinkles ? There ’s no direct one - to - one comparability for a unrestrained - scientific discipline wonder serum that turn Elizabeth into an incubator for the unmarred ingénue ( Margaret Qualley ) who comes bursting out of her back like a sexy Xenomorph .
Far from yada - yadaing through the physical logistics of the process , Fargeat give way them to us in grisly , chondritic detail . ( Anyone with a needle phobia should prepare for some intense submergence therapy . ) The sequence where Elizabeth bear Qualley ’s “ Sue ” brings to mind the agonizing , prolong transformation inAn American Werewolf in London . In fact , The Substanceis a gloriously goopy recall to the whole practical - effects heyday of the 1980s ; as its corporeal mishaps escalate , you might think ofThe FlyorThe Thingor the Screaming Mad George flesh - lump insanity ofSociety . “ Gross ” does not do judge to this flick ’s anatomical perversions . Every ticket deal should come with a commemorating barf bag .
Fargeat is no stranger to level of extreme bodily trauma . Her first lineament , Revenge , was a sassy and bestial spin on the violation - retaliation thriller ; it flip-flop the predatory , dehumanizing manful regard of its villains , strike their vulnerable rude meat into its crosshairs . WithThe Substance , the writer - director mirrors a whole townsfolk ’s objectifying POV back at it . Fargeat ’s slickly narcotic , bombastic mode — utmost close - ups , hall bathe in hard principal colors — work the soulless superficiality of Hollywood into a innovation precept . Everyone and everything becomes a trade good under the cold , invasive incandescence of the camera . That includes Sue , a sentient embodiment for some part of Elizabeth ’s cognizance ; Fargeat shoots Qualley like a sport car , loiter on her shine showfloor features .
The flick becomes a excited Grand Guignol farce comedy about two women share one life . The hitch of the process is that while Sue is dynamic , Elizabeth is unconscious , and frailty versa . They switch off once a week … and if Sue slip spare prison term , it contract an instant , ghoulish toll on Elizabeth ’s physiology . Never mind that it ’s much harder to maintain aNutty Professordouble identity when a comatose consistency has to be hidden and nutrify . The truly ingenious knottiness of the picture is that Elizabeth and Sue have their own motive — and at a certain point in time , as the latter secure the plum TV gig the former suffer , they ’re working at crossbreed - purposes . suppose a translation ofAll About Evewhere Margo and Eve are split personalities of the same mind . Just , you know , with more loose tooth and uninvolved fingernails .
You could sayThe Substanceis about consistence image as a fertilized ovum rent , cleanly disunite an senesce star ’s distorted sensation of ego from her pod - mortal nonesuch of youthfulness and beauty . It ’s Moore who gives the idea some emotional credibility . TheStripteasesurvivor tackles her part with the fearless conviction of a seasoned performer intimately intimate with the impossible beauty standards of her career , and how opportunities for actresses shrivel over prison term . Whether staring with ego - loathing into her own reflection or squall with impotent madness under a mountain of increasingly appall prosthetics , Moore is the marrow of a movie that pumps blood in every direction . She ’s certainly the actual thing in a visual sensation of Los Angeles so abstract that Sue ’s ratings - dominate workout program is telephone simplyNew Show .
The concluding stretch ofThe Substanceis candidly astound in how whole over the top it ’s uncoerced to push a crazy assumption . The climax is so audacious in its torrential downpour of entrails that you might feel the urge to retch and cheer at the same time . There ’s not a subtle bone in this movie ’s cracking , seep body . It advertises its subject at groovy length , high volume , and billboard scale . But maybe there ’s no such matter as too broad when you ’re tackling the shallowness of the amusement industry . No picture of its wickedness could go far enough .
