REVIEW: The Substance [2024]

Rating: R | Runtime: 141 minutes
Release Date: September 20th, 2024 (USA)
Studio: MUBI
Director(s): Coralie Fargeat
Writer(s): Coralie Fargeat

You. Are. One.

It’s only a matter of time before the women in Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance start adopting the same abuse their male counterparts deliver upon them. That’s the whole thing here, right? It’s not just about the misogyny originated by the patriarchy, but also the ingrained misogyny trained into the women forced to endure it. Because while we want to believe Elisabeth (Demi Moore) chooses to take the titular chemical to prove to her producer (Dennis Quaid’s Harvey) that she still has what it takes to be a star, we know the reason is actually self-hatred and fear. She’s afraid his words about her being worthless are true and that the whole world agrees. So, inevitably, she believes it too.

The phone number given to her promises a cure. It promises a way to give birth to a newer, younger, more beautiful her. As long as she follows the rules (feed the dormant half via an IV for seven days and always switch consciousness back and forth after that exact duration), Elisabeth can reclaim everything she thinks she’s lost. Because that’s how she sees it. Not that men like Harvey and his old white benefactors paying to satisfy their sexual fantasies on television took it from her. But that gave it away by getting old. If Elisabeth follows this process, she can live vicariously through her double (Margaret Qualley’s Sue). Except, of course, that doing so isn’t the same as experiencing it herself. They might be “one,” but their participation isn’t equal.

Therein lies the powder-keg waiting to blow. By never being conscious together, all these women see are remnants of what they deem to be sin. Sue leaves behind evidence of her hedonism and greed through money, sex, and booze. Elisabeth leaves behind the evidence of her jealousy and sloth through fried food and sofa imprints. The former feels the latter is wasting valuable time she could be using to advance her success. The latter feels the former is disrespecting the reality that she wouldn’t exist with her sacrifice. They begin to hate each other. They begin to objectify and commodify each other. First, the rules are bent to inflict passive suffering. Next comes physical violence in a quest for survival that doubles as the literal manifestation of mankind’s crippling self-loathing.

Fargeat rejects subtlety throughout. Not only does she constantly repeat dialogue and visuals to drive her points home, but she leans into the absurdity of the situation to make certain the body horror aspects are as funny as they are grotesque. This is a satire first and foremost. It’s a political film that brings the pain women must withstand via body dysmorphia and toxic gender norms to life. Reality (Elisabeth) must face the damage fantasy delivers while fantasy (Sue) must respect the fact that reality must be confronted eventually. One chips away at the other. What one gains from the process, the other must lose. And even if the fantasy finds a way to prove victorious by taking the wheel, the bill can’t be ignored forever.

It leads to an unforgettable finale that’s about as hilariously over-the-top as you can get both in its themes (Fargeat is having as much of a blast bashing us over the head with her allegory as Moore is embodying it) and genre aesthetic (along with thanking Ray Liotta—who passed before he could play Harvey—in the end credits, Fargeat also applauds “all the extras in the theater that got covered in blood”). The practical effects are fantastic (Moore’s silent scream encased in deformed flesh is one of the year’s most disturbing images) and the performances a brilliant mix of devastating emotion and exaggerated caricature. Yes, it’s overlong and ultimately a collection of cinematic pastiches, but you cannot deny it’s also very entertaining.