Fans of body horror will not want to miss director Coralie Fargeat’s latest offering, The Substance, which bagged Best Screenplay for the Frenchwoman at Cannes this year, and features an astounding comeback performance from Demi Moore.

There’s a sense of grim inevitability in the film as we witness a familiar story of a female Hollywood superstar facing rapid career descent, literally the day she turns 50. Fired from her aerobics TV show by the loathsome big boss Harvey, played with relish by Dennis Quaid (although apparently the late, great Ray Liotta was originally cast in the role), Demi Moore’s Elisabeth is rendered unemployable by the industry in a matter of hours.

The film then launches into horror genre territory, where she happens upon a mysterious substance that allows her body to generate another self. The new self is born literally out of Elisabeth’s back in gruesome, gory detail on the bathroom floor, where we see her body split, bloody and writhing as she births the young, beautiful and nubile Sue, played by Margaret Qualley.

There is a lovely opening sequence focused on Elisabeth’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. We see the paving laid as she is at the top of her game, before witnessing the paved star slowly becoming cracked over time, and continually covered in litter and leaves — a none too subtle metaphor for her declining career.

Demi Moore is ferocious in the gloriously gory satire The Substance, a commentary on Hollywood’s female ageism

Expect a visceral experience. The sound design is wonderful and coupled with a heavy use of close-ups and tight framing that’s likely to make you feel, in a good way, that there is no escape. Take Harvey crunching his way through a bowlful of prawns during his “firing” lunch with Elisabeth: the combination of close-ups, fast cutting, and inescapable slurping sounds turns the stomach.

Moore is outstanding, channelling a barely concealed seething rage and bitterness that reminded me of Kate Winslet’s performance in Mare of Easttown. One of the great pleasures of watching actresses who have dared to age past 45 in meaty roles is the sheer talent on offer. Moore goes full tilt in the role, embracing the grand Guignol nature running through the heart of this film.

As the Guardian’s Peter Bradshaw writes in his review, she’s “game for a laugh.” I’ve always considered Moore a brave actress (remember the head shaving in G.I. Jane) and she doesn’t disappoint here, allowing herself to be turned gradually into a crone throughout the film, often naked, and finally emerging as a fully blown “monstrous-feminine”.

There’s a definite 1980s vibe to the styling, with the focus on aerobics and work-out TV lending itself to leotards and leg warmers, both of which are prominent. Big shiny hair and lip gloss abound, clearly a nod to Moore’s own heyday of fame as a younger actress, as well as the Jane Fonda aerobics frenzy that gripped the 1980s.

There are also frequent shots of palm trees, which are an intriguing visual trope throughout. The point-of-view shot from Elisabeth’s paved star, looking straight up, is that of three palm trees “guarding” the Walk of Fame, which we are not aware of until the end.

They are visible from Elisabeth’s apartment and appear throughout the film, the implication being that they are ever watchful and, much as Elisabeth’s paved star is set in stone, both she and Sue are trapped in an industry that will ultimately spit them out.

The playful atmosphere of the film is undercut by a feeling of claustrophobia, and decay and decline run deep through the insincere gloss of the film business — flies, for example, are a motif, buzzing and twitching in close-up.

Fans will note visual references to horror legends such as David Cronenberg, but there are even strains of Kubrick’s The Shining here — the carpet in the corridors of the television studio has surely been modelled on the famous Overlook Hotel.

This is an unflinching film in its use of gore and blood, but the many close-ups on needles entering bodies and bodies out of control can also be read as a “consciously feminist vision.” As feminist film critic Alexandra Heller-Nicholas points out, the film is largely about the pressure women face to conform to certain beauty standards, which is arguably far more heightened in the screen industry.

That said, the film could be criticised for playing into the Hollywood game it is attempting to savage. According to Little White Lies’ review of the film, Fargeat has shot Qualley in a way that is “leery, obsessive, hypersexual”, running the piece under the headline, “As shallow as the very thing it’s critiquing.”

There’s also an issue with the internal logic of the film: what does Elisabeth get out of this experience, given she never personally enjoys Sue’s success? They each exist as separate entities — one is active while the other lies dormant in the apartment, and neither has any recollection of what the other gets up to.

This is something of a large plot hole, given Elisabeth gains very little from the exchange, other than having brought Sue into existence and the bittersweet fact that Sue continues her aerobics show.

Nevertheless, there is much to enjoy here: it’s a fun addition to the body horror genre, and visually and sonically it has some very nice touches. Mostly though, this is a fantastic vehicle for Moore, who embraces her return to the big screen with a ferocity that really is something to behold.

But the last word must go to the director, best known for her brutal rape retribution movie, Revenge. Introducing her new film at Frightfest in August 2024, Fargeat said: “Simply being female is a form of body horror in itself.”

The writer is a Reader in Film & Television at the Brunel University London in the UK

Republished from The Conversation

Published in Dawn, ICON, September 29th, 2024