Demi Moore’s The Substance Earned All My Adoration By Giving Me Something I Rarely Experience As A Horror Fan
As someone whose horror fandom has been solidified for more than three decades — a horrific thought in and of itself — I’m not often thrown for a loop when watching anything genre-forward for the first time. And though I’ll maintain that mindset going into screenings of all the upcoming horror movies on the way, I’m happy to say writer-director Coralie Fargeat, along with stars Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley, knocked me clean off my axis with The Substance (read our review).
Perhaps it should go without saying that SPOILERS ARE COMING, but just in case…
First, The Substance Is Just A Flat-Out Amazing Movie
Right away, I want to make it clear that I’m not implying The Substance is worthy of my attention and appreciation for only one or two personal reasons. That couldn’t be further from the truth, which is “this movie fucking rules.” Fargeat crafted a smart story about Hollywood’s age-related issues and phobias, directed it as if it was Requiem for a Dream on amphetamines instead of heroin, and showcased practical body horror effects that rival The Thing’s still-impressive titular monster.
I don’t even mean for those complimentary comparisons to seem belittling in any way. The Substance is absolutely its own beast; a cautionary tale slathered in satire that’s barely a degree or two beyond reality.
Demi Moore went outside her comfort zone to deliver a stunning and brazen performance as Elisabeth Sparkle, a fitness celeb deemed to be past her prime, and whose desire to remain relevant in any way sends her down the dark road to black-market self-cloning. On the opposite end of the ageist spectrum, Margaret Qualley is also aces as “Sue,” who quickly usurps Elisabeth’s TV timeslot with her own highly sexualized approach to exercise, if only for a week at a time.
Even as the cinematography and editing remains colorful and poppy, The Substance drives home the dread as Elisabath and Sue — You Are One — lose sight of any shared goals. And all the gloriously gross physical horror that played out earlier in the film is taken to logical extremes by the end, leading to one of cinema’s most nightmarish creatures: Elisasue. I couldn’t have predicted how bonkers this movie gets, and am all the more pleased for it.
The Unique Experience I Had Watching The Substance
As it no doubt goes with many (or even most) horror movie fanatics, I often put myself in main characters’ shoes and headspaces, wondering how I would react and behave during such high-stress and potentially fatal situations. Even if I don’t mean to or consciously want to vicariously live as a victim or final girl until the credits role, it still happens every single time.
Would I also attempt to just avoid sleep entirely on Elm Street? Could I convincingly make other townspeople believe my claims about local legends? Would I fuck around and find out with a LeMarchand’s box?
I was admittedly already buying into the idea of sympathizing with Elisabeth’s headspace before the movie even started, simply from the standpoint as someone who fully grasps the woes of aging and the desire to reclaim some of that verve. I don’t need to be a gorgeous celebrity to feel that. And for a short stretch of The Substance‘s runtime, I was aligned with her all the way.
Then the actual Substance itself was introduced, in all of its mysterious science-defying glory. And then it became abundantly clear what Elisabeth would have to do in order to maintain the abstract duality of sharing an existence with her younger form, and the “What Would I Do?” part of my brain just completely shut off. If anything, it was perhaps replaced by the sporadic notion of “I would never…” Which I suppose stems from the realization that I’m too lazy to achieve this kind of perfection.
First, Elisabeth has to pick her packages up on a regular basis from a highly questionable location with a metal door that doesn’t even open all the way. Sure, it’s compatible with other minor inconveniences, but having to get all the refills every couple of weeks would be a grind, especially if I’m having to worry about half of my current body turning to shit because my younger version is yoinking all my spinal fluids.
Second, I’d be nowhere near as instantly skillful with needles and IVs like Elisabeth was as soon as she opened her first package. It’d take me a bit to get the process down fully, and by that point, I’d likely be working with multiple concussions suffered from hitting my head on the floor, toilet, etc. each time the switch happened.
Even if I was good at that part of it immediately, I still already know how quickly I’d lose track of proper scheduling patterns. Because there would be an inherent dread involved with all the injections and seeing the other me on the ground, so I could fully understand why Elisabeth just started sitting in her living room and watching TV a lot more during her weeks.
Third, no part of me would willfully do anything that would put me back under the professional wrangling of Dennis Quaid‘s sweatstain of a human, Harvey. I still don’t quite understand why Elisabeth and/or Sue kept working with Harvey instead of finding a new outlet, but I guess it’s easier to stick with what you know when you’re inside a completely different body.
And then fourth, I’m really not into the idea of giving birth from my spinal column, which isn’t exactly what happens in The Substance, but it’s close enough to make me squirm where I currently sit. I already have enough back problems as it is, I don’t need another version of myself making things worse.
So even beyond all my initial reasons for thinking The Substance is awesome, I also have to give Coralie Fargeat all the credit in the world for silencing a part of my brain that so often speaks loudest when I’m in horror movie mode, regardless of the film’s quality.
Now if The Substance was delivered to my house and came in pill form? That’s a different story altogether.
