'The Substance' is Really Gross | Review

Demi Moore and Dennis Quaid shine in this acclaimed body horror flick

Let me start out by saying that I am a horror girlie through and through and that this film is not going to be for everyone. As the credits were rolling, I turned to my husband and said, “I loved it! We will not be able to recommend it to anyone in our family.”

If, unlike my family, you are not dissuaded by icky images in service of big social questions, I highly recommend The Substance as a modern classic.

The film follows Elizabeth Sparkle, an aging actress turned televised fitness coach played by Demi Moore, who is being let go from her contract – and on her 50th birthday! Her birthday! Her boss, Harvey (Dennis Quaid) breaks the news in perhaps the most indelicate way possible, and shares with her a parting gift that only serves to rub salt into the wound (I won’t spoil how). In desperation, Elizabeth turns to a product called the Substance, ignoring about five red flags along the way to achieve a ‘better version of herself’. Sue (Margaret Qualley) is that better self.

But the film will constantly remind us that they are one. Sue is hired on as the replacement programming shortly thereafter. The product works exactly as promised, but of course, issues arise immediately around the boundaries that the use of the product requires, and the tensions between Sue and Elizabeth boil over into resentment fast. It’s a deeply provocative and carefully assembled film, from aesthetics on down.

Take for example the wardrobe. All of Sue’s accessories are made to accentuate her youth, the element that sold Demi in the first place. Her earrings are little rhinestone hearts and stars that wouldn’t look out of place in the Pretty Pretty Princess game. Then there is how elegant the presentation of the titular ‘substance’ is. The inclusion of tubing, syringes, empty ampules, and a clear coherent brand sold me on its realness, while hand-waving away the pesky science bits that would explain - or worse over explain - how a younger hotter you could be birthed fully formed from beneath your skin. It’s like the Greek story about the emergence of Aphrodite from Zeus’s skull, but only if you left that skull like a wet robe on the bathroom floor the way that Demi spends a good portion of the film. 

Why can’t I widely recommend such a thought-provoking piece then? Because this film is really gross. Brilliantly and effectively utilized, but very gross.

The last 20 minutes of this film had me grinning ear to ear at the gleeful amount of blood they were spraying onscreen; Tenebrae called and wanted her to tone it down a tad. The grossness does not stop with the sanguine, however: we are treated to some of the least appetizing looking food this side of Hannibal, and the prosthetic work throughout mines our lizard brains for the discomfort we feel around the very old as well as some good old fashioned monster lab fare to round out the experience. 

There’s easily a shorter film to be pulled out of this 2-hour and 21-minute spectacle, but the overemphasis on certain images was clearly the point. The length of time we spend lingering on the curves of Margaret Qualley’s body pins the audience to their seat with heavy voyeurism. This type of imagery is usually relegated to magazine spreads, music videos, or perfume ads, where it is either easily skippable or short. The film format renders it almost pornographic if it wasn’t so confrontational (accusatory porn, now there’s a thought!).  

I was asked, fairly, if Demi deserved an Oscar for her performance in the film. What Demi is doing in this film is really brave, considering how she very honestly and unflinchingly appears as an older woman without a stitch of clothing and allows the camera to rove over her. But as an acting project, she is the only person in the film behaving in any sort of understandable way. Her hurt, dejection, and then willingness to facilitate her own abuse are deeply familiar to anyone, but mostly women, who have tortured themselves to look like an ideal. So I guess the question then would be, do we award women for doing brave things aside from acting in film?

I myself would say the over-acting that everyone else is doing is worthy of consideration by the Academy. Dennis Quaid is going down in history as one of the biggest villains in recent memory! He’s achingly foul, and for that, I can say I want him on the Best Supporting Actor ballot. 

There is a question—if the film wants us to examine the premise this deeply—if there is perhaps an amicable relationship that we could form with our toxic beauty standards. If we really could respect the switch of every 7 days and replenish our stabilizing fluids and reap the benefits of having built a part of ourselves that is societally perfect. Or, is the very existence of, and desire for, the substance a condemnation of our society as a whole? 

If you are not dissuaded by the icky or the length I described, I encourage the brave to check out The Substance, ideally in theaters, to receive the reward of a truly original and seasonally scary fun ride. 

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The Substance is now playing in theaters. Rated R for strong bloody violent content, gore, graphic nudity and language.

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