Demi Moore’s cure for aging goes beyond spine tingling into spine-rending
As far as gonzo art-house horror goes, “The Substance,” certain to make a stir as it drops into theaters this week, is an ineffable, WTF spectacle that’ll cement Coralie Fargeat as one of the rising new wave of auteurs of the outré. Her ghoulish company includes the likes of Julia Ducournau (“Titaine”), Ari Aster (“Midsommer”) and Brandon Cronenberg (“Infinity Pool”) among others – a youth movement taking the reins from Brandon’s dear dad David (“Rabid,” “Crimes of the Future”) and the other David of nightmarish bad trips, David Lynch.
The inspired casting of Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley as the same ego/persona is nothing short of a lightning strike. Moore plays aging fitness queen Elisabeth Sparkle, who at one point was an Oscar darling (Jane Fonda, anyone?). When we meet Elisabeth taping a segment of her TV show “Sparkle Your Life with Elisabeth,” we learn she’s 50ish, though looks 15 years younger; the real shocker is that Moore in real life is 10 years older than Ms. Sparkle. The producer of the show, a snaky ball of smarmy insincerity with the moniker of just Harvey (played with infectious hambone glee by Dennis Quaid, who can now let go of his recent “Reagan” biopic flop) wants a younger, more nubile centerpiece that will light up the stage, appeal to the younger generation and titillate the studio’s white-haired board.
Given all that (the name, the old-boy network), the #MeToo allusions are hard to ignore, but “The Substance” is a lot closer to “All About Eve” (1950) by way of the “Elephant Man” (1980) and “Carrie” (1976) than the criminal fall of the swaggering dick who built Miramax. Elisabeth, distraught at the realization her days are numbered, gets into a violent car accident that lands her in the hospital. The attending assistant, a taut-faced young man with piercing eyes, does a gentle, yet firm probing of the spine and mutteringly remarks that Elizabeth would make a “good candidate.” Though he retracts the statement and sends Elisabeth on her way, Elisabeth later finds in her coat pocket a drive with the label “The Substance” printed on it in big bold letters. What’s on the drive isn’t too far off from Cronenberg’s “Videodrome” (1983) – both films about the evils of big media and the prospect of rebirth (the “new flesh”) that come with consequence. The long and short is that Elisabeth can attain “a newer, better” her by taking a series of injections. The catch is that you have to reverse the process every seven days. Without exception. Or else.
The trashy alleyway locker where Elisabeth gets her renewal kit feel weirdly familiar; wafts of the dumpster scene in Lynch’s “Mulholland Drive” (2001) drift subtly through your mind, and the strange process of getting into the brain of John Malkovich in “Being John Malkovich” (1999). Fargeat holds the fringe masters in high regard and layers in clear references to De Palma (the aforementioned “Carrie”) and Kubrick, whose “The Shining” (1980) gets multiple references. To a lesser degree but perhaps with greater stylistic impact, “2001: A Space Odyssey” (1968) does as well. Some references go over the top and feel forced, but some are apt and effective homages. For cinephiles the film is a gleeful Easter egg hunt.
Much of the transformation process takes place in a cavernous white-tiled bathroom of Elisabeth’s upscale high-rise (akin to the serene purgatory in which Dave winds up at the end of “2001”) – and always in the buff. The first injection triggers an immediate seizure that leaves Elisabeth on the ground writhing and convulsing. Just like a scene out of an “Alien” flick, her spine splits open and a slimy, porcelain other slithers out. That other, simply known as Sue (Qualley), following the renewal kit instructions, stitches up Elisabeth’s back and heads down to the studio to audition to be Elisabeth’s replacement, leaving the comatose husk on the bathroom floor hooked up to an IV or the like for sustenance.
As you can guess, Harvey is more than thrilled with Sue, but the catch that drives the film is that seven-day flip that must happen or black blood dribbles out the nose, teeth fall out or worse, fingers and limbs age into grotesque gray gnarls (think of Room 237 in “The Shining”). In each incarnation, there is only a single consciousness: You get seven days of Sue, then seven of Elisabeth, as the other lies hooked up in the bathroom.
Sue, in pink glitter and skimpy, form-fitting outfits whether before the camera or not, lights up the screen, an infectious firecracker of frolicking sensuality. Fargeat goes all in on it too with curve hugging camerawork, and Qualley crushes it, adding to and improving on similar sexpot turns in “Sanctuary” (2023) and “Once Upon a Time … in Hollywood” (2019). Her high-energy, knowing wink and toothy smile are a stealth superpower. And not enough can be said about Moore, who may have turned in a career performance, baring herself emotionally and physically, in the raw and under heaps of latex that transform her, not for the better.
Naturally the film comes down to the two Elisabeths fighting to be “the one.” How it plays out is quite bloody and brutal. There are many cover-your-eyes-and-look-away moments, including Harvey dining voraciously on peel-and-eat prawns – a near nauseating scene that that has put me off shrimp. There’s plenty of nudity too, but it’s done in pursuit of plot and horror, not sexualization, which is done with clothes on.
Stylistically Fargeat, who announced her intent with a hell-bent 2017 thriller aptly titled “Revenge,” channels Kubrick, Lynch and Cronenberg impressively in visual style, atmospheric distortion and aural immersion, which is magnetic, intense and mood driving. At nearly two and a half hours, this high-wire act goes on a tad too long and pushes the bounds a bit too far in the finale, despite ultimately yielding a worthwhile payoff. That said, “The Substance” rivets from frame one to the credit roll and does well to one-up each jaw-drop that came before. It’s the kind of film, like those from Aster, Ducournau and the younger Cronenberg, that makes you hungry and anxious for a next macabre endeavor.
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