Ladies and gentlemen, there is a new sheriff in town. Her name is Coralie Fargeat. You might remember she made that solid revenge flick a few years ago, aptly titled Revenge. I dug that movie sure enough, but nothing could’ve prepared me for her latest film, The Substance. It is a modern classic that is destined to be critiqued, analyzed, and examined for years to come. It is quite simply the ultimate horror film of the 21st century.
The story is an old hat. Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) is an aging celebrity fitness personality desperate to be young again. She hears about a new wonder drug called “The Substance” and tries it. Very quickly she learns about the side effects.
That set-up will no doubt seem familiar to anyone who’s seen The Wasp Woman or The Leech Woman. Fargeat also borrows from a rather surprising array of sources, both highbrow and low. What makes it work so gloriously well is that she wears her inspirations on her sleeve with pride. There are moments here that look like Kubrick on ecstasy. Others resemble Lynch on steroids. The most accurate comparison I can make though is this: Imagine if David Cronenberg directed the Barbie movie and that will give you an idea of what we have here.
I don’t want to spoil the best parts of the movie, so I’ll keep the review as brief and vague as I can. However, I will say that Fargeat crams a lot of messaging into the movie and says it all in bold and italics. The reason it works is because she starts the film at 10 and continues to crank it up as the story progresses. I mean, having a lecherous Hollywood type named “Harvey” is probably one of the most subtle aspects of the film.
Sometimes, you need to beat the message into the audience. When you see Elisabeth continuing to use The Substance, even though she knows it will destroy her, you can drop in miracle diets, weight loss cures, plastic surgery, etc. as the metaphor, and it works. Look at the people who can’t stop having plastic surgeries but are so far gone they can’t seem to stop. Look at the people jabbing themselves to stay thin. Her deadly desire for The Substance doesn’t seem farfetched.
The opening sequence is one of the best scenes you’ll see in this millennium, and perfectly sets the tone. Once the movie goes into full-on body horror mode, it doesn’t look back. The finale contains one of the most amazingly sustained scenes of concentrated cinematic insanity I’ve ever seen. During this scene, I thought of Society, Basket Case, Carrie, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, The Elephant Man, and Leviathan. During this scene, you may find yourself disgusted. You may laugh. You may recoil in horror. All are acceptable responses.
The performances are stellar. Moore is a revelation. She has never been better. She brings so much pain to the role. It’s a brave performance. One of the all-time greats. Margaret Qualley naturally is her match as Sue, the entitled, sexy, younger version of Elisabeth. She radiates sexuality but keeps her unfathomable rage bubbling just under the surface. (Oh, and speaking as a connoisseur of celebrity workout videos, I would totally buy the full season's worth of her “Pump it Up” exercise program.) Then there’s Dennis Quaid as Harvey. He’s a force of nature. He almost resembles a Looney Tunes version of Vince McMahon.
This is the kind of movie I love. It’s equal parts arthouse and grindhouse. Even though it’s drawing inspiration from several sources, it still feels totally fresh. It also contains the best use of a chicken leg since Killer Joe. It’s already won awards at the Cannes Film Festival and yet, something tells me it could win a Fangoria Chainsaw Award just as easily. It’s that kind of picture. The best one of the year. Possibly, ever.
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