Grotesque, sexy, and comically outrageous, writer-director Coralie Fargé’s Substance is a gripping tale of one woman’s fight against the ravages of time. Influenced by the work of David Cronenberg, Brian De Palma, and, above all, a self-consciously Stanley Kubrick, this body-horror shocker is neither subtle nor succinct in its themes or fantastical malevolence.
And yet, like a band obsessed with tasty riffs, the genre stunner — which won the screenplay award at the Cannes Film Festival in May, before premiering at the Toronto International Film Festival on Sept. 5 and hitting theaters on Sept. 20 — pushes everything beyond the bounds of moderation and decency into a raucous discussion of the personal and cultural forces that drive women insane in the pursuit of physical perfection.
Led by literally and figuratively revealing performances from the fantastic Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley, The Substance is a study of TV exercise queen Elizabeth Sparkle (Moore), who, after spending her 50th birthday taping a hit show (think a classic Jane Fonda exercise video with spandex-clad beauties doing synchronized routines), overhears her network boss Harvey (Dennis Quaid) disparaging her as an emaciated “old hag” and demanding she be replaced.
At a luncheon later, Harvey tries to discourage Elizabeth by telling her that “rebirth is inevitable,” something that is certainly longed for by a fading icon. The hilarious opening sequence depicts the fading life of Elizabeth’s Hollywood Walk of Fame star, with the look of disgust and dismay clearly in the actress’ eyes as she stares into the mirror.
While driving home, Elizabeth is distracted by seeing her face peeled off a billboard and gets into a car accident. At the doctor’s office, a physician’s assistant discreetly examines her and calls her a “good candidate.” As she leaves the hospital, an old classmate stands before Elizabeth and compliments her on how lively and adorable she still is. Sadly, Elizabeth continues to be troubled by her dwindling self-esteem and is intrigued when she discovers the physician’s assistant has slipped a USB drive into the pocket of her bright yellow coat. The device is labeled “The Substance” and has a phone number written on it. Returning home, she checks its contents; it concerns a revolutionary cell division process that promises a “better you.”
Elizabeth is initially repelled by this nonsense, but her worries about her wrinkles linger, so she quickly contacts the service, which gives her a key card that gives her access to a scary back-alley address, where she finds a mailbox containing a package with the Substance instructions and equipment. The first step is to inject herself with the activator. Next, she is to be put on a liquid IV diet called “tranquilizers” for seven consecutive days, as well as her “alter ego.” And finally, at the end of the week-long period, she is to “switch.”
Staring naked in the mirror, as Fargé’s camera scrutinizes the folds and cracks of her face, hips, legs and buttocks, Elisabeth takes the plunge and rubs the mysterious compound into her body. She soon collapses to the tiled floor, her pupils doubling, her back splitting open and a new being emerging from within.
That person is Sue (Qualley), Elizabeth’s younger, more accomplished doppelganger and the very definition of Elizabeth’s dream personality. “Remember, you’re one of them,” the voice on the other end of the phone says, but Sue thinks of herself as Elizabeth 2.0, and quickly begins to create the life Elizabeth wants for herself, including a starring role in an exercise show known for its skimpy costumes and sexual content.
Substance, a film that is simultaneously overtly reminiscent of The Shining and 2001: A Space Odyssey and heavily influenced by The Twilight Zone, dramatizes the action with one extreme, drool-worthy close-up after another, many of which fixate on flawless skin and perfectly sculpted butts. In doing so, it objectifies both the appeal of youth and attractiveness and a scathing indictment of our perpetual obsession with them, an indictment that identifies men (through Harvey and Substance’s unseen mastermind) as collaborators and peddlers of these harmful beauty standards.
Since Sue is a pure, idealized version of Elizabeth, it’s not surprising that she not only wants the spotlight, but is also eager to do so using her good looks and sex appeal to do so. The problem, however, is that at the end of each seven-day period, the two must alternate between being mobile and not being mobile, a process made easier by Sue creating a secret chamber that allows the two to remain unnoticed for the entire week while they sleep.
The Substance’s surreal action is at once dreamy, dangerous and palpable. Fargé hits every note with aplomb, daring and clarity. As a result, throughout its 140-minute running time, there are parts where the film plods along, taking twists and turns that are predictable a mile away. It’s never dull, but it always feels tedious.
Fortunately, Moore and Qualley, as the same narcissistic, fame-hungry characters, exude an exceptional amount of obscene desperation and manic, overbearing eroticism. Substance manages to simultaneously titillate and condemn such titillation without ever sounding reproachful, and this is to its great benefit as the film grows sludgy and morbid as Sue becomes increasingly possessive of her waking hours and Elizabeth resents her for being an obstacle to her ambitions. Mutation reveals the dark, depraved minds of these conjoined beings, and the director lavishes on them a nasty, gooey, bloody monstrosity, all embellished with designs and imagery of vaginas and penetration.
Staring at Moore and Qualley’s naked frames with an ardor (alternately praising and blaming) that mirrors its protagonist’s own self-criticism, The Substance acknowledges the allure of superficial glamour in uprooting modern beauty culture. It’s a point that’s unmistakable. Though sometimes detrimental, its outlandish impulses remain on point until the final three chapters, when it reemphasizes its point in even crazier fashion, cranking it up to 12 where 10 would have been enough, in a display of true gonzo spirit that exposes vanity for all its true ugliness.
