Glamour, youthful allure and sculpted bodies — that’s the trifecta which keeps the cash registers ringing in the entertainment industry. And to cling to them, people will do just about anything—even if it means unleashing a ‘new and improved’ version of themselves that literally tears its way out through their own spine.
Welcome to the twisted world of Coralie Fargeat’s latest body-horror flick, The Substance, a chilling take on Hollywood’s obsession with eternal youth. This sharp and gory meditation on the curse of ageing in Tinseltown didn’t just shock audiences—it snagged the Best Screenplay Award at the 77th Cannes Film Festival, proving that even nightmares can have a cinematic silver lining.
In The Substance, Demi Moore delivers her most daring, no-holds-barred performance as Elisabeth Sparkle, a movie star turned TV fitness guru who knows the entertainment industry will forgive anything—except ageing. At her 50th birthday lunch with her boss, Harvey (Dennis Quaid), Elisabeth gets more than just awkward small talk. While Harvey demolishes a plate of shrimp with horrifying crunches and slurps (sound cranked to nightmare levels), he casually fires her. With irrelevance looming large, Elisabeth becomes the perfect candidate for ‘The Substance’—an underground drug that promises a brand-new, wrinkle-free version of yourself, literally ‘birthed’ from your genetic material in the most grotesque way possible.
Enter Sue (Margaret Qualley), Elisabeth’s flawless, fresh-off-the-production-line clone, ready to slide into her old fitness show—and metallic leotard—with disturbing ease. But there’s a catch: the original and the replica must swap places every seven days to maintain a delicate symbiosis, with daily stabilisations to keep things in check. What follows is a darkly comedic, body-horror twist on the classic Faustian bargain—bordering on Dorian Gray-ish, with a heavy dose of existential awkwardness.
Every frame of The Substance could hang in a gallery—it’s art with a sinister edge. Every cut, every sound, is meticulously crafted to make your skin crawl. Ordinary noises blast through like reverse ASMR, while the camera refuses to sit still, favouring swoops, low angles and invasive close-ups over anything remotely restful. The cinematography is equally striking, with solid backgrounds and stark black-and-white tiles framing the bodies like visual puzzles. Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley, playing two sides of a self split by the titular drug, dive headfirst into raw, unsexual nudity and physically demanding performances, proving they’re both firing on all cylinders—emotionally and artistically.
Let’s be clear—if you’re looking for realism, The Substance isn’t your film. Coralie Fargeat breezes past existential puzzles like whether Elisabeth and Sue share a unified consciousness. After all, who needs metaphysical answers when you have a flashcard manual that vaguely warns, “Remember you are one”? Easier said than done.
Unsurprisingly, the two versions of Elisabeth soon find themselves locked in a vicious tug-of-war over their dwindling shared resources. It’s the kind of fight with no winners—just two perfect bodies clawing toward inevitable ruin. But isn’t that the tragic irony for every woman under the public’s unforgiving gaze? The fiercest battle she’ll ever face isn’t with rivals or critics—it’s with the younger, fresher version of herself. And spoiler: that’s one war no amount of Botox, fitness plans, or miracle serums can help you win.