Fargeat’s sophomore feature is a raging scream at beauty standards, male toxicity, and showbusiness
Back in 2017, Coralie Fargeat announced her presence with the vibrant, violent, and assuredly feminist thriller Revenge. Her sophomore effort doesn’t dial back on any of her visual flair, visceral triggers, or penchant for blood letting, rather it’s all dialed up even further, and again married to a raging scream against female exploitation and male toxicity, this time within the entertainment industry.
Demi Moore stars as Elisabeth Sparkle, an award winning actress who in her later career, segues a Jane Fonda-esque role as a TV workout instructor. A somewhat antiquated format of leotards, legwarmers, and low impact moves. Elisabeth soon becomes aware that her time is up, finding out in unceremonious fashion from executive Harvey (a gleefully loathsome Dennis Quaid) that her “fuckability” is diminishing, and a younger model is needed. Shell shocked from her disposal, she gets into an accident while driving home. Safe but shaken, she is discharged, but not before a young male nurse slips her a USB drive, the cryptic information within leads her to a a secretive new medical procedure, one offering a new lease of life for the patient by unlocking a new and improved version from their DNA. A kit supplied via an underground drop box contains the compounds needed to activate and sustain the process, as well the instructions on how to sustain the experiment. Key to this is a mantra, “REMEMBER YOU ARE ONE”. A reminder and a warning to the pair of subjects as they begin a new way of living. 7 days in one form, then a switch for the other to take over. A downtime for each that is crucial to sustaining the other. The downtrodden Elisabeth takes the activator and begins to violently convulse, her body writhing, cracking, and tearing, and out emerges Sue (Margaret Qualley), a young, nubile woman, who after shaking off the disorientation of her ‘birth’ gets to work stitching a dormant Elisabeth back up, and hooking her to her 7 day feed. The word awaits, and she attacks it with vigor. Answering the casting call for Elisabeth’s replacement she soon finds herself under Harvey’s care, and on the fast track to stardom. A headlong plunge into decadence and career success as Sue looks to disprove the old adage that “youth is wasted on the young”. For Elisabeth, her life seems empty by comparison, and her self-hate and resentment festers. For Sue, the allure of life and success pushes her to take more time than she should, and so delicate balance essential to their survival becomes threatened.
Fargeaut pays homage to Cronenberg, Hennenlotter, and even Zemeckis with this blackly comedic, over the top, gnarly slice of body horror, but it clearly sets itself out as a unique vision. The science of The Substance is suspect, and I say this as someone with knowledge of the field, but a suspension of belief is easy to adopt as the film plunges you into this wild ride. An enthralling and overt condemnation of the expectations on women to not only achieve, but also sustain impossible beauty standards.
Show-business is the most egregious place for this, but the theme resonates widely and loudly beyond the sparkle of Hollywood. A place where fame, and fortune can be as quickly snatched away as it is given. After years of service, Elisabeth receives a farewell gift that serves as a message to just get back in the kitchen. Her desperation, and raging at the dying of the light drives her to this extreme solution.
Where the film finds an extra level of insight is in not just looking at women against societal expectations, but the side effects of how they can pitch women against each other,Elisabeth becomes resentful of not just Sue’s popularity but in seeing exactly what part of herself was in demand. A confrontation with the superficial, a reckoning with self-loathing and isolation. For Sue, its about time being wasted on her counterpoint, a desire to live life to the fullest, work on her burgeoning career. Its this that pushes Sue to disrupt the necessary harmony that exists, and seize time and vigor from Elisabeth to further her own agenda. It’s a disrespecting of each other (or a disrespect of themself if you look at it another way) that pulls the trigger on mutually assured destruction.
For Qualley, the role fits in well with some of her other recent work, like Sanctuary, Kinds of Kindness, and Poor Things. Even so, there’s an applaudable gusto which which she seizes the role, not just as the perky, playful tease, but in the later sequences where the resentment, resolve, and fear for her own survival comes to the fore. Demi Moore is a tour de force, with a raw and resonant performance. There’s perfection in her casting, herself having emerged from the squeeze of the Hollywood machine and the quieter period that followed. It’s channeled into the more poignant as well as potent scenes she delivers. It’s an exposing role, in many ways, and she commits expertly to meets the tone and timbre of the film.
Fargeat again shows her assured direction with creative imagery, visceral moments, and a propulsive energy. She also leverages her female point of view to neatly skewer the male gaze that so often informs films, and inform its narrative. One that draws from the tortuous elements of female life, including birth, menstrual cycles, the pain of tight fitting clothing or wearing heels, and even the need to force a smile. A climax that mirrors the overuse of plastic surgery in crafting a monster is just the cherry on top of a nightmarish blend of imagery and experiences. Production design from Stanislas Reydellet is clean, but informed, adding to the meaning and metaphor of the tale. A pulsating score from Raffertie isn’t just adding to the assault on the senses, it’s setting a benchmark as one of the best compositions of the year
The Substance is a fiercely feminist tale of misogyny and monsters. A condemnation of societal views when it comes to women, and beauty standards. Fargeat attacks this with a cartoonish exuberance, crafting a film that revels in its excess. A wonderfully fucked up and resonant howl at how we confine and contort women, and ultimately destroy them.
Inject your eyeballs with The Substance, in theaters from Sept. 19th
