Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley lead visceral body horror

The substance, which won the award for best screenplay in Cannes and is now showing at the Toronto International Film Festival, is a grotesque parable about the lengths women will go to achieve youth and beauty. Screenplay and direction: Coralie Fargeat (Revenge), the film is also a brilliant indictment of double standards and a portrait of obsession… one that I never want to watch again (and I mean that as a compliment).

It’s certainly provocative, but the emotive fantasy of blood and brutality effectively captures the contradictions between Hollywood’s gilded image and its sordid underbelly. A movie character name for the ages, Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) was once a coveted and revered star. From her place on the Walk of Fame to her hit fitness show, she embodied the image of health and wellness (which is politically correct for young and beautiful). On her 50th birthday, she is summarily fired by her cartoonishly chauvinistic boss Harvey (Dennis Quaid) – and yes, that first name is intentional. Quaid delivers such a smug performance that it gives me goosebumps while simultaneously making me wonder whether or not the conservative actor got the joke.

Depressed and suffering from occupational body dysmorphia, Elisabeth decides to try a black market drug called “Substance” that promises a younger, better version of herself. This literally turns out to be true, as Sue (Margaret Qualley) is born from the fluid and viscera of Elisabeth’s spine.

Despite repeated warnings that Elisabeth and Sue must swap consciousnesses every seven days, she becomes increasingly unwilling to give up the admiration she receives as a perky, seductive television sensation. Even when it becomes clear that her own body is deteriorating at an alarming rate due to her long stays in her clone’s body, she cannot shake her addiction to the feeling of being Sue.

There is nothing subtle about The substance. From the use of camera angles and extreme close-ups to capture Sue’s hypersexual allure to the hideous prosthetics that transform Moore into a monstrous old woman, writer-director Coralie Fargeat aims to drive home the ugliness, objectification and self-loathing perpetuated by female beauty ideals. The film is a true work of body horror, with bulging skin, creaky bones, disgusting fluids and buckets of blood that literally represent the monstrous price of remaining desirable.

Moore and Qualley give truly insane performances. Moore puts it all on the line as Elisabeth ages rapidly, and flawlessly executes a scene in which the haggard former star pokes fun at one of Sue’s TV interviews. It’s equal parts cringe-worthy and hilarious.

Qualley uses her voluptuous beauty to infantilize Sue, biting her lip suggestively and thrusting her pelvis back and forth while maintaining a carefree innocence. But she is not innocent so much as she is Elisabeth’s id, making decisions driven purely by her own desire and need to be desired. Both women deliver intense physical performances, showcasing their naked bodies to contrast Elisabeth’s mature body with Sue’s supple skin. They put themselves in a fierce posture and constant state of attack, jockeying for their piece of public adoration while stalking each other like wildcats circling their prey.

Fargeat also contains direct references to other horror and obsession stories. The carpet in the hallway of the television studio and its ominously high walls are reminiscent of Shining Overlook Hotel and later the theme of dizziness takes place during a scene where Elisabeth/Sue is trying to transform herself into the vision of what she most wants to be – someone young and beautiful. These references are anything but subtle, but they are effective nonetheless.

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Without giving too much away, the film’s third act descends into a cacophony of chaos, monstrosity and gore, pushing the boundaries of its storytelling to the limit (and crossing the lines of taste with a single sentence). While it’s so over-the-top it borders on cheesy, it’s also a terrifyingly pointed expression of the madness that comes from striving for impossible standards – and the self-loathing and hatred that comes from pitting women against each other and against themselves. Be warned, with its dripping body cavities, slippery entrails and fire-breathing blood splatters, the film is not for the faint of heart. At every moment, I thought this was the craziest thing I’d ever seen.

The substance is about a deadly drug, but its most toxic feature is that it reinforces a useless need for external validation. The film’s final image shows the lengths women will go to get the admiration they so crave – only to lose their cultural relevance in an instant. Grade: B+