Written by Ky Tanella. Graphic by Ky Tanella.
“The Substance.” If you haven’t seen the edits or the over-analytical TikToks by now, you’ve probably at least heard the tales of people passing out in movie theaters, and titling it “grossest movie ever made.” While many people are raving about it, there are still some that absolutely hate it. I believe I’m somewhere in the middle of this argument (if you ignore my 4-star Letterboxd review). A lot of the critique surrounding the film stems from the body horror, an element of the film that’s quite essential for driving the story forward. In the next couple of opinionated paragraphs, I’m going to be discussing body horror and misophonia. If that’s not your thing, proceed with caution! Spoilers for “The Substance” are ahead!
Coralie Fargeat’s sophomore directorial debut follows former Hollywood it-girl turned aerobics instructor Elisabeth Sparkle (played by Demi Moore), as her creepy boss fires her on her 50th birthday. She’s given an address to a mysterious laboratory, where she encounters a specialized package containing “The Substance” – a neon green liquid that once injected, promises a “better” version of yourself (Sue, played by Margaret Qualley). The catch: you must respect the balance – each body gets seven days to live their collective lives.
The body horror in the film ranges from the use of needles to the spilling of organs, and has a unique quality to it that causes the reader to feel uncomfortable in their own body. Fargeat expertly uses it as satire to explain the message of the film with little room for speculation – the constant societal devaluation that women face as they age out of the ever-narrowing standard of “youthful beauty.” The first instance of extreme body modification emerges (literally) in the form of Sue (Qualley), as she crawls from Elisabeth’s (Moore) spine-split back. As explained in the film, this is textbook mitosis – they are one, your “best version” is born from the original. The scene – while written/directed/produced by a woman – operates under the male gaze, ogling Sue’s naked body in a way that feels gratuitously sexual, under the masquerade of liberation. Immediately, she is portrayed as what she is to the men in the film – a young, dehumanized, woman who’s objectification is not only inevitable, but profitable. It’s clear from the jump that this director had an extremely clear vision, and that this is a story written from real-life pain. Fargeat was described by both Qualley and Moore as someone who “gripped this narrative tight,” and expressed extreme bravery in letting it go.
Sound design through misophonia is a huge element of this horror. At first, it manifests in Dennis Quaid’s character ripping the heads off of and eating prawns—open-mouthed, close-up, and with a clear disregard to the prawn’s former life. While it is gross, it serves as a metaphor for executives who chew women up, spit them out and cast them aside when they are no longer useful. There’s a scene that upon second watch, felt especially profound in the same vein. Elisabeth finally opens the “present” that Quaid presented to her once she was being kicked out of her office: a French cookbook. This operates in the film in two different ways. One: the cookbook is a symbol of domesticity – a reminder that now that she is no longer in the public eye (or no longer “useful” due to her age), she should fulfill her duties as a homemaker, and “go back to the kitchen.” Two: as she cooks the Christmas Turkey featured in the book, she begins to crush the bones of the bird beneath her, juxtaposed with her watching Sue (her creation) speak condescendingly about Elisabeth on live television. Although they are one conscious, Elisabeth seeks to control the things she creates in this moment, as she sees Sue’s actions as “out of her control.”
The horror continues to grow in the form of medical horror—needles, injections, IVs and the creation/destruction of the human body. Each time Sue drains Elisabeth’s body of her “spinal fluid” to live another day as her “youthful” self, she is stealing life from the person who created her. The injection sight becomes more painful to look at due to the visual effects, but psychologically, it becomes uncomfortable due to the direct violation of her autonomy. This serves as a gross hyper-fixation on women’s bodies, and their seemingly endless pursuit of a false “eternal youth,” all so that they can continue to be societally valued in service of a cruel, unforgiving patriarchy. It satirizes the rise of body modifications that women are willing to endure, set against the cultural relevance and rise of Ozempic, Botox and a slew of anti-aging product placements flooding TikTok.
This is the devastating core at the heart of “The Substance.” The emotional implications of Elisabeth willingly committing these atrocities against her body due to her self-loathing is psychologically grosser than the actual body horror. It’s set in the realism of the horrors of the modern woman; her insecurities and shame are at the foreground. In a profoundly raw scene, Elisabeth is seen critiquing herself in her own bathroom. She puts more and more makeup on just to smear it off, and spirals into a state of harmful self-loathing. During an insightful Q&A after the film, Demi Moore said that this scene took 15 takes, and that it felt painful, both physically and emotionally, to spend so much time in this state.
Overall, “The Substance” is one of many body horror films that effectively uses its practical effects to evoke a strong uncomfortable feeling in the viewer without teetering too much on camp. Do I think it’s the “grossest movie ever” or that its body horror warrants the controversy? Honestly, I don’t! I think there are films more worthy of that title, but that doesn’t mean the reactions are not valid. I believe the psychological implications, at the end of the day, really make the movie terrifying. Either way, if my review hasn’t scared you away, proceed with caution!
