The Substance

Self-love, self-care, self-regulation, self-centered. In Coralie Fargeat’s sophomore effort The Substance, we are taken into the world of a twisted near-future where these values (and all their contradictions) are king, and we are our own surveillants and our own groundskeepers.

At the crux of the film is the relationship between Elisabeth (Demi Moore) and Sue (Margaret Qualley). Their mysterious Substance handler cautions, “YOU ARE ONE.” However, it becomes apparent that they are more like mother and daughter than they are the same person.

Elisabeth and Sue’s dynamic of being a caretaker for yourself – in both directions – speaks to our own fears about fading beauty. We are bombarded with messages about aging and how to erase signs of it. What you do when you are young is an investment in your future beauty, so be sure to mitigate the damage caused by standard youthful behaviors. Every crinkle on your face is a sign you didn’t self-care good enough: not enough water, not enough sunscreen, not enough vitamins, not enough skincare, not enough sleep. The pursuit of beauty is not merely for sex appeal, but for bodily optimization. The Substance remembers all this stress contributes to aging as well, with Sue’s seemingly relentless schedule causing Elisabeth to rapidly become more and more lonely and haggard.

Curiously, The Substance seems to exist in an alternate universe where social media never proliferated. Instead, we are still squarely in the world of SNL and late night talk shows. Its failure to place itself in our modern mediascape prevents its commentary from being timely. How can it hope to speak to the modern woman when it is missing one of the prime contributors to our deteriorating self-esteem? Our neuroses about aging has only gotten worse, where those in their teens and twenties have the detailed deaging routines of middle aged women fed directly to their feeds under the guise of “skincare.” The sterile sexualization of Sue especially is ripe for commentary on the way female influencers tend to advertise themselves on social media, frequently toeing the line between self-determination and self-objectification. Though the film’s message is not untrue, it does sound like something we’ve heard before due to this glaring omission.

Despite that, The Substance provides on the visceral. Hyperfeminine and hypermodern, the visuals are like a magazine editorial gone horribly wrong. Never-ending hallways with walls painted the perfect headache-inducing shade of orange, a squeaky clean minimalist bathroom covered in white tiles with black grout, and rooms and offices far too big for one person but impeccably decorated for the cameras. Beautiful people must occupy beautiful locations. And yet women are also the creators of their own prisons. Sue is the one who creates a separate chamber to keep whoever’s body is not in use, a stark black room hidden in the walls of the bathroom. More often than not, Elisabeth’s aging body is the one occupying it, like a shameful roommate Sue wants to keep from her newfound Hollywood friends.

This clinical approach to aesthetics makes the film’s latter half that much more cruel and striking. Food squelching when it enters the mouth, a hand probing the cavity of a chicken, bones cracking as you struggle to stand up. As much as Elisabeth/Sue tries to hide it, their bodies are capable of being dirty and ugly. It’s a show of defiance when their various bodily fluids and body parts get regurgitated in these spaces. Our livelihood, skills, and achievements are merely supplemental to beauty. When these ridiculous standards go beyond being for “our own good,” we are bound to explode under the pressure. Quite literally, in Elisabeth/Sue’s case.