“The Substance” is a Franco-British and North American production. It is directed (by passing off the south of France as the Los Angeles region) by the French Coralie Fargeat, whose previous work, “Revenge”, was already a pure genre film. Cannes 2024 awarded him its screenplay prize. Its cast (Demi Moore and Dennis Quaid), its language and even its style could make it pass for a North American film. We also allowed ourselves to be deceived.
Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) is the host — like Jane Fonda — of a successful aerobics show. She shows off a perfectly preserved body. But, considers its unbearably hypocritical and libidinous producer Harvey (Dennis Quaid), it has the big fault of having reached fifty years, the expiration date in his eyes and those of the shareholders. Elisabeth is therefore thanked. Cloistered in her huge and luxurious apartment, the fallen actress comes across a mysterious advertisement which offers her to inject “the substance”. She decides to give it a try. Skip the next paragraph if you want to save yourself additional disclosure.
The product causes a gruesome dorsal delivery: from a tear along the spine emerges a creature 30 years younger with perfect proportions (Margaret Qualley). She will choose the first name Sue. The product instructions are clear, there are rules that must be absolutely respected: while one body lives its life, the other is unconscious, it must be fed by injection. After seven days, maximum, there should be a reversal. For the original body to be active, for the clone to go into stasis. If the deadline is exceeded, irreversible damage is to be feared. What could go wrong?
“The Substance” is clearly “body horror”, a sub-genre of the horror film. In addition to their exposed nudity, the bodies are particularly mistreated. People for whom a close-up of a syringe in a vein is already an ordeal will enjoy it. Coralie Fargeat exploits the concept straightforwardly. Nothing is spared us.
Very stylized, and sometimes even mannered, the film has the elegance of appearing elaborate. The fact of following a Demi Moore that we would never have thought to see in this type of production is undeniably a surprising plus. We can even wallow in the little game of references: that this scene is Cronenberg, that this one is Kubrick, and that this finale is pure Brian de Palma. There are undeniably homages and borrowings, but also and above all personal and unique ensemble music. The film assumes its excess and crude causticity until the end. The latter can even sustain bursts of saving laughter (but, fortunately, not mocking).
This is why the vision of “The Substance” is undoubtedly more effective and more liberating in a room committed to the cause. Injected alone, the treatment risks appearing painful.
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