The much-hyped body horror The Substance won Best Screenplay at the Cannes Film Festival, collected a string of five-star reviews (including by our very own Tim Robey) and has tipped Demi Moore for an Oscar.
But to say I hated this gross-out, degrading movie about ageing would be an understatement. It bored me. It revolted me. Ultimately it made me angry.
I watched it in the picturesque Sussex town of Rye; just me, my friend and two other people braved the downpours to attend the Saturday night screening. This was fortuitous, because nobody minded when we variously groaned, laughed and shrieked in disgust at a film that purported to be a satire but fell into the trap of slavishly perpetuating the stereotypes it purported to skewer.
The Substance is billed as a psychological examination of a woman’s fear of ageing; former movie star Elizabeth Sparkle, played by Moore, hits 50 and is summarily sacked from her breakfast TV fitness slot by a sleazeball producer played by Dennis Quaid.
When Elizabeth comes across a shadowy medical process called The Substance that promises to roll back the years and recreate her best self – via a clone, played by 29-year-old Margaret Qualley – she’s all in. But this is no psychological examination of a very real phenomenon in our youth-obsessed society.
Instead we are served up lingering soft-porn shots of Moore’s breasts and Qualley’s quivering buttocks. One or other of these women is naked at all times. I felt genuinely uncomfortable watching nudity that was neither artistically justifiable nor furthered the plot in any way. Here was the entitled male gaze at its most exploitative. Except – and I was genuinely appalled to discover this – the director is a woman. Does that make it any better?
The phrase “internalised misogyny” springs to mind. Moore may well get an Oscar and the publicity will boost box office sales. But caveat emptor – this is not great cinema. How can it be when it rips off far better films (The Shining, Death Becomes Her and Carrie to name a few) and descends into an orgy where everyone gets sprayed with clotted blood and gobbets of human tripe?
Here is a whippet-slim 61-year-old Demi Moore literally and emotionally stripped bare and increasingly humiliated over the course of The Substance. Are we the viewers meant to mock her vanity as she effortlessly plays 50? Why would we sneer when she looks incredible from every angle? In 2024 I thought we’d all moved on from that sort of knee jerk shaming.
Frankly only her gynaecologist could lay claim to any sort of unique access. In reality Moore has had a lot of cosmetic work done and probably hasn’t consumed a carb since the 90s. Are we supposed to notice this in her portrayal of Elizabeth? There’s no reference to the fact her forehead is smooth as an Alpine milkmaid’s so I would guess not.
Demi Moore and her alter-ego, played by Margaret Qualley
Mubi
The whole premise of The Substance is ridiculous and the entire film so risible I feel conflicted subjecting it to any sort of serious analysis – to do so runs the risk of giving it a credence it simply doesn’t merit. But here goes; as a 50-something woman I found this tiresome cliched mess had nothing original to say to me.
Do women my age fear wrinkles so very much? Maybe some do. But not those lucky enough to look like Demi Moore. What annoyed me long after the closing credits rolled was the way in which Elizabeth resented the younger self she had created. Why?
It makes no sense even by the movie’s twisted internal logic. Female rivalry is fertile ground to explore and has been done with deftly clever humour – look no further than Bridesmaids – but the notion a woman would end up in a cartoonish cat fight with her own alter ego is just stupid and crass. Those of us with daughters want nothing more than to see them – and their peers – shine and succeed. We do not want to bludgeon them to death on the sitting room carpet.
In truth this utterly execrable film reinforces male prejudices about ageing. This is the body horror genre after all; what could be more revolting than witnessing a highly sexualised (ergo desirable) female body withering, losing all of its commodity and indeed humanity?
At a real stretch The Substance might conceivably be construed as tapping into young women’s fears of ageing rather than representing older women’s lived experience. None of us would swap youth for wisdom – that’s the real secret of ageing well.
Judith Woods