A blog formerly known as Bookishness / By Charles Matthews

"Dazzled by so many and such marvelous inventions, the people of Macondo ... became indignant over the living images that the prosperous merchant Bruno Crespi projected in the theater with the lion-head ticket windows, for a character who had died and was buried in one film and for whose misfortune tears had been shed would reappear alive and transformed into an Arab in the next one. The audience, who had paid two cents apiece to share the difficulties of the actors, would not tolerate that outlandish fraud and they broke up the seats. The mayor, at the urging of Bruno Crespi, explained in a proclamation that the cinema was a machine of illusions that did not merit the emotional outbursts of the audience. With that discouraging explanation many ... decided not to return to the movies, considering that they already had too many troubles of their own to weep over the acted-out misfortunes of imaginary beings."
--Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Search This Blog

Friday, October 17, 2025

The Substance (Coralie Fargeat, 2024)

Demi Moore in The Substance

Cast: Demi Moore, Margaret Qualley, Dennis Quaid, Edward Hamilton-Clark, Gore Abrams, Oscar Lesage, Christian Erickson, Robin Greer, Tom Morton, Yann Bean (voice). Screenplay: Coralie Fargeat. Cinematography: Benjamin Kracun. Production design: Stanislas Reydellet. Film editing: Jerome Eltabet, Coralie Fargeat, Valentin Féron. Music: Raffertie. 

The fluids and textures of body horror have seldom been used for a satirically intense purpose as in Coralie Fargeat's The Substance. But the film wouldn't work without the courageous performance of Demi Moore, who brings her own image as a fading superstar to the movie. She provides a core of actuality to what is often an absurdly tongue-in-cheek film, in which people (including the character she plays) blithely do stupid things and in which plot holes and improbably over-the-top doings are abundant. The scene in which she prepares for a date in front of a mirror, applying and wiping away her makeup and then applying and removing it again, is more effective in its way than any of the scenes in which she is smothered in slimy and oozing prosthetics. As a fable about Hollywood's exploitation of women by men, embodied by Dennis Quaid as the producer named (with obvious aptness) Harvey, The Substance is sometimes blatant and a bit shrill, but the deeper target is our own body-consciousness, and in this area the film leaves us queasily examining our private obsession with age and decay.