Demi Moore's “The Substance” is the most disgusting and erotic film of the year

Grotesque and sexy in a hilarious and outrageous way, writer and director Coralie Fargeat The substance is a mushy tale of one woman's struggle against the ravages of time. Indebted to the work of David Cronenberg, Brian De Palma and, most confidently of all, Stanley Kubrick, this body horror shocker is neither subtle nor incisive when it comes to its themes or its phantasmagorical nastiness.

Still, like a band latching onto a tasty riff and riding it deliriously into the ground, this dazzling genre film – which premieres at the Toronto International Film Festival on September 5 and hits theaters on September 20 after winning Best Screenplay at the Cannes Film Festival in May – pushes everything beyond the bounds of moderation and decency until it becomes an incendiary discourse on the personal and cultural forces that drive women mad in the pursuit of physical perfection.

Led by the literally insightful performances of a fantastic Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley, The substance is a study of Elisabeth Sparkle (Moore), a television fitness queen who has spent her 50th birthday taping her hit show – think of Jane Fonda's old-fashioned workout videos in which hot girls in spandex do synchronized exercises – and then watches as her station boss Harvey (Dennis Quaid) slanders her as a haggard “old bitch” and demands her replacement.

At a subsequent lunch, Harvey tries to disappoint Elizabeth by telling her that “renewal is inevitable.” The fading icon no doubt longs for rebirth. An amusing opening sequence shows the dwindling lifespan of Elizabeth's star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and as she stares into the mirror, the look of disgust and dismay in the actress' eyes is unmistakable.

On her way home, Elisabeth is distracted when her face is ripped off a billboard and ends up in a car accident. At the doctor's office, a medical assistant secretly examines her and announces that she is a “good candidate.” As she leaves the office, she is approached by an old classmate who compliments her still-radiant beauty. Unfortunately, she continues to suffer from her dwindling self-esteem and is therefore intrigued when she discovers that the medical assistant has tucked a USB stick into the pocket of her bright yellow coat. This device is labeled “The Substance” and has a phone number on it. When she gets home, she looks at the contents, which talk about a revolutionary cell division process that guarantees “a better version of yourself.”

Elisabeth initially resists this nonsense, but her wrinkle-related insecurities persist and she soon contacts the service. This gives her a key card that gives her access to a spooky address in a back alley, where she finds a mailbox with a package containing instructions and equipment for the substance. The first step is to inject herself with an activator. Next, she is to take liquid intravenous food, a so-called “stabilizer,” for seven days – just like her “other self.” Finally, at the end of the one-week period, she is to “switch.”

As she gazes naked into the mirror, Fargeat's camera following every sagging crease and crevice of her face, hips, legs and ass, Elisabeth takes the plunge and injects the mysterious compound into her skin. She promptly lands on the tiled floor, her pupils double in size and her back splits open, allowing a new being to emerge from her.

That character is Sue (Qualley), her younger, better-than-you-are doppelgänger who is everything Elisabeth dreamed of being. “Remember you are one,” says the voice on the other end of the line, but Sue sees herself more as Elisabeth 2.0 and quickly sets about creating the life her better half wants, complete with a starring role on a fitness show known for its skimpier outfits and more sexualized content.

Operation under increased Twilight Zone – The Hidden World-like vein, which at the same time blatantly cries out for The Shining – The Wonderful World of Madness And 2001: A Space Odyssey, The substance dramatizes its action with one extreme, drool-inducing close-up after another, many of them fixated on flawless skin and perfectly shaped butts, objectifying both the allure of youth and attractiveness and the caustic condemnation of our eternal obsession with them—a critique that exposes men (via Harvey and the invisible Substance mastermind) as co-creators and peddlers of these toxic beauty ideals.

Since Sue is a pure, idealized form of Elizabeth, it's predictable that she'll not only crave the spotlight, but will also use her good looks and sex appeal to conquer it. The problem, however, is that at the end of each seven-day period, the duo must switch back and forth between animate and inanimate – a process made easier by Sue having built a secret room where they can lie undetected during their slumber week.

The substanceThe hyperreal action is at once dreamy and gnarly, not to mention obvious; Fargeat plays every note big, bold and explicit. As a result, there are stretches throughout the film's 140-minute running time where it plods along, working its way through twists that are remotely predictable. While it never feels sluggish, it invariably feels bloated.

Fortunately, Moore and Qualley are exceptional as two halves of the same narcissistic and fame-hungry whole, exuding a domineering and overwhelming eroticism laced with vicious desperation and madness. The substance manages to simultaneously excite and condemn that excitement without ever striking a scolding tone, and as Sue becomes more possessive of her waking time – and loathes Elisabeth as a lump and a chain that prevents her from fulfilling her ambitions – the film becomes increasingly shrill and sick, to its great advantage. Mutation exposes the dark, depraved heart of these conjoined beings, and the director doesn't skimp on gross, sticky, bloody monstrosity, all embellished with vaginal and penetration-related designs and imagery.

If one looks at Moore’s and Qualley’s nudes with an intensity – alternately admiring and disapproving – that reflects the protagonists’ self-criticism, The substance acknowledges the appeal of superficial splendor to demolish contemporary beauty culture. It's unmistakable about what it has to say, sometimes to its detriment, and yet its wacky impulses are spot on, right up to a third and final chapter that hammers its points home again in increasingly wacky ways. It turns it up to 12 when 10 would have sufficed, displaying a genuine gonzo spirit that reveals the true ugliness of vanity.