The Substance starts with a celebrity TV fitness host smiling at her audience. It ends with one of the grossest body horror sequences in recent history. And along the way, it provides stark social commentary on society’s fixation with women’s appearances.
In a media landscape saturated in subtlety and layered metaphors, The Substance emerges as a blood–soaked visceral thrill ride that hurls subtlety out the window. The spectacle of blood, guts, and boobs aren’t just tools for male fetishization, but rather the beating pulse of the narrative. Every scene is drenched in horror and humor, as the message is delivered with high–octane force.
The narrative kicks off (literally, with numerous high kicks in sparkly tights) by Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore), a seasoned aerobics TV host, facing the harsh reality of her professional demise on her fiftieth birthday. Her boss (Dennis Quaid), a caricature of greed and superficiality, brazenly informs her that she is being let go, indicating that it is in favor of a younger, more alluring successor. This is the catalyst for Elisabeth's descent. She attempts a desperate fight against the film’s nightmarish vision of a person’s expiration date to reclaim her lost youth and fame.
Elisabeth’s entire identity—composed only of fame, beauty, and youth—collapses under the weight of audience interest moving on. But it’s not just external forces that are at play here; it’s Elisabeth’s own internalization of these superficial ideals that forms the core of the film’s tragedy. Her personality is often relegated to the background, overshadowed by the film’s fixation on her deteriorating appearance and the ensuing grotesque body modifications.
When offered the chance to take The Substance—a mysterious elixir that promises another younger, hotter body—Elisabeth plunges into a gruesome sequence that leaves her old body mangled. The transformation sequence is both a visual and visceral assault reminiscent of a freakish birthing, featuring acidic green fluids and crudely stitching broken flesh as a younger body emerges from Elisabeth’s back. This new body assumes the name Sue, and is played with a wicked seductive confidence by Margaret Qualley.
The duality of Elisabeth and Sue provides a stark contrast. Sue exudes a confident, youthful allure, while Elisabeth, now a relic of a bygone era, is unable to accept her changed appearance. She lusts after Sue’s appearance non–stop and makes no attempt to move on from fixating on her body—especially when Sue gets Elisabeth’s old TV fitness instructor job. Elisabeth’s desperation manifests in her relentless attempts to hide her aging. In spite of her efforts, the world moves on, swift and unrelenting, leaving Elisabeth clinging to remnants of youth that no longer serve her.
The film’s satirical tone is accentuated by its over–the–top gore and comedic flair. The blood splatters, while shocking, are interspersed with moments of dark humor that keep the audience both wincing and laughing. The contrast between the repulsive and the comedic makes the horror bearable—even amusing.
On the SEPTA ride back from the film, I couldn’t stop thinking about how appearance is a never–ending battle in a woman’s life. I was reminded of a conversation I overheard once while waiting to get my hair done. Two women in their fifties, initially casually comparing skin–care routines, quickly veered into subtly cutting remarks about how their friends were aging. Comments on graying hair and wrinkles settling in weren’t just observations; they now reflected judgements about the person’s character and work ethic. As I listened, I could almost feel the tension between them grow— each woman silently calculating what she needed to do to avoid becoming the next target of the biting remarks.
Just as these women were fixating on warding off the inevitable signs of aging, Elisabeth too became consumed by the fear of losing her youth. In doing so, she isolated herself, caught in a downward spiral of self–judgment and loneliness. As I watched her unable, I was reminded how essential it is to build strong friendships on a foundation stronger than fleeting beauty. That, ultimately, was one of the film’s more subtle messages: during times of growth and change, it’s the bonds we nurture through genuine care for others and our own well–being that save us from being swallowed by the void.
Ultimately, The Substance is a provocative examination on how intertwined youth and beauty are with personal identity, particularly for women. It amplifies the loneliness and struggle inherent in aging, questioning what remains of us as we shed the identities tied to our physical appearances. While not to the extent of Sparkle’s trauma, women’s identities are inextricably linked to their youth and beauty. As we grow older and shed these identities, who do we become? If we come to lose our friends and hobbies in pursuit of the past, I suppose we can all possess a little bit of the ugliness that ensnared Elisabeth Sparkle.
