With more lingering shots ass shots than a Fast & Furious movie, Coralie Fargeat’s latest film eviscerates the insane beauty standards imposed on women, the empty pursuit of vanity, and the falsehood that aging diminishes a woman's worth. In what might be her finest performance, Demi Moore resurges as Elisabeth Sparkle, an aging star relegated to hosting a morning aerobics show on network TV. Deemed too old for television and fired on her 50th birthday, Elisabeth suffers a car crash while driving home, distracted by the sight of her own face being torn from a billboard. Recognizing her plight, a nurse tending to Elisabeth in the hospital slips a flash drive into her coat pocket with two words on it: The Substance.

The flash drive reveals the rules for the film’s titular black-market drug. The Substance—a serum that causes advanced cellular generation—creates a younger, more beautiful version of the user. Though this new body is birthed from the user’s back, the two forms remain connected as “one,” requiring the user to switch back and forth between them every seven days, without exception. Despite the shady storage locker delivery system for this clearly dangerous drug, Elisabeth takes the plunge, producing a hyper-sexualized barbie doll version of herself that dubs itself “Sue” (played by Margaret Qualley).

Sue is perfect in every nubile way and quickly secures the spot as the replacement host of Elisabeth’s show. The same grotesque network executive who dismissed Elisabeth as a tired hag now fawns over Sue, intent on making her a superstar. This executive, uncoincidentally named Harvey, signals The Substance’s complete and utter disregard for subtlety—and I do mean that as a compliment. Dennis Quaid shines in the role, relishing every uncomfortably tight close-up as he spews blissful ignorance, double standards, and half-chewed food with almost every line.

Through Sue, Elisabeth reclaims her life. But once the time comes to switch back, Elisabeth finds herself feeling even more inadequate in her natural form. In an attempt to restore some sense of self-worth, Elisabeth asks a high school friend—whom she awkwardly bumped into after leaving the hospital—out for a drink. It’s clear that this guy has harbored a crush on Elisabeth since they were kids. He was likely the kind of bookish poindexter who could never attract her attention then or now. But in her depressive state, Elisabeth desperately seeks the attention of anyone who will offer it. In a heartbreakingly relatable scene, we watch Elisabeth get dressed and do her makeup for the date, only to be derailed every time she reaches the door by the sight of Sue’s billboard outside her window. This prompts a spiral of frustration, despair, and eventual abandonment of the plan.

Like a Cronenbergian Hannah Montana, the balance between Elisabeth and Sue’s lives quickly collapses. Elisabeth spends her time in her natural form as a couch potato, binge-eating her feelings, which disgusts Sue, who retaliates by extending her time beyond the seven-day limit—a violation explicitly warned against by the substance’s marketing material and ominous customer service line. As Sue stretches the time between switches, Elisabeth’s body rapidly ages and deforms. But it’s important to remember, there is no Sue—they are one.

Margaret Qualley in 'The Substance' MUBI via MovieStillsDB

In this sense, The Substance can also be read as a parable about addiction. Despite the harm caused by staying in the Sue form, Elisabeth can’t resist the desire to be desired. Given the option to stop the experience—though it wouldn’t reverse the damage Sue has already done—Elisabeth chooses to continue switching, convincing herself that she “needs” Sue. As her ratings skyrocket, Sue is deemed too popular for the morning show and is elevated to host the network’s New Year’s Eve special. Every opportunity Elisabeth was denied because of her age, Sue seizes with ease.

The metatextual bravery of Moore’s performance cannot be overstated. Moore, still an objectively gorgeous woman, operates in an industry that discards most women once they reach a certain age. Those willing to be relegated to character actor bit parts can continue working in Hollywood indefinitely, but the lifespan of a leading lady is notoriously short. Moore, once the highest-paid actress of her era and a ‘90s sex symbol, saw her career dip at the turn of the century. It’s easy to imagine that Moore’s performance as Elisabeth Sparkle is a deeply personal one. It certainly feels personal, with Moore’s courageous vulnerability contributing one of the best performances of the year.

Coralie Fargeat found the perfect subject for The Substance, but the relevance Moore brings doesn’t change the fact that Fargeat’s script and direction are sublime. The film zips through its near two-and-a-half-hour runtime, culminating in a thrillingly gonzo swan song of blood, guts, and viscera. Fargeat’s grasp on the body-horror genre rivals that of fellow French corporeal creep show auteur Julia Ducournau, director of Raw (2016) and Titane (2021). In fact, The Substance might just be better than both. Watching the film’s insane third act unfold with a live audience rivals the most memorable movie moments of the year, whether it’s Paul riding Shai-Hulud in Dune: Part Two, the Octoboss assault in Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga, or whatever it was that made you all cheer in Deadpool & Wolverine.

The Substance is the kind of audaciously confident film that cinephiles live for—a genre piece with a blistering point of view that both shocks and entertains, while demanding to be discussed with friends afterward. Promising Young Woman cinematographer Benjamin Kracun captures every colorful and demented moment with vivid clarity, and the incredible makeup and practical effects ensure this film will age like a fine wine. The film delivers on all fronts: goopy, gross textures, laugh-out-loud absurdity, and, most importantly, genuine thematic substance.