REVIEW. "As Demi Moore Uses THE SUBSTANCE, Death Becomes Her."

NOTE: Spoilers may occur, otherwise the review wouldn't make sense. But, given the date of this posting, some of you may have already seen the movie. Read on, at your peril....

Okay. So I don't love horror movies.

With the possible of exceptions of classics like Frankenstein and modern mash-ups like Get Out and Parasite, I've never looked forward to experiencing the conventional blood and gore fest that are the mainstays of the horror genre. You can keep Chucky, Jason, Pennywise and Freddy, I'll pass, thank you very much.

But Writer-Director Coralie Fargeat has created another kind of hybrid with The Substance, cleverly using the horror format to address social issues like standards of physical beauty in the 21st century, when botox, ozempic, and various cosmetic procedures have become common go-to methods to maintain a healthy, youthful appearance. For women, the pressure to look young, lithe, and fetching often defines their sense of self-acceptance and worth.

Fargeat slyly, but not subtly, draws us in to the male gaze, focusing on all the things men ogle: firm breasts, long legs, a tight ass. Of course, long hair and come-hither lips locked in a forever "Come, fuck me" pout are essential in completing the image of today's desirable woman. Fargeat's camera lingers on body parts repeatedly throughout the movie, from Elisabeth's (Demi Moore) fit, but aging frame, to Sue's (Margaret Qualley) more nubile version of Elisabeth's figure.

At the same time, and in symbiotic counterpoint to the naughty voyeurism that comes from watching women touch and examine their naked bodies, Fargeat emphasizes male ageism and sexism to beastial proportions: her audio-visual close-ups of network CEO Harvey's (Dennis Quaid) porcine devouring a plate of shrimp enhances and emphasizes the grotesque inequities women endure as they age. Fargeat's playing with us as much as she is with her characters.

In sum, Elisabeth, a well-known and much celebrated celebrity fitness guru (think Denise Austin), has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and a hugely popular TV workout show. But Elisabeth is past fifty, and so, in Harvey's eyes, he needs someone younger, hotter, more fertile. The scene in which Elisabeth overhears Harvey give a crudely ignorant assessment of older women as his rationale for replacing her, encapsulates Fargeat's theme as brutally as the scenes that follow.

A desperate Elisabeth is given a flash drive that describes a strange kind of elixir known as "The Substance." After viewing the video promotion, Elisabeth wanders down an alley (this alone should be a clue that something's amiss) to a hidden locker room when Box #503 becomes her key to an extended youthful existence.

Or does it? The Substance is a curious potion: taking it immediately rips open and scars the person's body (from which there is no return to "normal"), and the instructions on using it are as complicated and illogical as the process of growing old. When Sue emerges out of Elisabeth's spine as her alter (Elisabeth is "The Matrix"), the two must alternate consciousness in seven-day intervals, each one helping sustain the other during their time at rest, meaning each one is aware of the other, but they do not interact concurrently. Well, at first. You can see where the plot is going a mile away before the actual tension between Elisabeth and Sue kicks in.

Perhaps, that is Fargeat's intention: providing as layer upon layer of implausibility so to emphasize the total inhumanity and absurdity we place on insisting that women of a certain age are no longer relevant unless they assume the facade of a younger, more impressionable (re: more easily manipulated?) female. Elisabeth has created a junior version of herself, but can't engage in her experience. Sue begins living an irresponsible, hedonistic lifestyle and resents having to give it up every seven days so Elisabeth can return.

It's an odd cat-and-mouse foreplay that has disaster written all over it. And disaster, of course, happens when both women begin to resent each other, even though they are both variants of The Matrix. This tension raises the deeper, internal struggle within women: the self-hatred that sometimes accompanies the realization that life is passing by, that more of our life is behind us than ahead, and that - no matter how many anti-aging creams you use, no matter how many fitness classes you take, no matter how healthy your diet - time passes and aging is inevitable. How we embrace or reject that becomes the treatise for another film, but Fargeat doesn't miss the ultimate point of introspection here presenting a women grappling with stages of self-loathing and self-denial.

In the midst of all this decay and physical decline: when Sue fails to follow The Substance's strict rules for stabilization and extends her consciousness beyond seven days, Elisabeth's body begins to deteriorate rapidly, exacerbating the strain between her and Sue, and causing her to question whether using The Substance was a good idea after all. As she sits alone at a diner, the purple skin discoloration on her right hand a signal of her "substance" use, an older man seated across the aisle from her interrupts her contemplation, saying, "Seven days isn't enough, is it?" He smiles, revealing a similar purple patch on his hand, his disheveled and withering appearance a chilling preview of what's to come for her.

There's more blood and gore, of course. The last forty-five minutes of the movie is a heightened, intense, over-the-top roller coaster ride that leads to the inevitable demise of Elisabeth and Sue, with Fargeat's final wink an image of Elisabeth's face, bathed in a pool of blood over her Hollywood star, smiling as echoes of compliments about her once-admired beauty reverberate in her head.

Her face dissolves into that pool of blood, only to be swept away by the custodian cleaning the Walk of Fame the next day. And the world goes on.

In that final moment, I couldn't help but wonder why, in the end, Fargeat resorted to the same conclusion as other feminist-fueled narratives about women who defy traditional social norms and seek self-realization through unconventional methods: Death. Like Thelma and Louise, Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman in Black Swan) and Madeline and Helen (Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn in Death Becomes Her). Women who struggle with and are challenged by standards of perfection and beauty, who are punished by failing to conform to men's expectations, can only find redemption in death. something that, for me, remains a sad commentary on the inevitable outcomes for women who confront the status quo.

The Substance would probably not be as effective in its exaggerated views of aging women were it not for Demi Moore's solid, physically and emotionally visceral, tour-de-force performance. Moore doesn't just chew the scenery, she devours it. Paired with her own back story of being thought of as an over-the-hill "popcorn" actress, Moore's personal narrative this awards season has become the almost perfect complement to Fargeat's movie, an harmonious pas de deux between director and actor that has rightfully landed among this year's best.

Moore is partnered beautifully with Margaret Qualley as her alter, Sue. Qualley exhibits the appropriate amount of narcissism and youthful body confidence that seems flawlessly aligned to today's fixation on appearance. And you can't get any better than Dennis Quaid if you need an actor who can mug effectively for the camera. His Harvey is as monstrous as he is outlandish.

As a film, The Substance is clearly the product of Fargeat's stylistic vision: her constant use of close-ups which emphasize the gross and crude behavior of men, alongside the superficial egocentrism imposed on women becomes tedious after awhile, even though it's clear Fargeat wants us to see the insanity we've created by placing unrealistic standards of beauty on women. The consequences here descend into the ridiculous, but not before Fargeat uses every tool in her artistic box to drive home her point and force us all to witness the sexist, ageist monster society has created.

You know from the get-go that The Substance will not end well, from the early, cheerful scenes depicting the creation of Elisabeth's "star" to the eventual depreciation of that star with cracks, dirt, animal excrement, and garbage - all in the first five minutes of the movie. Like David Lynch's classic Blue Velvet, The Substance takes you on a ride into the bowels of the human psyche, laying raw and exposed the fears and insecurities associated with aging in a world that still cannot tolerate anything but flawless, white beauty.

The Substance is not for everyone, but worth a look if you're into a vibrant and edgy view of the world with more than a tinge of graphic violence, blood, and age-related gore. Keep you sense of humor, though. The Substance has no soul without it.

The Substance is currently streaming on Amazon Prime.