Right before spring break, I had the pleasure of rewatching “The Substance” at The Little Theatre in honor of the film’s multiple nominations (including a very deserved Best Actress nom for Demi Moore) at the recent Academy Awards. However, you know what was not a pleasure? My fellow audience members, who were laughing up a storm like we were watching Pete Davidson or some other forgettable comedian quote Tiktok trends on “Saturday Night Live.” Haha! Take a long walk off a short pier, bitches. You’re the problem. I dream of spurting blood all over you, Monstro Elisasue style, and you deserve it.
“The Substance”, though quite effectively campy and satirical at times, is not a comedy. Or more aptly, it’s a comedy in the way that Jordan Peele’s “Get Out” or Bong Joon Ho’s “Parasite” is a comedy. It’s really, really, funny! Unless you are Monstro Elisasue, of course. Or, a woman in society. Or actually, anyone who has any experience (or empathy for) being “too much,” “too undisciplined,” “too sensitive,” “too undesirable,” “too old,” “too offputting,” “too revolting,” “too effeminate.” Basically, if you’ve ever said that beauty is pain you shouldn’t be laughing. If you’ve ever crash-dieted, you shouldn’t be laughing.
To be fair, laughing at a movie doesn’t automatically make you a bad or insensitive person or something. And it’s perfectly normal to laugh when you’re shocked, uncomfortable, or grossed out, which “The Substance” definitely accomplishes. But – like the woman sitting behind me with her giggly husband – if you’re saying, “Wow, this is so stupid,” I think you’re kinda missing the point. The story that “The Substance” tells, of a (barely) aging fitness star being pushed out of the spotlight and turning to a dangerous and dehumanizing solution out of desperation, isn’t a sci-fi myth about the future of our society: like the best dystopian stories, it reflects the present, not the future. We’re already there.
And not just celebrities, either. Yes, Coralie Fargeat elevates these experiences to theatrical and histrionic heights to spark a reaction, but some of the film’s most powerful and evocative scenes could just as easily be analogized to the day-to-day lives of millions (or billions) of people. Maybe we’ve never sewed up our own bisected spine in the name of beauty, or even gotten lipo or Botox, but a lot of us do scrub ourselves raw with microplastic exfoliants, shave ourselves hairless with razors named after Greek goddesses like Venus and Athena, and pound apple cider vinegar like it’s water to “flatten our stomachs.” Yeah, the iconic scene of Margaret Qualley yelling “control yourself” into a mirror is about preventing wardrobe errors like having to pull an entire chicken drumstick out of your belly button, but (as others have pointed out) the Elisabeth-Sue relationship conjures up images of bulimia, manic-depression, addiction, and a host of other disorders experienced by plenty of the population besides Hollywood.
The drug only vaguely known as The Substance reminds its users that “You are one”: that Elisabeth sabotaging herself through binge-eating and erraticism is no different from Sue covering the apartment in bottles of alcohol and literally draining herself dry to keep up her “perfect” lifestyle. Elisabeth’s insecurities are also Sue’s, and no amount of masking can erase the parts of yourself that you hate.
Fargeat’s film is a masterpiece of feminist work, capturing in vivid and gory intensity the pressures women experience to be perfectly packaged, expected to accept exploitation and disrespect with nothing but an understanding smirk and a thank you (because “pretty girls always smile,” as Dennis Quaid’s character says). However, it’s also a powerful analogy for eating disorders. The restrictive self-Sue- is placed on a pedestal; perpetually successful, social, adorable, fun, sexy, cool, and bubbly. Ugh, of course, she doesn’t eat carbs! She’s working. Besides, she’s, like, totally too busy club-hopping and generally being an It Girl to feel anything as embarrassing as insecurity or fatigue or (god forbid) hunger. Of course, we can’t have yin without yang, so then Elisabeth must be the demonized self: perpetually disgusting, disappointing, undisciplined, ugly, old, lame, weird, gross, pathetic. The scapegoat. All the bad parts shoved into one wrinkled and disfigured package. ‘God, Elisabeth! This is all your fault! Never mind that it’s impossible to starve forever, or mask forever, or actually be perfect. Everything would be fine if you could just control yourself. Ugh.’
After all, the higher the high, the harder the fall. For every second spent masking, there is an equal and equivalent second spent appeasing the frustrated, bitter authentic self locked up in the back of your head (and you can bet that she’ll have some choice words for you when she gets out).
Your present self can take as many shots as they want, but no amount of youthful naivete can actually split the self who’s going to wake up with a headache and anxiety into a different body you can conveniently leave in the closet. Your present self can laugh about living off of coffee (should we throw a party? Should we invite Bella Hadid?) but the person eating half a box of cereal at 3 a.m. because your body is in starvation mode is still you. The you pretending you’re fine is also the you hyperventilating in the bathroom.
But: we should also note that “The Substance” isn’t as simple as a tragedy about one poor beautiful woman suffering the dismal effects of the patriarchy. It is Elisabeth herself whose career is built off of helping women achieve their “beach bodies” so they don’t look like “whales,” not only complicit in but actively encouraging the very culture that eventually destroys her life.
Okay, anyway, it’s not like I’m going to actually traumatize my fellow audience members from that late-night Friday showing because of their errant giggling. I can see why it might have been too much for them. But laughing at “The Substance” — and more specifically, Elisabeth (whose misfortune received more jeers than Sue’s, shocker) or Elisasue is exactly the phenomenon that Fargeat is pinpointing. Stop laughing at Elisasue! She’s doing her best! Can’t you see she’s doing this all for you? If you think she’s ugly, it’s because you made her that way! Leave her alone!
So, readers: the moral of the story is, don’t see “The Substance” in theaters. Or if you do, then come prepared with a lot of fake blood to splash on anyone who thinks Demi Moore with prosthetic wrinkles is, like, the height of comedy.
Oh, and I almost forgot! Take care of yourselves (wink).
