The Substance, directed by Coralie Fargeat, is an audacious slap in the face to anyone who ever thought getting older would be a smooth transition into sipping cocktails in front of a sunset. Nah, it’s more like injecting fluorescent green goo into your spine so a younger, hotter version of you can run around in neon workout gear while your aging, sagging body chills in a puddle of its own juices. Welcome to The Substance, folks, where the tagline should be, “Because Botox just isn’t cutting it anymore.”

Coralie Fargeat is here to mess with your head. Her previous film Revenge already proved she has a penchant for bubble-gum brutality, and now with The Substance, she’s upgraded to full-on body horror with a feminist edge. The film grabs you by the eyeballs and doesn’t let go, much like the effects of its titular drug. Fargeat’s style is anything but subtle, and that’s the point. Every shot, every insane twist in the plot is designed to make you squirm, laugh, and think—probably all at the same time. Fargeat is like a mad scientist in the lab, and this time, her experiment is how far she can push you before you either puke or applaud. Honestly, it’s probably both. If you don’t want to know too many details of the plot, turn away here. Just know that while this definitely comes recommended, five stars seems a bit too generous that we keep seeing thrown around.

Here’s the gist: Demi Moore stars as Elisabeth Sparkle, a 50-year-old ex-aerobics TV star who’s been kicked to the curb by the entertainment industry because she has the audacity to age. When her sleazy TV exec Harvey (played by Dennis Quaid, chewing scenery like it’s made of shrimp) fires her, she turns to “The Substance,” an injectable drug that literally creates a younger, hotter version of herself named Sue (Margaret Qualley). The catch? They can only swap bodies every week. If Sue overstays her welcome, things get gnarly fast. Like, “your body parts start aging at warp speed” gnarly.

The first time Elisabeth takes The Substance, it’s as if the film decided to cosplay as The Fly meets Mean Girls. Sue emerges from Elisabeth’s spine (yeah, really), sews up the hole, and immediately steals her career and fame. Cue the slow descent into madness as Elisabeth watches her own younger self become everything she used to be—famous, adored, and full of life—while she withers away in obscurity.

Fargeat doesn’t tiptoe around the film’s themes—she stomps all over them in six-inch heels. The Substance is a blunt-force trauma of social commentary about society’s obsession with youth and beauty, particularly the way it chews up women and spits them out the moment they show signs of a wrinkle. The film doesn’t just critique these pressures; it literalizes them (is that a word?). Elisabeth’s transformation into Sue is a grotesque and darkly hilarious take on the lengths women go to stay relevant in a culture that deems them worthless after 30 (more on this a bit later).

Every moment Sue is on screen, she’s ogled by men and fetishized by the camera, while Elisabeth becomes more and more invisible—until she’s not. The rivalry between Elisabeth and her younger self becomes a metaphor for internalized misogyny, self-hatred, and the madness that comes with trying to hold on to an ideal that’s impossible to maintain. Sure, it’s not subtle—but neither is society’s obsession with youth.

Demi Moore delivers a performance that’s as raw and vulnerable as it is unhinged. Elisabeth’s desperation to reclaim her youth and relevance feels painfully real, and Moore doesn’t shy away from showing the cracks in her character’s glossy exterior. There’s a scene where she rubs her face in makeup, only to smear it all off in a fit of frustration. It’s simultaneously tragic and darkly funny.

Margaret Qualley, on the other hand, plays Sue with a wide-eyed, almost eerie sense of freedom. She embodies the horror of youth in a way that’s both alluring and terrifying. Watching her slowly realize that being young and beautiful isn’t all it’s cracked up to be adds layers to a character that could have easily been one-dimensional. Plus, her ability to make even the most disgusting body horror scenes seem oddly glamorous is a testament to her range.

Dennis Quaid as Harvey? Let’s just say Quaid does not hold back. His character is every greasy, misogynistic exec you’ve ever seen—and then some. If the close-up shots of him slurping shrimp don’t make you gag, the way he leers at Sue definitely will.

Visually, The Substance is a candy-colored nightmare. Fargeat and cinematographer Benjamin Kracun use wide shots, fish-eye lenses, and neon lighting to create a world that feels both hyper-real and deeply unsettling. Every frame is packed with visual metaphors: the split between Sue’s bright, glossy world and Elisabeth’s dark, shadowy one is as sharp as the needle Sue uses to sew her back together. The camera lingers on bodies, both beautiful and grotesque, forcing you to confront the duality of physical perfection and decay.

Fargeat’s script is a sledgehammer. Every line of dialogue, every plot point hits you over the head with its message. Some might call it heavy-handed, but in this case, that’s like complaining that a roller coaster is too fast. It’s not about nuance; it’s about the thrill of the ride. The writing leans into its absurdity with full force, and the result is a script that’s brimming with quotable lines and pitch-black humor. You’ll laugh, but it’ll be the kind of laugh that gets stuck in your throat when things take a turn for the grotesque.

The Substance is not a film for everyone, or the faint of stomach for that matter. The body horror is visceral, the themes are in-your-face, and the pacing can be chaotic, especially in the final act, which goes completely off the rails. But that’s what makes it fun. It’s a film that knows exactly what it wants to be—loud, messy, and unapologetically over-the-top. Sure, it could have been trimmed down a bit, and some of the symbolism might be a little too obvious (yes, we get it, youth is a double-edged sword), but those are minor complaints in the grand scheme of things.

The critique that The Substance paints a negative light on women who try to “play the game” of beauty and youth culture misses a vital point of the film’s messaging. Sure, the film doesn’t shy away from the grotesque extremes of the beauty industry or society’s obsession with youth, but it’s not condemning the women caught in its trap—it’s condemning the system that forces them into it in the first place.

In fact, The Substance goes out of its way to highlight how women like Elisabeth Sparkle are pressured into this toxic game. The film doesn’t judge her for injecting herself with the titular Substance; it’s more interested in exploring why she feels the need to do it in the first place. Society’s relentless demand for youthful perfection is the real villain here, and Fargeat’s film pulls no punches in exposing how brutal and unforgiving that demand can be, especially for women.

The film makes it clear that Elisabeth, like countless women in the real world, is simply playing by the rules of a game she didn’t create. She’s not vain or shallow for wanting to regain her youth—she’s desperate, because that’s what the system has made her. Hollywood has told her that her value as a person is directly tied to her physical appearance, and when that starts to fade, so does her relevance. If anything, The Substance shows immense empathy for women in this situation. It’s the industry—the Harvey characters of the world—that’s portrayed as monstrous, not the women trying to survive within it.

Let’s talk about Sue, Elisabeth’s younger, more glamorous doppelgänger. Sure, she’s enjoying her time in the limelight, but the film never glorifies her success. It makes it clear that even Sue—this seemingly perfect, youthful version of Elisabeth—is just as trapped by the system as her older counterpart. She isn’t winning the game; she’s merely prolonging her inevitable fall. The moment she stops being the flavor of the week, she’ll be discarded just like Elisabeth was. It’s a vicious cycle, and the film does a fantastic job of showing how it chews women up and spits them out, no matter how hard they play the game.

The body horror elements in The Substance are not an attack on women who pursue beauty; they’re an attack on the societal forces that make beauty a requirement for worth. Elisabeth and Sue are tragic figures, not because they’re trying to stay relevant, but because they’re stuck in a system that makes such sacrifices seem necessary. The horror is in the fact that no one wins this game. The film doesn’t mock or demean the characters for trying to survive—it mourns for them.

Finally, to say the film casts women in a negative light for “playing the game” ignores the film’s biting critique of the men in power, like Dennis Quaid’s Harvey. He’s the one pulling the strings, making decisions based on how well women fit into his shallow, outdated ideals. He’s the one profiting off the game, while women like Elisabeth and Sue suffer the consequences. The real target of the film’s ire isn’t the women who are forced to play by the rules—it’s the men who wrote them.

So no, The Substance isn’t damning women for playing the game. It’s calling out the absurdity of the game itself, the cruelty of its rules, and the toll it takes on the women trapped within it. Far from a critique of women’s choices, the film is a rallying cry against the system that forces those choices in the first place.

That being said, if you’re looking for a nuanced meditation on aging, this isn’t it. But if you want a roller coaster ride through the hellscape of modern beauty standards with some of the best body horror this side of Cronenberg, The Substance delivers.

In the end, “The Substance” is a film that sticks with you—whether you like it or not. It’s grotesque, hilarious, and deeply uncomfortable, much like the experience of aging itself. Coralie Fargeat has crafted a film that’s as audacious as it is thought-provoking, and while it won’t be everyone’s cup of tea (or syringe of neon goo), it’s definitely worth the watch for anyone brave enough to confront the horrors of growing older with a sense of humor. Just maybe leave the snacks at home.