The Substance (2025) - Movie Review

What if I told you that a writer/director deliberately said “FUCK YOU” to Hollywood’s Creative Industrial Complex by casting an actress who was basically blacklisted—yet somehow received a Best Picture nomination at the Oscars? Insane, right? Now picture this: it turns out to be the most outstanding body horror film in a looong time.

Let’s dive in.

The Substance is a 2025 art-house body horror film from Coralie Fargeat, one of today’s top female horror writer/directors. Her debut, Revenge (2017), was among the most brutally intense rape/revenge narratives ever filmed. Normally, I’m not a fan of that genre, but she managed to flip the script by shifting the focus away from the sexual assault itself—proving her cleverness and dark wit. I can hardly wait to see what she does next as she truly embodies the resurgence of the French Extreme spirit..

The story centers on Elisabeth, a once-iconic fitness star now considered past her prime by Hollywood. After her longstanding daytime fitness show is canceled, she suddenly finds herself without a purpose for the first time in forty years—not due to a lack of drive, but because an industry she devoted her life to has deemed her too old. At least, that’s her perspective, and in Tinseltown, perception is reality. So when she’s offered a groundbreaking new medication promising a renewed lease on life, she leaps at the chance without grasping all the attached strings. The drug comes with strict rules that, if broken, bring dire consequences. Will Elisabeth eventually learn that fame doesn’t equate to happiness, or will she devolve into the monster the industry shapes her into? The answer unfolds in tonight’s presentation of The Substance.

I won’t sugarcoat it—this movie isn’t for everyone. It’s graphically intense. If you’re squeamish about body horror with its breaking fingernails, gnashing teeth, and pure gore, you might want to steer clear. On the other hand, if you’re as emotionally numb as I am (*see dead inside), you’re in for a visually stunning journey that relies more on symbolism, entertainment, and a touch of trickery rather than excessive dialogue, exposition, or traditional plot structure.

This is a film made by an artist.

As a sculptor who’s earned a fair amount of respect and moderate success, I loved every minute of it. It isn’t just a movie—it’s an experience that tells a complete story, provided you pay close attention. It takes you on a wild journey through past, present, and future all at once, and it’s one hell of a ride.

The special effects are remarkably well-executed. Despite not having a massive budget, it’s clear exactly where the money went. The cinematography, set design, and lighting are top-notch, creating a visual feast even in the midst of all the gore. While some digital effects are obvious, they actually complement the film’s overall message—Hollywood is often cheap, grimy, and far from the polished elegance it pretends to have. Meanwhile, the practical effects are nothing short of Cronenberg-level artistry. Of course, none of it would work without actors brave enough to expose themselves in such a visceral fashion.

Special kudos to Dennis Quaid for his spot-on portrayal of Harvey Weinstein, though the film’s beating heart is its female leads.

Demi Moore goes all in, delivering a performance so powerful it’s BS that she didn’t win an Oscar for it. She leaves nothing to the imagination—appearing largely without makeup and often shot so close that every sign of aging is visible. There’s even a lengthy period where she is completely nude, without any touch-ups or filters. And yes, I might be biased, but I’ve adored her since One Crazy Summer, and she still looks incredible to me.

Equally impressive is rising star Margaret Qualley, who attempts to steal the show. Her body is so flawless that I half-joke about the likelihood of digital enhancements, though if it’s all-natural, credit her for the hard work. Her breasts especially appear overly symmetrical, the kind that looks manufactured like a Barbie Doll. Breasts that my father used to say—“You might chip a tooth on.” Is the performer showing you their all because they chose to? Were they forced to by a parasitic agent or producer? Does it even matter to you, the viewer?

It’s exactly this kind of internal debate that The Substance wants you to engage in.

This film overwhelms you with its lavish visuals—everything from overt displays of pubic hair, firm asses, and gore. It’s sex personified, a neon dream painted across a canvas of ecstasy… until it isn’t. I won’t spoil it any more, but suffice to say it’s a brilliant piece of visual storytelling. If you have any background in stage or screen, you owe it to yourself to see this film.

At the time of writing, it’s available through subscription or pay-per-view on all major digital platforms.