Contains spoilers.
When Stanley Kubrick needed a truly disturbing haunting for the bathroom of room 237 of the Overlook Hotel in The Shining (1980), he latched onto one of the most effective and elemental terrors imaginable: an old woman. More specifically, a nubile young woman who rises from a bathtub to seduce main character Jack Torrance, and then reveals her true form as a sore-ridden, saggy-breasted crone, cackling at her own deceit.
It’s a scene that I suspect plays differently depending on the viewer’s sex. For a man, the horror comes from identifying with Jack. He, too, is aroused by the youth and beauty of the ghost’s first form; he, too, is appalled when he realises he has been tricked into lusting for old, degraded flesh. For a woman watching, the horror isn’t about what you want. It’s about what you are — or what you will become. You will age into monstrosity, and your only power will be the power to disgust. Every female body contains the terrible fact of its own future.
Coralie Fargeat’s new satirical body-horror The Substance contains a lot of visual nods to The Shining: corridors with sinister geometric carpet, blood pouring down walls, a bathroom decorated in an upsettingly lurid shade of red. But the most important nod of all is this: it’s a movie about the horror of female ageing, in which the ultimate nightmare is a woman’s body made grotesque by time. This time, though, it’s not a male filmmaker seeing this horror from the outside. It’s a female filmmaker seeing it from the inside.
The film’s concept is a bit complicated and pretty clever. Elisabeth Sparkle (played by Demi Moore) is an Oscar-winning actress turned fabulously successful aerobics instructor (shades of Jane Fonda), just hitting her 50th birthday — which is the point at which “it stops”, as her repellent producer (Dennis Quaid) tells her. “People always ask for something new.” She loses her show. She loses her celebrity. She loses her purpose.
Enter the substance — a mysterious black-market medicine that promises to create the best version of you. When Elisabeth injects it, she gives birth to a whole second self through a gory vaginal split in her back. The new her (played by Margaret Qualley) is young, luscious and beautiful, and takes the name Sue. The only snag is that, while Elisabeth and Sue have separate bodies, their existence is shared: one of them can live for seven days while the other lies insensate. Disturb that balance, and you pay a price.
Of course, the characters (character?) can’t simply follow the rules. As Sue steps into Elisabeth’s old life and job, it becomes unbearable to sacrifice herself so the older body can live. “Just one more day,” she whispers to Elisabeth’s prone body, as she draws another dose of serum from the spine. The cost is borne by Elisabeth, who becomes more decrepit with every liberty Sue takes. Unable to coexist, they end up in a battle to survive that neither ultimately will win. Sue will end up savagely kicking a wizened, hunchbacked Elisabeth to death.
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SubscribeThe only way to live, in the end, is to accept your mortality.
Gosh, what a radical idea. Who would have thought? It’s not as if aging is a new, contemporary experience.
I suggest that the esteemed readers of this outfit click on this link and read a sober, mature treatment of the topic: https://www.huffpost.com/entry/invisible-women-50s-male-gaze_n_63a38c4fe4b033ea8cc577aa
Not as dramatic and titillating as the treatment of the topic in here but much more useful and enlightening.
We’re all familiar with the horrors of witchtrials. Of course, WE wouldn’t participate in them, would we? The author, and this film, suggests that perhaps… actually, not only that we.might but that – in a less-clearly defined way – we do. Furthermore, that it’s women who’re just as active participants by self-demonising the aging process.
I’m not sure this is generally true (i’m not female, obviously) but that it contains an element of truth that we all might recognise seems to be true.
Very many older women have a degree of wisdom that society would be much poorer without. As i age, that can be appreciated, so it pains me to witness the psychological self-harm that the prospect of fading youthfulness seems to induce, according to this narrative. Isn’t it time that we all stopped beating ourselves up in this, and other ways?
It’ll be interesting to see the wider reaction to this film. Demi Moore is a great actress… full stop. She was great when young, she’s perhaps even greater now. That should be all we need to take on board, but she deserves great credit for portraying this subject, and the author of this piece credit too for the way she’s set out her analysis.