When I say The Substance, the Demi Moore-starring movie that rocked Cannes, is bloody that’s an understatement. Take the amount of blood you think could be in this movie and double it. No, triple it. At one point during the runtime you will think you have seen the bloodiest part, but just you wait. It gets bloodier.
And yet the blood isn’t even the part of this wonderfully batshit body horror spectacular that had me almost throwing up. It’s a symphony of lurching flesh that might have you both gagging and cheering. The audience at my press screening of Cannes certainly did. We whooped, we gasped, and we clapped. It’s the grossest thing you will see all year.
Directed by Coralie Fargeat, of the also bloody Revenge, the film is at its core pretty simple. Moore, who is locked in to her role, is Elisabeth Sparkle, a fading star with a workout empire called Sparkle Your Life, where she sways her booty like Jane Fonda back in the day. But she is also miserable. Hollywood—or the fake version of Hollywood with ’80s flourishes that Fargeat has created—is casting her out. An executive not inconsequentially named Harvey and played with disgusting gusto by Dennis Quaid wants to replace her. (An early nasty moment involves Quaid eating shrimp with a close up on his mouth.)
