On my Amazon wishlist, I have a retinol cream that I plan to buy when it goes on sale for Black Friday. Retinol is an anti-aging serum, and although you don’t have to start using it until your forties, I saw a TikTok that said you should start in your twenties. There’s no guarantee it’ll make any significant difference, but, on the chance it’ll reduce fine lines for a few extra years, I’m willing to pay for a bottle every three months, for the rest of my life. Plus, once it’s on sale, it’ll only be $70.

Watching “The Substance,” I saw that same impulse stripped down to its nastiest essence. Coralie Fargeat’s horror-satire hybrid is a garish, squelching descent into body horror and society’s fixation on beauty. Demi Moore plays Elizabeth Sparkle, a fitness icon and beauty influencer facing the brutal reality of aging in the public eye. As she hits her fifties, Sparkle’s career falters. Her sleazy boss, played with peak sliminess by Dennis Quaid, informs her that her time is up and they need someone fresher. Determined not to let her life’s work crumble, Elizabeth turns to a mysterious, ectoplasm-esque serum called “The Substance,” rumored to restore youthful vitality — and then some.

Elizabeth’s “younger self,” Sue (Margaret Qualley), is born from Sparkle as a separate entity. This fresh, supple version quickly takes Elizabeth’s spot on camera, transforming her empire into something more like a TikTok-fueled social media showcase. Fargeat’s script digs in on the absurdity of self-sabotage: Elizabeth has multiple chances to quit, but instead escalates, chasing perfection to the detriment of her well-being while Sue seems only too eager to take her spot. Their interactions reveal a lot about internalized self-loathing, jealousy and the societal pressures that tell women their only value is their beauty. As the relationship between Elizabeth and Sue deteriorates, so too does the line between them, eventually leading to some of the most grotesque and imaginative body horror David Cronenberg would be proud of.

Cinematographer Benjamin Kracun captures this degradation up close and personal, with the camera hovering over every spinal injection and bulbous pustule. In fact, the sound design itself deserves a mention here — it’s all cracking, dripping and squelching, a sound that practically echoes after the film ends. 

There’s a heavy “Death Becomes Her” energy here, but “The Substance” has a darker edge, mixed with hints of Stanley Kubrick’s surrealism and Cronenberg’s horror. Unlike “Death Becomes Her,” which leans into a camp aesthetic, Fargeat injects an element of tragedy and horror that makes the whole spectacle feel tragic and even cathartic. While Qualley gives a note-perfect performance as the vapid yet driven Sue, it’s Moore who steals the show. Moore’s Elizabeth navigates grotesque physical transformation with a desperate yet darkly comedic touch. She swings from serious, guttural breakdowns to sharp, deadpan interactions with Sue, who she eventually treats like a rebellious child, showcasing both her sadness and her absurd resolve.

“The Substance” doesn’t offer a heartwarming lesson on loving your flaws or aging gracefully. It reflects the absurdity of an endless chase for external validation. I’ll probably still follow my skincare routine, avoid gray hairs and spend some time worrying about wrinkles. However, after watching “The Substance,” losing sleep over them just seems silly.  So, if you too walk out of the film a little less willing to buy that trendy new fix-all-serum, maybe “The Substance” has done just what it sought to do.