Rating: B+
Dir: Coralie Fargeat
Star: Demi Moore, Margaret Qualley, Dennis Quaid, Gore Abrams
Fargeat has only made two features, but they are both stellar: and perhaps more impressive, are in radically different genres – unless “gory as hell” can be considered a genre. Her debut was Revenge, a blood-drenched rape-revenge film, where I said, “Much credit to Fargeat for this “take no prisoners” attitude, and delivering a thoroughly uncompromising piece of cinema.” Exactly the same phrase accurately describes her follow-up, the most unrelenting piece of body horror since those long-gone days when David Cronenberg was in his prime. If you have never seen someone vomit up an entire, mostly intact breast, here you go. Though I suspect this sequence may end up getting a post in a shitty subReddit like /r/NotHowGirlsWork.
The central character is Elisabeth Sparkle (Moore), a once-popular actress who is now reduced to an aerobics show on morning television. When even that is snatched away by obnoxious producer Harvey (Quaid) – a name I am certain was not chosen at random – Elisabeth starts a procedure, designed to create a “new you.” Except she doesn’t realize this is literally what happens. Her back splits, and a younger, prettier and perkier version is born, Sue (Qualley). There are rules to ensure balance is maintained, such as Sue can only go out in the world for seven days before having to switch with Elisabeth. But Sue becomes unhappy with this limitation, and wants more freedom, regardless of the terrible resulting cost on her “mother”.
Fargeat has cited The Picture of Dorian Grey as an influence; I’m more inclined to Dr. Jekyll and Mister Hyde, because there seems to be no overlap. What Sue does, Elisabeth doesn’t know about, and vice-versa. Indeed, I wonder what Elisabeth gets out of this, since she does little except sit at home and eat junk food. She could have done that on her own. Putting that aside though, it’s a spectacular meditation on aging, particularly in Hollywood. Yet it’s not particularly strident in its feminism: everything that happens is a consequence of Elisabeth’s choices, not the Evil Patriarchy™. If acting is a young woman’s game, the same can be said for male-dominated professional sports: the average age at which an NFL player retires is twenty-seven.
Both Moore and Qualley are excellent; indeed, you could argue the latter’s presence gives the lie to the premise, considering Demi is now eligible for a bus-pass. Fargeat shoots Sue with an unrelenting male gaze, focusing on body parts to a fetishistic, almost pornographic degree. The eventual cost for this perfection is equally obscene, the final act seeing the two women merge back together, in a way that makes a mockery of Elisabeth’s earlier dissatisfaction with her appearance. Fans will spot nods to other genre items, for example The Substance’s resemblance to the re-animating fluid used by Herbert West. Yet what is crafted here is more than the sum of these parts, a genuinely disturbing piece of horror, which will inform the ickier side of your nightmares.