The past and future are foreign countries; the people who live there are different, even if they're us. Still, some things are apparently immutable, and it does bring a small warm glow to what passes for my heart to be able to report that the veteran 'Demi Moore, always assuming it was artistically justified, would you consider keeping your clothes on in a film?' joke still has legs (not unlike Moore herself).

Now I thought Demi Moore retired from acting a long time ago, after one last semi-hurrah in Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle (a film which, on reflection, should indeed have been fully throttled) – it turns out that she's been plugging away doing smaller parts in less-commercial things all this time. But now she is back on the screens of major multiplexes in Coralie Fargeat's The Substance, which won one of the big prizes at Cannes this year. (Although, as you will see, what this says about Cannes is another matter. Those French, eh?)

Fargeat's previous film was Revenge, which I haven't seen, but Former Next Desk Colleague (who came to see The Substance with me) has; 'I think this might be a bit too extreme for you,' he said, being a bit of a sly old wind-up merchant. Naturally, having seen a bunch of Ed Wood movies, extreme graphic horror holds no terrors for me and I pooh-poohed his concerns. Off we went to the cinema, with quite a good crowd in for the teatime showing of a strictly-adults-only film. Particularly noticeable was the presence of a couple of very cheerful and chatty women who, we eventually figured out, were old-time Demi Moore fans who might have come to see this film without doing as much research on it as they perhaps should.

Well, about twenty minutes before the end I was interested to find myself hunched over in my seat, face in a rictus of profound disquiet, watching what was happening through my fingers but unable to look away. One of the film's big reveals came shortly afterwards, and I believe I made a plaintive utterance of something like 'Oh dearie me' (or possibly stronger). And a little bit later on the chatty women (who had been reduced to silence a while earlier) walked angrily out of the cinema. I believe I heard the words 'there's no call to be showing things like that' from one of them on the way to the door.

For all that the film ends up going somewhere utterly horrific and appalling, it starts off relatively conventionally. Demi Moore plays Elizabeth Sparkle, a former movie star who now earns a fairly considerable crust doing a TV fitness show. (Casting Moore as a semi-faded movie star is a brilliant touch, and kudos to her for taking on the role.) But time marches on and she learns, traumatically, that the boss of the show (essentially a grotesque panto turn from Dennis Quaid) has decreed she is too old and needs to be replaced by someone basically the same but younger.

And then Elizabeth learns of something called the Substance: a chemical which, when injected, causes the body to produce a younger replica of itself in a manner which is really quite unexpected. But, naturally, there are strict rules to all of this: Elizabeth can only spend a week at a time in her new younger body, which needs regular injections of spinal fluid from the original. If she overstays in the land of youth, there are. . . consequences. And these grow progressively more serious, naturally.

Well, she decides to give the Substance a try and duly finds herself inhabiting the body of someone who could be her own daughter (but is, strictly speaking, Andie McDowell's daughter Margaret Qualley). This youthful aspect of her takes the name Sue, and successfully auditions to replace Elizabeth on TV. Being young and beautiful again is fantastic, so much better than being old. . . and if she bends the rules a bit, how bad can it possibly be?

Hmm – see earlier comments along the lines of 'utterly horrific and appalling'. But every element of this film feels carefully measured and proportionate – even when it is excessive, it is excessive in an entirely deliberate way. Beneath its wilder flourishes is a very classic story structure, there to make a specific point. The story is about bitter conflict between different parts of the divided self – also the resentment of the young by the old, and the revulsion for the old felt by the young – classic themes which have inspired many horror stories in the past. (I like to imagine Demi Moore watching Mia Goth talking about X and the extreme make-up job involved in making the film, then asking someone to hold her beer.) All of this is dressed up in trappings which are like something out of a film by David Cronenberg or John Carpenter (both of whom are directors Fargeat has acknowledged as influences), but pushed to a level that neither of them quite managed to achieve.

And fuelling all of this is the theme of the extent to which men cheerfully objectify women, and women become complicit in destroying themselves in order to receive male approval. Not for nothing is the chief male representative in the film called Harvey. The lurid aesthetic of the film creates a superficial feel which is perfect for the synthetic, unrealistic ideal of beauty Sue is required to embody: in places the film comes close to resembling soft-core pornography (or so I'm told, ahem), with flawless, seemingly artificial bodies on display, before. . . well, one legit-critic has suggested The Substance is a cross between Showgirls and The Thing.

As a piece of intelligent, propulsive storytelling, not many films are on the same level as The Substance. It was an exceptionally smart choice for Demi Moore to appear in it. This is quite the best performance I can ever remember seeing her give: we should perhaps brace ourselves for a mighty comeback. Qualley, too, is much better here than in any of the other films I've seen her in. This is a horrible film and an outstanding one. If you see it – and, obviously, it really, really isn't for everyone – I can guarantee it will stick in your memory for a long time, lodged there like a meat hook.

Also Streaming

For anyone not keen on seeing a deformed human [redacted] emerging from the same person's [redacted], one perfectly acceptable alternative is Jeremy Saulnier's Rebel Ridge, currently doing well on the big N. Aaron Pierre plays Terry, who is riding into the small town of Shelby Spring to pay his cousin's bail money when the police knock him off his bike, accuse him of behaving suspiciously, and confiscate (i.e. steal) all his cash. Terry is an even tempered guy and does his best to keep cool and resolve the situation as amicably as possible, but the arrogance of the police chief (Don Johnson) pushes his self-control to the limits, and the police discover at just the wrong side of the last minute that Terry used to be the US Marines' #1 unarmed combat and martial arts instructor. . .

Not the generic kung fu knuckle-dragger that it sounds like, this is a smart and credible film which deliberately steers clear of all the cliches of the genre: Terry is a soft-spoken, modest fellow who goes out of his way to avoid killing people, while the small-town wrong-doing that he stumbles into is complex and believable. The shadow of Black Lives Matter is really hanging over the film, but not to the point where it becomes laboured or didactic. The action sequences are likewise understated and naturalistic. I think it's at least fifteen minutes too long, but apart from that this is a great example of a smart thriller for smart people.

Awix

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