Category: Margaret Qualley

THE SUBSTANCE

By Marc S. Sanders

It’s no surprise that a science fiction gore fest would make its way on the silver screen intent on enhancing our lives as we grow out of adult youth.  Plastic surgery and bust enhancements, unwanted hair removal, butt lifts and Botox are common vernacular discussed in magazine articles, infomercials and talk shows.  Well known actors rely on beauty preservations and enhancements to uphold their careers or give themselves a needed boost to stay relevant.  I mean come on, Tom Cruise wouldn’t naturally look like that.  Still?  Let’s get real.

What I admire about Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance is how she applies her updated Frankenstein experiments within the boundaries of Hollywood glitz and glamour.  Her film starts out ironic, then reflective and concludes on B level satire.  Wasn’t this how The Toxic Avenger came to be?

Fortunately, the brains of the writer/director overcome the beauty that’s attempted.

Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) is an obvious nod to Oscar winner Jane Fonda.  She is unbelievably gorgeous and physically fit, especially for a fifty-year-old award-winning starlet. (Incidentally, Demi Moore is over age 60.) She has found a second career success as a daily TV workout video hostess. Yet, she senses that her expiration of youth is quickly approaching.  It could not be more apparent from what her sleazy producer Harvey shares with her.  This jerk has no filter and tells it like it is. Audiences want younger and curvier, and Elisabeth ain’t it.  Harvey is played by Dennis Quaid and Farageat is not shy about presenting this guy with every priority of superficiality.

Elisabeth gets axed from her show.  Fortunately, she comes upon a possible remedy for her aging dilemma known as The Substance.  After some toiling about, Elisabeth agrees to try this clandestine idea out promising a better, more improved version of herself.  

The kit to make this all happens is delivered.  First is a needle injection and further instructions mandate without compromise that every seven days Elisabeth must return from the alter ego that spawns from her.  Except this is not so much an alter ego as it is alter body.  Literally from behind Elisabeth’s back enters Sue (Margaret Qualley).  Both Elisabeth and Sue are reminded by the mysterious voice on the phone that they are “one,” and they must use the contents of their kits to nourish one another’s bodies daily plus, and without fail, surrender to a seven-day hibernation while the other roams the earth.  Every seven days they must alternate.

Sue, with Elisabeth’s psyche, gets the job as the replacement hostess and Harvey goes nuts for her as the ratings and her popularity soars.  The Substance is serving its purpose.  

Yet, what happens when the two egos do not cooperate with the program’s mandates?  Well, you find out with an assortment of grotesque and ugly side effects that develop both mentally, and especially physically.  The Substance tackles some extraordinary consequences ranging from multiple personality disorders that joust with one another, and insecurities that even beauty enhancements could never resolve.

Amid all of the ugly gore of blood and fluids and stitching and rotted, infected skins is a jaw dropping performance from Demi Moore.  The Substance is deliberately not big on dialogue as it depends more on perception and facial response.  The best example is when Moore as Elisabeth prepares herself for a date and builds up an unnerving frustration as her character focuses on her reflection in the mirror.  I read that Demi Moore slapped and rubbed the skin of her face raw while shooting this scene in take after take.  Her commitment to the scene could not be more evident.  A later scene with her adorned in offensively aged makeup is at least as aggressive for the actress.  A food binge goes maniacal, and Demi Moore is sensationally focused on its messiness and engorgement.

The Substance is very smart from beginning to end.  Yet, the conclusion is outright ridiculous, and Coralie Fargeat clearly wants it that way.  It’s not only that Elisabeth and Sue suffer at the punishments of their own hubris, but Harvey and those that put appearances over any kind of, well, substance must succumb to their own superficial priorities.  Fargeat takes what could have been a comparable messy Three Stooges pie in the face route where everyone’s dignity has to be shed.  The blinders of beauty get washed away in an overwhelming deluge.

The Substance is elevated to an absurd narrative as quick as it begins.  No one is glamorized even if this is Hollywood.  We get close ups of Harvey gorging himself on sloppy, saucy cocktail shrimp while Elisabeth watches in disgust.  Later, the physical side effects go by way of famous makeup artist’s Rob Bottin’s work on films like John Carpenter’s The Thing.  The director tosses obvious nods to Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining with a ghastly orange hallway and reminiscent geometrically zig zag carpeting.  Even a men’s room designed in cherry blood red harkens back to that film.  Food is repulsive in this film that focuses on body image.  Colors of all kinds are loud, garish, and bright.  The director doesn’t want you to wince at only the very graphic details of Elisabeth and Sue’s ongoing transformations.  If these characters are going to feel or behave ugly, then the world they live will feel at least as repulsive.

A friend of mine who takes to curious kinds of horror and fright fests was eager to see The Substance.  She watched the night before I did and was angered by the ending that she found ridiculously over the top.  Definitely no argument there.  Yet, because this is satire offering a reflection of truth, as gross as the film is and as absurd as the ending gets, it logically adds up.  

We can try all we want to hold on to our youth and outer appearances.  However, either we must learn to become satisfied with the limitations that science can offer or we will pay penalties for defying what is instructed of ourselves.  The Substance is beyond any sense of science.  This film tosses hints at the viewer that Elisabeth, and later Sue, should think twice about what they choose next.  Then again, whoever thinks twice in one these B movie schlock fests, anyway?  

I even think this film goes a step further.  In cancer patients, chemotherapy remains the leading remedy for treatment of the illness.  We turn to its resolve despite the sickening side effects that stem from its program.  We want to live and we will compromise our ways to go on living.  Elisabeth Sparkle needs to remember though that she does not suffer from cancer.  She’s an insecure woman who isn’t ready to face change.  I’m not minimizing how the character feels.  I can relate.  She is facing a hard, agonizing truth from her perspective. I took steps in my lifetime to enhance my appearance and mentally and physically it was not the best option for me.  

It’s fortunate that Demi Moore allows me to relate to what’s traumatizing her.  Margaret Qualley does well holding up the other half of the picture as her side of this one personality gets drunk off the attention and perfection she’s entered into this new world.  

Commonly speaking, I also thought of the Queen from Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs.  An elegant woman so insecure with her beauty against that of a young girl and she sees no other way to come out on top than to change into an ugly, old hag.  Like Elisabeth in The Substance, the Queen in Snow White will accept a notion of looking worse before it gets better.  Since this film is satire, don’t we all go through experiences like this at one time or another?

Some of us learn.  Some of us persist and persist though.

POOR THINGS

By Marc S. Sanders

A sexually explicit rendering of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is brought to life by Yorgos Lanthimos’ film, Poor Things.  The strongest element of the picture is certainly Emma Stone’s uncompromising performance as Bella Baxter.  It’ll at least get an Oscar nomination.  The film will likely collect an abundance of nominations as well for it’s fantastical imagination in art direction, garish costuming and makeup and directing.  Maybe there will be some accolades for Willem Dafoe and Mark Ruffalo as well.  The adapted screenplay of Alasdair Gray’s novel, written by Tony McNamara, is a contender too.  It’s already being hailed by many outlets as a top 10 picture for 2023.  Yet, I grew tired of the novelty, and bored with the excessive sexual exploits of Bella.

Bella was once a pregnant woman who deliberately plunged herself off a London bridge to escape her misery.  Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe), who Bella appropriately recognizes as simply God, discovers her lifeless body in time to conduct an experimental procedure.  Replace Bella’s brain with that of the unborn child she carries and raise her from there.  God is scarred and altogether bizarre, and recruits a medical student named Max (Ramy Youssef) to observe the reborn girl’s progression and behavior; a grown woman with that of an infant who is learning to speak, walk, eat, and behave for herself.  After a while it is decided by God that Max will become engaged to Bella.  However, another man enters the picture, Duncan Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo), who convinces Bella to accompany him on a sojourn.  God permits the idea as an opportunity for Bella to learn what is out there and not restrict her.  It is at this point, that Lanthimos’ film transitions from a blue tinge monochrome photography to vibrant color as Bella and Duncan travel to destinations such as Lisbon, Alexandria, and Paris, where Bella abandons a destitute Duncan to join a Parisian brothel.  Bella sees opportunity.  She can earn money for allowing men to put their things inside her.

I could not help but think of films like Forrest Gump, The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button and even Pinocchio while watching Poor Things.  An unwise subject discovers an independence to witness how a world around her functions.  As she learns, she matures, and she realizes she does not need to be held down by any party.  Shelley’s monster also broke free of its master’s clutches, tried to acclimate itself, but was revolted against for its grotesqueness on the outside and simply for being misunderstood.  Bella does not encounter such a fate.  Instead, she discovers acceptance but only at what she’s worth monetarily speaking with a simple attraction limited to individual thought.

Poor Things is constructed in the narrative themes of Yorgos Lanthimos’ preferred way of filmmaking.  Just like The Favorite, it’s deliberately weird and proud of it.  Nothing appears conventional.  You could substitute the settings for Paris, London and even the cruise ship that Bella and Duncan travel on for set pieces in Wonka.  It’s all fantasy with an adoption of real-world locales.  I surmise Lanthimos excuses these outlooks as a perception of Bella.  The settings look like they were spawned from a pop-up children’s book.  It’s all so different but I found it to be tiring. If someone were to argue that it is inventive as opposed to another stale backdrop of London Bridge or the Eiffel Tower, I wouldn’t debate them. Yet, I was growing tired of the piece. 

Moreover, the second act of the film concentrates abundantly on Bella’s adventures within the brothel.  Bella discovers the comfort of self-pleasure.  Later, the sensation is enhanced by the possibilities of getting satisfied by the company of a man.  The audience chuckled.  So did I, but I also squirmed quite a bit.  Bella insists to God that she wants to “go adventure,” and God allows her his blessing.  Yet, I found these series of sexual encounters to be overly exploitive.  Nothing is held back on what Emma Stone performs for the camera as a concubine for one needy, stinky, and ugly gentleman caller after another.  She takes it the traditional way, the oral way, the way from behind and much more.  She is captured with S & M straps across her nude body and the Oscar winning actress goes all the way to sending the scenes home.  It’s as if Yorgos Lanthimos needs to deliver his point, but it’s not enough to try it once, twice, or even three times.  I get it already.  Bella is used for whatever fetishistic imagination the male mind can fathom and more importantly she thrives off of the stimulation. She happily recounts how a pineapple can be used in the bedroom.  It’s even better that she can get paid for this lifestyle.  It sounds amusing while I type this all out, but I was not entirely comfortable watching it either.  I’ve seen enough porn in my day to not be shocked, and I wasn’t shocked.  Yes, I was amused at times.  Look, I don’t have ice water running through my veins.  Eventually, though, I was just bored.

Godwin Baxter is an interesting character as played by an always reliable Willem Dafoe.  Early on, we see how in addition to his experiment with Bella, God has toyed with the ideas of blending different breeds of animals together.  Roaming his estate are the likes of a dog crossed with a chicken and a pig crossed with…you know what I can’t even remember after seeing the film only once.  There was also a duck crossed with something.  Kind of sophomoric material and I think Lanthimos would accept that observation as a compliment.  Oh yeah, there was a goat crossed with something too; was that the pig?  What I think lacks from Poor Things, however, is to probe if these kinds of experiments should even be conducted and I cannot recall a conversation that goes in that direction.  Max seems taken aback by what he witnesses but he never investigates further.  This is all most unusual (a serious understatement) and it’s hardly ever questioned. Even Jeff Goldblum tossed a contrary opinion at the idea of Jurassic Park.

I suppose I wanted more from Poor Things.  Beyond sexual pleasure and what can be gained from it, isn’t there anything else that naïve Bella has to learn about?  I guess in conjunction, she also learns how to earn a wage and a gumption to stand up for herself.  What about love and the fear of death?  What about what else occurs within the world around her?  What about loss, or betrayal?  As well, Godwin’s occupations never go further than what we see he is capable and daring enough to do.  How do others consider his experiments?  What residual effects stem from his accomplishments?

I’m glad I saw Poor Things.  I think I’d like to see it again actually because I may gain a greater understanding from the attempts the script strives for in accordance with Lanthimos’ vision.  I know this film is not for everyone, though.  It’s proudly peculiar, but its plodding in its glee to step very far over a line that most filmmakers wouldn’t dare go.  It has my salute for what it has set out to do.  Nonetheless, I’m not sure I’m a fan of the material it served, though.

ONCE UPON A TIME…IN HOLLYWOOD (2019)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

Director: Quentin Tarantino
Cast: Leonardo DiCaprio, Brad Pitt, Margot Robbie, Timothy Olyphant, Dakota Fanning, Bruce Dern, Luke Perry, Al Pacino, Kurt Russell
My Rating: 10/10
Rotten Tomatometer: 84% Certified Fresh

PLOT: A fading television actor and his stunt double strive to achieve fame and success in the film industry during the final years of Hollywood’s first Golden Age in 1969 Los Angeles.


Quentin Tarantino’s ninth film is a little bit like Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.  It’s big, bombastic, and goes the long way around the barn to get to the finale, but in the end it all makes sense and is a transcendent experience.

Let’s see, where do I start?

First of all, the film’s evocation of 1969 Los Angeles is like Mary Poppins: practically perfect in every way.  I’m no fashion scholar or visual historian, but every exterior shot of the city was pretty convincing to my layman’s eyes.  The movie theatres, the movie posters, the restaurants (anyone else remember “Der Weinerschnitzel”?), the cars, those HUGE sedans sharing the road with VW Bugs and M/G’s…it’s clear they did their homework.

There’s the performances by the two leads.  Tarantino once said he considered himself the luckiest director in modern history because he was able to get DiCaprio and Pitt to work on the same film.  Can’t argue with him on that score.  They carry the film in a way that few other tandems could have.  (Newman and Redford come to mind.) Mind you, DiCaprio and Putt don’t look much like each other, considering one has to be the other’s stuntman, but you get the idea.

Above all, there’s the story.  DiCaprio plays Rick Dalton, a former leading man from ‘50s TV westerns who is now playing colorful bad guys in ‘60s TV westerns.  Brad Pitt plays Cliff Booth, the stuntman who’s been taking the dangerous falls for Dalton for years.  Dalton happens to live next door to Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate on Cielo Drive in the Hollywood Hills.

All the trailers, and all the industry buzz, reveal that the Manson family and Sharon Tate play a part in the film.  That’s no spoiler.  Given what we know about those events, the movie plays like Gimme Shelter, the landmark documentary about the ill-fated concert at Altamont that was actually due to take place a few months after the events of this film.  It’s all very suspenseful, in the sense that we know what’s coming, but we’re just not sure how the movie is going to approach it.  So every scene with poor Sharon Tate in it is overshadowed by the fact that we know her ultimate fate in history.

It’s like the famous Hitchcock analogy of suspense.  Two people are eating at a restaurant when a bomb suddenly goes off under their table…that’s surprise.  Put those same two people at the restaurant, where the audience knows there’s a bomb under the table, but it doesn’t go off right away as the two people eat and converse and have dessert, and we’re wondering will they leave BEFORE the bomb goes off or not…?  That’s suspense.

And that’s the genius of this movie, with Tarantino’s sprawling, winding screenplay.  We get to know Rick Dalton and Cliff Booth intimately, we get the rhythms of their relationship, of Dalton’s mood on set, of Booth’s quiet acceptance of his role as Dalton’s sole support system.  We are treated to lengthy scenes showing Dalton at work on the set of a TV western, so we can appreciate the vast differences between an actor and their characters.  There’s a brilliant backstage scene between Dalton and a child actor who is impossibly, hilariously advanced for her age, and who winds up giving Dalton some goodhearted advice.

And interspersed through it all is Sharon Tate.  Sharon Tate bopping to music at home.  Sharon Tate picking up a female hitchhiker on her way into town.  Sharon Tate almost passing, then backing up to admire with youthful excitement, her name on the marquee of a movie theatre, right next to (gasp) Dean Martin’s name!  Sharon Tate dancing, walking, smiling, drinking…living.  She’s the diner at the restaurant, and the Manson family is the bomb we know will eventually go off.  It casts a pall over the proceedings, but not in a bad way.  It’s an interesting way to bring the reality of the situation into focus from time to time.

And now I have to end this review before I inadvertently give away certain, ah, plot elements that elevate Tarantino’s film from a mere character study or period piece into the heady heights of cinematic transcendence.  I have not myself read any reviews of the film, so I can only guess that whatever negative reviews are out there probably center on the film’s finale, or perhaps on its meandering script.  All I can say, or will say, is that I am firmly on Tarantino’s side on this one.  The way the conclusion was written and filmed is the kind of thing that people will still be talking about years from now.

So just take it from me.  If you’re a movie fan, and ESPECIALLY if you’re a Tarantino fan, this is right up your alley.  It’s easily his most slowly paced movie since Jackie Brown, but that just gives you time to e-e-e-ease into the characters, like putting on a tailored suit piece by piece.  This film, like Beethoven’s Ninth, is a masterpiece.