Written by TNHC's Editor, Emily Malone.
This essay contains many, many spoilers. If you've not watched Revenge (2017) or The Substance (2024), go do that immediately, if not sooner. You have been warned.
Building on her 2017 film Revenge, Coralie Fargeat's The Substance (2024) once again scrutinises cinematic norms that objectify women, stretching and warping these conventions until they snap.
The Substance follows a fading celebrity (played by Demi Moore) who, desperate to reclaim her youth and career, turns to a black-market drug—a mysterious, cell-replicating substance that births a younger, "better" version of herself (played by Margaret Qualley).
Through hyper-stylised scenes, Fargeat pushes the audience to confront the discomfort of the gaze itself, using satire to expose its absurdity. Even the casting of Demi Moore brings a weighty, emotional dimension to this critique, adding layers of meaning that challenge Hollywood’s relentless pursuit of perfection—and its tendency to discard women who don't fit neatly within its narrow ideals. Because of course, much like her character, Moore disappeared from the public eye, her own career an emblem of Hollywood’s unforgiving beauty standards.
Here, she embodies a woman both aware of and vulnerable to the expectations that once defined her—a role that mirrors her own experience with fame and the Hollywood's relentless demand for youth and perfection. Her performance is striking, balancing vulnerability with defiance, making her character’s journey a powerful statement on the effects of objectification.
Satirizing the male gaze
Let's talk about the infamous ‘pump it up’ sequences, and how they encapsulate Fargeat’s satirical approach. Here, every familiar trope of the male gaze—close-ups that isolate body parts, exploitative angles, and lingering, leering camera pans—is dialed to a grotesque extreme. It's like watching that Eric Prydz dancercise music video all over again. You know the one.
Instead of seductive allure, Fargeat’s clinical, exaggerated style invites discomfort, even repulsion, transforming the male gaze into a parody of itself. By forcing the audience to experience this hyperbolic spectacle, Fargeat dismantles the appeal of traditional objectification, revealing the insidiousness that lies beneath its surface.
This discomfort isn’t incidental, though it did lead to many women walking out of the cinema prematurely. Fargeat meticulously constructs these scenes to expose the artifice of the male gaze, making it impossible for viewers to passively consume what they see. Instead, they are made acutely aware of their own role as spectators.
By removing any trace of subtlety, she turns the gaze into a monstrous mechanism, daring viewers to question why these moments feel so deeply unsettling. I'm just so sad those who walked out of screenings didn't stick around to see the chaos that ensued...
Subtext? What subtext?
Fargeat doesn’t stop at visual exaggeration in her critique; even her choice of character names hammers the message home. Moore’s character works under a manager pointedly named Harvey—an unmistakable allusion to Harvey Weinstein, whose legacy of abuse looms over the industry.
Fargeat is literally shoving it in our faces, leaving no room for doubt about the toxicity she’s portraying. By naming him Harvey, she brings the reality of predatory power structures to the forefront, reminding viewers that this is not merely satire but a direct confrontation with Hollywood’s dark history.
The name choice serves as a bold, even defiant, acknowledgment of how deeply the film industry’s issues with the gaze are intertwined with the abuses of power wielded by figures like Weinstein.
Body Horror is so back. And women are leading the way.
In The Substance, Fargeat’s exploration of the male gaze extends beyond satire into the territory of squishy, latexy, and seriously jaw-dropping body horror. The film’s Cronenbergian practical effects merges physical transformation with psychological trauma, drawing the audience into an increasingly distorted reality.
Here, the body itself becomes a site of horror, confronting viewers with the consequences of perpetual objectification. The unsettling distortions force us to recognize the toll of the male gaze as both a physical and psychological violation.
I would also argue that Sue, Moore’s younger self played by Margaret Qualley, embodies this distortion too. Presented as an unnaturally sanitized, waxed-within-an-inch-of-her-life version of her character, Sue’s appearance borders on the artificial, a polished ideal stripped of natural texture.
This waxwork version of Moore’s character reflects Hollywood’s relentless pursuit of flawlessness, heightening the sense of unease as we watch. Through Sue, Fargeat reveals the disturbing nature of cinematic ideals that reduce women to exaggerated, lifeless forms—a critique both of the industry’s treatment of women and of society’s complicity in upholding such impossible standards.
Confrontation vs. alienation
The confrontational nature of The Substance has elicited a range of responses, with some praising Fargeat’s audacity and others questioning the need for such extreme stylization.
To its supporters, the film’s aesthetic excesses serve as a necessary critique of cinema’s objectification of female bodies. By pushing the male gaze to its grotesque limits, Fargeat highlights the ways in which such representations dehumanize and commodify, forcing the audience to acknowledge this objectification head-on.
Yet others find her approach alienating, even indulgent. The film’s relentless satire and hyper-stylization can feel overpowering, risking alienation for those who struggle with its abrasive critique.
This division underscores a broader conversation within cinema: does such confrontational filmmaking invite critical introspection, or does it risk isolating viewers who may find its critique overly harsh? For Fargeat, this discomfort is deliberate—a call to question our own role as viewers, our own complicity in these distorted portrayals.
Fargeat’s earlier film, Revenge, lays the groundwork for her thematic and stylistic approach in The Substance. In Revenge, Fargeat weaponises the male gaze through a hyper-stylised survival narrative, using brutal violence and stark imagery to critique conventional depictions of women. Here, she allows her protagonist to reclaim the gaze, turning it on her attackers.
With The Substance, Fargeat evolves this critique further. By adding elements of satire and body horror, she creates an unsettling exploration of how objectification mutates the body and psyche. Both films, taken together, reflect Fargeat’s commitment to dismantling the male gaze, reassembling it in ways that make it impossible to ignore.
In short, it's a hell yeah from us.
Coralie Fargeat’s vision is unflinchingly clear. Through satire, she confronts viewers with the dehumanizing weight of the male gaze. Whether you find Fargeat’s work excessive or essential, her films push the boundaries of how we think about objectification, agency, and the complex power dynamics of the gaze.
Through The Substance (and Revenge), Fargeat redefines passive spectatorship, transforming it into an experience that is visceral, often uncomfortable, and ultimately unforgettable. She reminds us that the conventions of looking—and being looked at—are as much a battleground as any horror trope, and that cinema holds a mirror to our own willingness to accept, resist, or even perpetuate these portrayals.
Find Emily's essay on Coralie Fargeat's Revenge in Issue VIII: JUSTICE.
