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27 October 2024

Body Horror and Unflinching Honesty

ALEC PATROE

When I left the cinema after watching The Substance, I was in a sort of daze. I couldn’t completely comprehend what I had just seen, nor could I wrap my head around how exactly the cast and crew had executed such a grotesquely beautiful vision with such panache. I genuinely had to sit down for a while- that’s how much of a sensory ride it is. Safe to say that I loved it, and I’m instantly ranking it among the other greats of sci-fi/horror. The official synopsis on IMDB is as follows: “A fading celebrity decides to use a black market drug, a cell-replicating substance that temporarily creates a younger, better version of herself”. 

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When I heard about the plot, along with the buzz the film had generated at Cannes, I knew I would enjoy it. However, this isn’t just a symphony of jaw-dropping visuals and occasional shocked-to-your-core chuckles. It is also a tale of isolation, self-destruction and fury towards a society that commodifies and worships youth while ostracising its fade, and in particular it is a story that exposes the male gaze’s ability to harm, both mentally and physically, anchored by stunning performances from Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley. It is honest and unflinching, and it got me thinking about other classic body-horrors, of how they unpack complex ideas in an alternative way to dramas firmly based in reality.

 

It was on one grey day during my third year at university that one of my best mates asked me if I wanted to come with him to see a remastered version of John Carpenter’s The Thing (1982) at The Edinburgh Filmhouse. I went, only knowing so much. It was one of the best cinema-going experiences of my life. The Thing has a great soundtrack and excellent performances that fuel an atmosphere of dread and paranoia, but without a doubt its highlight is the mind-bogglingly, delirious display of practical effects that synthesises body-horror heaven. From that experience on I decided that my favourite subgenre of horror was body-horror, and went on to consume such films as The Fly (1986), An American Werewolf in London (1981), The Blob (1988) and more. These sorts of horror films converted me into a foremost admirer of practical effects in film. CGI and VFX can be utilised well, but in horror, especially when attempting to convey a character’s fate, and I mean diabolically so, I believe nothing comes close to the sense of vivid grotesqueness that is elicited through prosthetics and other practical materials. 

 

Now, at this moment, there may be a question rattling around your brains. i.e. ‘who is this freak and why is he so invested in gory spectacles?’. It is a fair query. The truth is that although I am not usually squeamish, actual violence with real world consequences for human life repulses me. That said, I believe body horror is a separate phenomenon. It is not so steeped in realism. The absurdity of what you are witnessing, it being so outrageous and far-flung from reality, usually evokes a paradoxical sensation of shock mixed with awe, which ensnares the viewer. Despite their stomach-churning qualities these sorts of films can be fun, like a roller-coaster where the thrill is contained.

 

However, they can also be discarded as gross and thoughtless, and this reputation has unfortunately been influenced by films that I will not go anywhere near, namely films like The Human Centipede that seeks to glorify torture-porn violence in a vacuous way. I have no desire to watch something that will purely make me feel sick and hollow, so scuttle away Mr Centipede! Flicks that are more along the lines of The Thing, tinted with the playful spirit of 80s classics, I can get behind. And, it is in my opinion that some of these films are among the most socially conscious out there. Not only is the practical design meticulous, but they also have something strong to say, and they use the manipulation of bodies to do so. The use of gore, in extremity sometimes, creates extremely memorable visuals. The film’s intention towards a societal woe is powerfully symbolised by these warped bodies.

 

David Cronenberg is often regarded as a master of body-horror, and uses the genre to convey thoughtful observations. Take, The Fly, for example. To me, this film sought to break down obsession, the type that makes you sacrifice all other things, and highlight the ruin it can bring. This obsession is prevalent through modern society within a back-of-the-mind insecurity that we will never amount to anything. We are taught from an early age within a capitalist, achievement society that to be successful means making a name for yourself and becoming distinguishable from the crowd. I write this, unemployed, still looking for an entry-level position. *anxiously chuckles*.

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The Fly is the tale of a perfectionist crippled by discontent and an insatiable desire to succeed in the way he has learned. He believes his life will only start meaning something if his invention succeeds. His identity is tied to it. In the spirit of sacrifice he risks his own mortality by stepping into his machine, ignoring warnings for precaution, and endures a terrible fate. His deepest fear wasn’t death, but inadequacy.

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His transformation, though grotesque, presents a sharp symbol for pushing yourself too far. The talented practical effects department externalises the anxieties and exhaustion we share as a species into something audio-visually digestible. The imagery of the disintegrating, pus-ridden face of the man-fly evoked disgust in me, but simultaneously, the desperate expression in its eyes, to the very end, made me feel truly sympathetic. This stark contrast of the body in disarray with a sustained desire to order things presents an impactful commentary on futility and being rigged to self-destruct.

 

The Substance joins The Fly in the ranks of thoughtful body-horror. As much as I love The Thing, the story’s threat comes from beyond, an outer-space organism. Not that it doesn’t have its own interesting take on how quickly a harmonious human society can implode when we don’t know what to trust, but it is primarily a cosmic body horror film where the characters haven’t chosen their fate. When the bodily result is self-inflicted, through desperation for validation, the situation feels more tragic and the metamorphosis is linked to the human torment that existed before. Demi Moore’s character goes through a series of assumptions at the beginning of The Substance:

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  1. “I’m getting old”

  2. “I will become irrelevant and dropped by the industry if I don’t do something about my fading youth”

  3. “I will take ‘the substance’ to regain it and everything will be better”

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A symphony of absurdist horror ensues, but it shouldn’t detract from the message, which, at its core, is a searing indictment of the beauty standards that have permeated society for millennia, disproportionately falling onto women. 

 

These sort of films explore the innate human suffering of our self-perceived inadequacies within networks of oppressive societal standards. Through this reading, body-horror emerges as an art form of resistance that seeks to interrogate societal constraints. Although this is a speculative sci-fi tale, is it really so far-fetched? For just one example, Bollywood disseminates the idea of light-skinned beauty through mainly casting lighter-brown-skinned individuals in glamorous roles, and the cultural effect is felt nationwide. Many women are perceived as less beautiful for having a darker skin tone, and in some cases are turned down from arranged marriages. Accompanying this are the so-called solutions of skin-whitening cosmetics to look just like the stars, even if it does run the risk of bodily damage. This is just one case out of many where the body is scrutinised and modifications are socially rewarded. We can often inhabit cruelly judgemental thought-spaces, and one of the most natural things about humans, that being ageing, is rarely considered graceful. I don’t want to spoil what happens in the film but I will say that Demi Moore perfectly captures the loathing that one learns to associate with ageing. Moore’s own lived experience, that being discarded by the industry, having been determined to be past an expiry, definitely feeds into her ferocious performance and the story as a whole. Margaret Qualley is also brilliant in capturing the youthful hedonism that we’re told to celebrate before it’s gone, as well as the desperation to maintain it so she doesn’t become, as she laments at one point, “gross, old, fat, disgusting!”.

 

There is a lot wrong with societal standards. Some body horror succeeds in clearly bringing these harmful norms to light while externalising the emotional fallout into physical form. This doesn’t necessarily mean that you have to go into the cinema to watch The Substance with monocles and top hats, and perhaps retire to the bar afterwards for a smattering of whiskey to dissect the underlying message. Several times I found myself simply surfing a wave of adrenaline when the gnarliest effects were unveiled. One person even screamed “what the fuck!” before laughing out loud in shock. These films are intended to be a ride after all. However, we should also accept them as serious reflections of societal flaws, and perhaps seek to address the ideas that catalyse self-torment… after you’ve stopped feeling woozy of course. 

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