A raw egg has a perfectly round yolk surrounded by green fluid. The yolk begins to quiver. The formation grows. In the final stage of cell mitosis, the yolk splits, foreshadowing the themes of physical replication, division, and destruction.
The scene transports viewers into the world of the new body horror film Substance, starring Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley. Director Coralie Fargeat cleverly uses elements of body horror to examine the violence of society’s beauty standards. Compared to the cultural ubiquity of Botox, Ozempic and luxemaxing advice that promises to make you younger, thinner and more beautiful, the film’s scathing commentary feels particularly relevant.
It’s never been easier to convince yourself that the solution to your insecurities lies in a one-time cosmetic surgery — everyone’s doing it. And it’s all non-invasive, right? Just some cell filler here, a cut and tweak there. But the more time you spend living in your enhanced self, the harder it becomes to believe that your natural self has a right to exist. To some extent, how “voluntary” are these procedures?
“Matter” emphasizes that the pursuit of perfection inevitably leads to self-destruction. While visceral body horror is the primary vehicle for this message, a more subtle way to tell the story is the use of color symbolism in the costume design. Bright hues of red, yellow and blue mark the beginning of the film’s visual landscape, marking each step of the fragmentation and destruction we inflict upon ourselves along the way.
The main character, 50-year-old TV aerobics star Elizabeth Sparks (Demi Moore), dresses in saturated primary colors. Early on, we see her in a teal leotard performing in the final episode of her show “Shine Your Life.” When she’s unceremoniously fired, she’s wearing a teal bow shirt and blazer. In a large framed photo hanging in her apartment, she’s posing confidently wearing a dark blue leotard. Elizabeth loves color blocking, a pop of red bag, pleated pants and a pair of leather gloves. Standing in the film’s sterile white-tiled bathroom, she looks like a Rubik’s Cube. But perhaps the most meaningful outfit in the entire film is Elizabeth’s canary yellow coat. The coat is her signature outerwear, which she wears throughout the film – a visual foreshadowing of the processes taking place inside her, like the egg hatching at the beginning.
Elizabeth is “the Matrix,” the very source of the emergence of her alter ego: a bedridden twenty-year-old Sue (Margaret Qualley) emerges from Elizabeth’s broken spine, leaving her body limbless and sprawled on the bathroom floor. She was once an egg, but now she was its shell – abandoned, broken. She was in a coma and being kept alive by Soylent-style “Matrix food” IV bags.
During Elizabeth’s first weeks as Sue, changes in her identity are visible through a color shift to pink and purple (a color change from Elizabeth’s primary colors). Sue wore a metallic pink leotard with cutouts when she starred in the revamped aerobics TV show Pump It Up. She replaced Elizabeth’s blue leg warmers with orange leg warmers and completed the look with a high ponytail, pink nails and bright magenta eyeshadow – a mashup of the original materials.
As Elizabeth and Sue spend time between two bodies, their appearances become increasingly different. Elizabeth wears solid-colored clothes made by her tailor and carries a yellow coat whenever she leaves the house. When she dresses up for a date, she wears a red dress and red lips to match.
Meanwhile, Sue replaces Elizabeth’s wardrobe with short graphic T-shirts, Daisy Dukes, varsity jackets and tennis skirts. The reptilian theme of Sue’s clothing – a black snakeskin bodysuit and a sequined dragon robe – suggested themes of shedding skin and rebirth. The more shine she steals from Elizabeth, the more glitter and sequins we see her wearing.
Sue’s life was exciting. Public admiration, male attention, and career opportunities all fell on her shoulders. It becomes so addictive that even when Sue begins breaking the rules, Elizabeth is unable to stop the experience. Instead, she retreats – never leaving her house except to pick up booster packs. Her apartment becomes a prison of self-surveillance as billboards and television show exact images of Sue mocking her. As the film moves toward its devastating conclusion, the symbolism of color becomes even more pronounced. The path to self-destruction is filled with ambiguous colors. Purple boils filled with pus. Brown turbid fluid. Yellow-brown nails. As Sue’s desire for control grows, Elizabeth’s body becomes increasingly discolored with age and scars.
The use of color symbolism in contemporary films is nothing new. Consider “Poor Things,” for example, which depicts the arc of self-realization through the shadows of rotting apples. Sensitive blood reds and lifeless corpse blues fulfill our expectations of classic horror films like “The Shining” and “Carrie.” On the other hand, Sue’s predominantly pink palette reflects the vibrant, youthful femininity that has always been marketed to women.
The Substance does something different, placing these culturally coded colors within the intimacy of our current 12-step beauty routines, revealing the violence inherent in these practices. The horror is on screen, but it could also be in your makeup bag. The glow of your red-light mask is starting to look a little more sinister. The yellow, sticky residue in tanning creams seems a little more disturbing. If there’s one lesson from “The Substance,” it’s that you can’t color-correct or tone-match your way out of oppressive beauty standards.
