I rarely think about my own body when watching a body horror movie. The mere thought of my flesh twisting, stretching, or reforming the way it does in David Cronenberg’s The Fly or Brian Yuzna’s Society is enough to give me a small panic attack. Body horror is best enjoyed when I can disconnect, observe, and let myself be happily sickened from a third-party, viewer's perspective. The Substance, however, does not let you disconnect. Instead, Coralie Fargeat’s drippy, goopy gorefest invites you to see yourself on screen – and have a slightly intense but strangely enjoyable existential crisis for two hours and 20 minutes.
