Michael M

The Substance (2024) is a deranged, delicious, and delightfully disturbing fever dream of a film where Demi Moore, giving the performance of a lifetime (or perhaps several lifetimes), plays a faded fitness icon tossed aside by society for the unspeakable crime of aging. Enter a miracle red goo called “The Substance,” which promises youth, beauty, and a hotter version of yourself—except instead of a glow-up, it serves body horror realness with a side of existential dread. Out pops Margaret Qualley as Demi’s sexier, younger, unhinged clone who slowly takes over her life like a gym-hardened parasite with killer dance moves. What starts as a sci-fi critique of Hollywood’s obsession with youth spirals into a blood-soaked nightmare of liquefying faces, oozing pores, and an unholy skincare ritual that looks like it was designed by Satan’s glam squad. Demi acts like she’s fighting for her soul (and possibly an Oscar), while Margaret struts across the screen like a possessed Lululemon model with a vendetta. The film is part Black Swan, part Cronenberg, and part “your anti-aging cream just filed for emancipation,” turning every insecurity about beauty and self-worth into grotesque visual poetry. It’s a film that crawls under your skin—literally—and leaves you wondering if your moisturizer is plotting against you. You’ll laugh, scream, gag, and possibly question your entire Sephora haul. In the end, The Substance is less a movie and more a violently stylish exorcism of society’s beauty obsessions, and by the time the credits roll, you’ll be whispering “what the hell did I just watch?”—before immediately recommending it to your therapist.

If you’re looking for a horror movie with a brain, soul, or even a basic sense of suspense, The Strangers: Chapter 1 is not it. This painfully dull rehash of the 2008 original drags viewers through the same tired formula with none of the tension that made the first film remotely effective. The plot is insultingly stupid: a couple’s car breaks down in the most conveniently isolated town imaginable, and instead of leaving, they settle into a creepy Airbnb because apparently, common sense is optional in horror these days. What follows is a slow, predictable snoozefest where three masked killers torment them for no reason at all—again. The motivations are as empty as the screenplay. Director Renny Harlin promised a fresh trilogy but delivered the cinematic equivalent of reheated leftovers. There’s no buildup, no real stakes, and certainly no scares. The characters make baffling decisions that make you root for the killers just to end the agony faster. Even Madelaine Petsch’s decent performance can’t save this disaster. If this is the foundation for two more chapters, consider this a warning: we’ve already suffered enough. The Strangers: Chapter 1 isn’t just bad—it’s insultingly boring.