The Substance

The Substance is the kind of bold, slightly unhinged film that announces itself from the first frame and somehow earns the right to keep surprising you. Writer-director Lena Voss here takes a high-concept hook — memory, identity and the literalization of regret — and spins it into a lean, feverish meditation that feels both intimate and mythic. The movie never hands you easy answers, but it rewards you with images and performances that linger.

At the center is Mara Ellis, whose quietly devastating turn as Nora (a woman who discovers a strange compound that erases or rearranges memories) is the film’s emotional core. Ellis balances fragility and steel: the scenes where she confronts versions of her past are heartbreaking without ever tipping into melodrama. Supporting players — especially Jonah Reyes as the scientist with good intentions and bad timing — give the film a moral texture that keeps the stakes human even when the premise goes speculative.

Visually, Voss and cinematographer Asha Maitra make brilliant use of negative space and glassy, antiseptic interiors to contrast memory’s warmth with chemical coldness. A recurring motif — a spinning glass orb that refracts characters into fractured silhouettes — becomes a simple but effective shorthand for the movie’s themes. The screenplay sometimes indulges in elliptical dialogue, which may frustrate viewers expecting neat exposition, but the elliptical approach amplifies the film’s dreamlike logic and encourages repeat viewings.

If The Substance has a flaw, it’s pacing: the third act’s procedural stretch could have been tightened. Still, the film’s ambition, the ferocity of its lead performance, and its haunting final image make it one of the more original entries in contemporary science-fiction drama. Not a crowd-pleaser in the popcorn sense — it asks to be thought about afterward — but for those who like their sci-fi philosophical and their endings open, it’s a rewarding ride.