To unpack the (inevitably) reductive comparison, The Substance features spaces reminiscent of Kubrick, body horror that would make Cronenberg (both David and Brandon) weep, mind-fuckery at least on a par with “Requiem for a Dream” or “mother!,” and an aggressive, confrontational and mesmerizing style akin to that of “Irréversible” and “Climax.” The Substance could be regarded as “Fight Club” for women, due to its focus on the body, social expectations and identity. It also works as “Sunset Boulevard” for a new generation, as it deals with issues of aging and stardom, is set in Hollywood, and focuses upon a star past a certain age. This star is Elisabeth Sparkle, played by a never-better Demi Moore (“Corporate Animals”). After an initial close-up of egg yolks receiving an injection, we are treated to a prolonged overhead shot of Elisabeth’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, from its initial laying to the path of her career, which plays out on the star. From premieres to foot passage to street cleaning to the dropping of garbage, and some significant cracks, the star sees so much, as does the actual Elisabeth. Past her movie star days and now the lead of a TV exercise show, Elisabeth is informed by producer Harvey (a magnificently obnoxious Dennis Quaid, “The Intruder”) that the network wants someone younger. Initially distraught and feeling understandably rejected, Elisabeth then discovers a new (you guessed it) substance that will turn things around.

To give more details would be to spoil the film, for The Substance is a film where the viewer benefits from knowing as little as possible. Suffice to say that the eponymous product provides Elisabeth and the viewer with far more than they bargained for. The UK premiere of The Substance took place at FrightFest 2024, to an audience of hardened (or jaded) horror film fans. The atmosphere during the screening was one of shock, elation and bewilderment, with discussions afterwards largely related to WTF?! At two hours and twenty minutes, the film could run the risk of overstaying its welcome, but Fargeat’s pacing is superbly linked to the threads of investigation and discovery, success and ambition, desperation and hubris. Much of the film takes place indoors, especially in Elisabeth’s grand apartment. The expansive living room, dominated by a portrait of Elisabeth in her prime (consider that term critically), as well as the inner sanctum of an impeccably white-tiled bathroom, is meticulously designed by Stanislas Reydellet to express wealth and privilege, as well as isolation, security and even secrecy, all of which escalate within the plot of Elisabeth’s troubles.

Escalation is also expressed by the bodies of the film. Moore (at the age of 62) reveals all in a way that is refreshing and encouraging. Too often female bodies are objectified in cinema, both as objects of desire and, for those deemed to be “past it,” of ridicule and even disgust. To see the naked body of a woman over 40, let alone over 60, on screen is a rare sight indeed. For this body to treated sympathetically is even rarer. It would be overly simplistic to say that the film presents the bodies of Demi Moore, as well as Margaret Qualley (“The Vanishing of Sidney Hall”) who also bares all, sympathetically simply because the director is a woman. More significantly, the gaze of the film is that of Elisabeth herself, appearing on screen when the character herself inspects it. Therefore, we are invited to share her feelings about the way she looks, while the film also mediates these feelings through a lens that is critical not of Elisabeth herself, but of the context in which her body and identity have developed, a context encapsulated by that stunning opening. Elisabeth is presented as a participant, a beneficiary, a product, and a victim of Hollywood specifically and western patriarchal capitalism more generally, valued and judged because of her adherence to expectations. The film consistently and mercilessly satirizes these expectations, with moments of recognition, non-recognition, behavioral alignment, types of imaging, different levels of consumption and the use of substances all brought together in a gloriously grotesque grand guignol. There are moments in The Substance that may cause jaws to drop and eyes to pop, as the instances of body horror are pushed far beyond expectations or even hopes and fears. Just when you think “OK, that’s the limit,” Fargeat pushes the sequence (and physicality) that little bit further.

Intertwined with this grotesquerie is jet black humor, Fargeat and her cast willing to be utterly absurd as well as commendably revolting. It could be said that this is a form of misogyny, because the aging woman’s body is presented as repulsive, but notably the body horror is closely tied to the titular substance, a product that serves wider misogyny. Thus, the film becomes a treatise on the abuse of women’s bodies, abuse that is a manifestation of patriarchal demands. Much like (arguably) Lars Von Triers’ “Antichrist” and “The House That Jack Built,” The Substance presents misogyny, rather than endorsing it.

The cast are wonderfully game for this madcap journey. As mentioned, Moore is at her absolute peak, conveying regret, ambition, self-loathing, desperation and a deep melancholia. Quaid is an absolute hoot, making himself as thoroughly punchable as his character’s namesake suggests. Margaret Qualley presents a youthful version of ambition, no less ruthless and even vicious. These three, especially Moore and Qualley, dominate the proceedings, with other figures only appearing briefly. This further helps in keeping the viewer engaged with Elisabeth, as we see and share her experiences through elaborate spaces, pained bodies, fragmenting minds and breathtaking style. Also, as previously stated, The Substance echoes various other films and directors, but when it comes to pushing your conceit to its extremes in a way that is engaging, entertaining, shocking and ingenious all at once, Coralie Fargeat could teach many filmmakers a thing or two.

Through every turn, Lady of the Manor uses nothing but clichés. Once you’re past the initial situation of Hannah getting arrested and meeting Tanner, the entire movie is a simple redemption story we’ve all seen before. Hannah doesn’t want to study on Lady Wadsworth and prefers getting high and drunk all the time, which will cause great uproar for Lady Wadsworth, who makes sure everyone who dares portray her on tour is respectable enough. Thus, Hannah transitions into an 18th-century “lady,” and that’s when she’ll learn the truth about Wadsworth manor and why Tanner hired her in the first place.

As a total douche, Ryan Phillippe completely relishes playing an amazingly unlikable sex-crazed nepotism baby. It’s a little weird to say this at once, but man, is he the best part of this entire movie. I wanted more of him and less Melanie Lynskey, which is kind of sad because she’s usually a great comedic actress. If you’ve seen “I Don’t Feel at Home in This World Anymore,” you know that she has the comedic chops to lead a movie. But the material she’s given here is amazingly haphazard and quite uninspired. She’s an alcohol and weed-loving deliverer who loves being lazy and nothing else. She shares very little chemistry with any of the characters, whether Tanner, Lady Wadsworth, or historian Max (played by none other than Justin Long (“Literally, Right Before Aaron”). Long and Phillippe are the only performers in this movie who truly give a damn about the material given (in Long’s case, probably because he is also the filmmaker and writer). Everyone else seems to pitifully phone in their performances.

Even Judy Greer, who usually has an entertaining presence, is forced to make weird grimaces and speak in the most unconvincing southern accent I’ve heard since Nicolas Cage in “Con Air,” feels completely wasted here. What’s even worse is that the movie itself feels phoned in. There are so many rookie mistakes in continuity through its editing and costume positions from scene to scene that it pretty much feels like a student film instead of legitimate Hollywood production. For example, one shot sees Lynskey holding a hat, while the next one has the hat inside a glass box as if nothing was properly stitched together and the job was rushed. Well, it’s not that big of a problem when everything about the film feels rushed, including character development which is riddled inside stereotypes and clichés instead of evolved naturally through a legitimately compelling progression. As a result, the story is amazingly uninspired and tepid and has already been done in other “spiritual comedies” to better effect.

I admit that I found some of the running gags particularly funny and that Long is on to something when it comes to comedic timing. Jokes that I usually don’t laugh at — which come at the expense of bodily functions — had me literally dying out of my seat. Maybe if the film focused on the absurdity of the humor instead of needlessly staying on its story and under-cooked characters, it might have worked as a fun novelty comedy, but alas Lady of the Manor focuses too much on the elements that don’t work instead of those that do. Still, I’d like to see Justin Long direct another film again, as his next one could be perfect if he focuses on comedy. He may be a filmmaker to watch shortly.

Lance is quite a callow youth. Desperate for money, he hears from his cousin Jack (Gilles Geary, “The I-Land” TV series), who has work in the art industry waiting for him. Eager to put that useful art-history degree to work, Lance heads north. Only, whoops, turns out the only art involved is in people’s homes, ready to be liberated. Lance has been brought on board in order to verify the value of certain works of art, which is definitely something I imagine a recent college grad would be able to do in an instant. The gang is your garden-variety motley crew of kids from rough backgrounds, some looking to avenge their own childhoods and some who just wanna break stuff. The group doesn’t just hit random houses, though; they have a contact at an insurance company who gives addresses to their boss, a seedy fellow named Mel (Michael Shannon, “Knives Out”). Mel then gives the address to the collective who probably should be known as Uncool and the Gang, along with a shopping list of items he wants from that particular house. Everyone gets a lot of money and is happy.

Duh, of course they’re not happy. The gang’s nominal leader, Ellis (Alex Pettyfer, “The Last Witness”), is a moody, violent drinking man who thinks he can outwit anyone in the room, but this is only the case when he is alone. His moll, er, gal pal, is Allie (Hayley Law, “Spontaneous”), who comes from good parents and naturally is rebelling against her advantages. Ellis, like his fellow masterminds, is suspicious when Lance shows up to be part of their crew, and his suspicions never truly disappear, particularly when he gets it into his fool head that there’s something going on between the newcomer and the lone female in the group. Oh, was that a spoiler? No. That kind of passive jealousy begins about two minutes after everyone first meets Lance. And you probably could have guessed it, anyway.

I have probably seen more caper movies than the average human being, and so I struggle with a plain way to express how good this movie is. Is it a bad movie because I’ve seen so many almost exactly like it, only much better? Or is it a bad movie on its own merits? This is not an easy call, so I will hedge and simply say it is a bad movie. Every step of the plot can be sussed out well in advance, the characters are very thin — especially the leads — and there’s a surprisingly low level of suspense throughout. There’s a scene in which an overdose victim is taken to the hospital. Guess what happens? There’s a scene in which a phrase not unlike “we don’t hurt anyone” is uttered. Guess what happens? There’s a scene in which two people kind of give a sly side-eye to each other. Guess what happens? If you guessed with confidence, you won’t much like Echo Boomers.

But most bad movies have some kind of positive point, and here it’s Michael Shannon, who’s terrific as the vicious small criminal Mel. Shannon’s such a great actor that even when the script gives him unmemorable lines, his delivery manages to be impactful, but not at all hammy. Let’s face it, most actors, when faced with a two-bit screenplay, tend to overact so that you notice them more than you notice the crappy dialog, probably encouraged by the director. Anyway, he’s the highlight here, even if he doesn’t have much to do other than menace the good-bad guys.

There really isn’t much else to recommend about Echo Boomers, a movie so forgettably dumb that I had to recheck the title several times while writing this review up. What’s an Echo Boomer? I’m not entirely sure, although the collective Boomers are named as the underlying cause behind everyone’s woes in this movie. I’d be more inclined to say that one should not echo the Boomers, if the movie tells me anything. But what do I know? I’m neither a Boomer nor a Millennial.

Well . . . the animated horror story, To Your Last Death, introduces viewers to four siblings, all of them seriously damaged by their abusive father and his twisted personality. There is Kelsy (voiced by Florence Hartigan, “Phoenix Forgotten”), a young bimbo who married a man much like her father, living a life of luxury, but crying in the dark where no one can hear her; Ethan (voiced by Damien C. Haas), a rocker addicted to pain killers, who didn’t grow up to be so bright; Collin (voiced by Benjamin Siemon, “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend” TV series), a closeted homosexual who wants nothing more than to make his father proud and seems like he is never meeting his old man standards; and lastly our protagonist Miriam (voiced by Dani Lennon, “The Shasta Triangle”), a woman who can’t get over her childhood memories that manifest as lucid dreams of physical abuse to her, her siblings, and their mother who was strangled to death by her own husband.

They’re brought together with the most sickening of intentions by Cyrus Dekalb (voiced by Ray Wise, “God’s Not Dead 2”), an important business man with a sinister grin and threatening voice. All he wants to accomplish is the disappearance of his heirs, whom he considers a big disappointment. They are also the reason why he couldn’t archive his biggest goal, to become Vice President of the United States. One by one they will be locked up and tortured, both physically and mentally. Feeling the pain that will lead them to death, and hearing one last time (MAYBE, one last time) the hurtful and disgusting comments of their “beloved” daddy.

The bloody “fun” begins with Miriam’s memories, we hear the echo of her voice saying, “He killed them all” floating in the air while she lies on the floor. This young woman is shown to be the only survivor among her already mentioned siblings, and here is when things get interesting.

You see Miriam has somehow been saved by a dark entity called “The Game Master” (voiced by Morena Baccarin, “Deadpool”) — some sort of black haired super villain who appears and disappears at her own will. This wicked entity, presents Miriam with an opportunity to go back in time and make things right for her and her siblings. Without any other option, Miriam sees herself wrapped in a repeating game of torture and desperation, for the mere purpose of entertaining a group of cosmic beings betting on the outcome. To get through this, her pain will be endless and the violence endured will be replayed as many times as The Game Master wishes.

The game won’t be easy (an understatement, if ever there was one) and a crazy amount of blood will spill over the film’s 91 minutes of air time. Over and over the characters will be struggling with what would be the most traumatizing moment of anyone’s life. As an example, Kelsy in one iteration must bleed herself in a pan or risk her throat being slit. In another, Ethan is repeatedly asphyxiated for wrong answers on a timed quiz. Miriam has to remember as the show-woman of this game, if she doesn’t provide amusement, all thumbs will go down for her and the grisly outcomes befalling her and her brothers and sister will be permanent.

To Your Last Death can be seen as a mixture of the Netflix series “Dark” and “Russian Doll” with the tortuous elements of “Saw” and “Hostel.” The animation style is a bit robotic in the way the characters move which gives it a very roughly made, amateurish feel, though it stylistically reminded me of TV series “Mr. Pickles” and “Archer.” Voice acting doesn’t always rise to the gravity of some of the more extreme situations, but overall it meets the need. Nonetheless, if comic book violence, buxom women (albeit animated) and blood and guts from beginning to end is your thing, To Your Last Death was created with you in mind. Those that are curious should check it out too, provided some free time presents itself.

Law is Rory O’Hara (pronounced “Oh-HA-rah”), and as with many Law characters Rory is a bit of a caddish jerk. Now, people in the world of high finance tend to be Type A personalities after the almighty dollar, and it feels like Law can play that sort of character in his sleep. Which is more or less what happens here. His portrayal of Rory doesn’t lack for conviction, at least — the viewer is easily persuaded that Mister Law is indeed the rapscallion he plays in this movie. Coon plays his American wife, Alison, who supplements her husband’s income by giving horse-riding lessons. This signifies that she is more down to earth, someone unafraid to physically get her hands dirty, sort of a yin to Rory’s slithery, deceitful yang.

They have two kids, do Rory and Alison: Teen Samantha (Oona Roche, “The Morning Show” TV series) and preteen Benjamin (Charlie Shotwell, “Captain Fantastic”). Like their mother, the children are uprooted from their USA comfort zone and tossed into the wild, zany world of Britain. They are each enrolled in snooty private schools, the better for one to make bad-influence friends and for another to be bullied by larger students for the crime of not being British. Oh, and did I mention that the family moves directly into an old mansion that’s far larger than their needs? It seems Rory likes to tell people he’s rich (he is not rich), and having a mansion and kids in private schools helps sell that image.

This trans-Atlantic move has a significant impact on each of the four. Well, in Rory’s case, his prodigal-son return to his old company is kind of a hero’s homecoming; his old mentor Arthur (Michael Culkin, “The Good Liar”) is glad to have him back in the fold after some twenty years gone. (Naturally, over the course of the film the viewer will learn of the circumstances of Rory’s initial departure, and they should surprise no one). Alison finds herself increasingly mistrustful of her husband and takes to squirreling away money on her own. She also finds herself with a freaked-out horse, also shipped over from the States. The horse is not pleased with the move at all. Meanwhile, the kids are being neglected.

It should come as no surprise that Rory is a bit of a liar. His lies aren’t even convincing; he’s one of those fibbers who just overwhelms people by talking at and over them, making it harder for them to spot the problem. He likes to think of himself as a schmoozer and a high roller, but he’s not very smooth with anyone, let alone clients, and he’s definitely not money-rich. He’s the kind of guy who thinks he’s amazing and honestly believes everyone else agrees when in fact his self confidence just gives a strong early impression. After that, people start to see the facade crumbling, and now Alison is seeing the entire thing come crashing down as Rory tries to make things work in England.

I had in my mind that this was going to be a little more . . . well, interesting. An online synopsis states something about “a twisted turn,” and I spent the entire movie waiting for something, anything, to happen. There are some allusions to the house being scary, and since it’s so large and empty, one might get the impression that the building itself will play a role in the “twisted” nature of the plot. Maybe Alison finds out about Rory’s lies and there’s a big confrontation between them and the house. Spoiler alert — like much of the plot, the house can only bore the viewer to death.

The Nest is only 107 minutes, about average for movies these days, but it felt at least twice as long. There’s no urgency and nothing exciting except for the characters’ own histrionics. Boy, if shouting at a spouse were only an Olympic event, eh? And there are plenty of red herrings in the movie, plot threads that simply go nowhere or make no sense. I’m all for showing, not telling, but this film couldn’t do either right. Add in some truly jarring cuts from scene to scene and you have all the makings for a dull, dull time.

Right from the first image, Lily Collins (“Tolkien,” who owns the greatest set of eyebrows since Joan Crawford) makes an impression as Lauren Monroe. Lauren’s got everything — the family, the job (district attorney), the fashion (corporate vampire Barbie), and the most well manicured of hairstyles. But when Lauren’s millionaire father (Patrick Warburton, “Get Smart”) is found dead, her world comes undone.

Lauren’s inheritance includes a small sum of money (in comparison to the rest of her family) and a mysterious package. Inside, she discovers a key and a USB-drive with cryptic instructions. It doesn’t lead her to a new car, a secret mansion, or anything romantic nor glamorous. Instead it allows her to find the most dramatic of discoveries. For what is buried underneath Lauren’s childhood play area is not any sort of treasure, but rather Morgan Warner (Simon Pegg, “Mission: Impossible – Fallout”), who has been kept prisoner by her father for 30 years.

On paper, Inheritance might sound like the concept of many people’s most bonkers dreams. For it strikes that perfect balance of hokey but hocked. Yet the end result is something more mysterious than the secrets Lauren begins to learn. For it is movie that had all of its cinematic ducks in a row. Yet from the moment the Simon Pegg-sized cat gets let out of the bag, everything begins to crumble.

Pegg is an actor that has yet to gain the respect he deserves. He’s a comedic force that is a delicious blend of annoying but endearing. He can play the most lovable jerk or humble of common men with ease. But when it comes to dramatic turns, Pegg hasn’t gotten that moment to shine. He clearly has the ability and focus to achieve such results, especially when examining the brutal transformation he did to portray this role.

Yet in a pop culture realm where performances like Anthony Hopkins’ in “Silence of the Lambs,” and recently Michael Sheen’s in Fox’s “Prodigal Son” series exist, Pegg’s Morgan seems too little too late. There’s no denying that he has the talent and capabilities to leave an equally memorable impression on screen, but Pegg’s portrayal reads more grindhouse insanity than any sort of antagonistic threat. And whenever he has to enact a sense of creepiness when speaking about graham crackers, you almost expect for Bugs Bunny to pop up behind him and laugh.

Collins, on the other hand, is trying to ground Lauren in the most serious of fashions. A choice that, when juxtaposed with Pegg’s initial over-the-top energy, unravels in the messiest of ways. The clearest example of this comes during a scene where Lauren discovers another “jaw-dropping” secret of her father’s (one that is the definition of predictable). As she panics on a staircase, we’re treated to a montage of clips of Morgan exercising in a thrusting like motion. And with the constant cutting back and forth, the laughable quality of the sequence escalates to new heights.

But that isn’t to say that Inheritance doesn’t have its glimmering moments between its leads. For the best work between Collins and Pegg are in the film’s quieter sequences. Where the horrific details of the mystery are not the focus, but rather the simplistic human connection between these two soap opera level characters. It’s a shame that Stein doesn’t give more time for these two to relish in these scenes, especially considering the ridiculous nature of the third act.

The rest of the film’s cast plays it mostly safe. Chace Crawford (“All About Nina”) as Lauren’s politically driven brother stands pretty but lacking in any sort of personality, mostly due to his exposition driven dialog. While Connie Nielsen (“Sea Fever”) and Michael Beach (“Aquaman”) deliver what they can with the little that is offered to them. But certain portrayals, such as Christina DeRosa’s (“Bad Moms”) as a woman from Lauren’s father’s past, are more ham than anything served at Thanksgiving.

Though truthfully, the messiest element within Inheritance is the narrative at its core. To put simply, first-time screenwriter Matthew Kennedy delivers a Scooby-Doo episode trying to copy the work of David Fincher and Chan-wook Park. But rather than delivering a well thought out ending, the conclusion to this tale makes Scoob and the gang’s shenanigans look quite polished by comparison.

Overall, Stein and Kennedy clearly admire the great thrillers of the past. There’s a little bit of Hitchcock and Jonathan Demme sprinkled throughout their work here, both visually and narratively. But for every decently executed aspect, there is an equally bizarre element to makes the film lose its credibility. From the disturbing cosplay wigs used throughout, to dialog that reads more Mad Libs than Billy Wilder, Inheritance is movie that obviously has its heart in the right place. It just doesn’t know where to go from there.