The Film Experience

THE SUBSTANCE (2024) Coralie Fargeat | © MUBI

Bedecked in a silvery Armani Privé number and Chopard diamonds, Demi Moore arrived at the 97th Academy Awards like a winner. She left a winner, too, despite the lack of a little golden man complementing her crushed ice glamour. Saying such things may seem like a pity party or a way for fans to cope with their idol's losses, but it rings true here. Though she lost the Oscar, Demi Moore effectively changed the narrative of her career and forced both the industry and the public to reassess her worth as a performer, her history, her legacy. From "popcorn actress" to respected thespian, this is a reinvention of miraculous proportions and deeply deserved, too.

In many ways, these things are bigger than AMPAS' golden trophy, and may even have a bigger impact. After this season, nobody will look at The Substance star the same way ever again. At least, I won't…

CHARLIE'S ANGELS: FULL THROTTLE (2003) McG | © Columbia Pictures

I was never good. I was great.

Do you remember the first time you became aware of Demi Moore? The first time you saw her on screen? I'm not sure what my first encounter was, though I know I saw Ghost and Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle very early in my cinephile's journey. Admittedly, I can't recall my feelings on her Golden Globe-nominated turn in the 1990 hit back then. But I know what I felt watching her in the Charlie's Angels sequel – bafflement. It wasn't so much a censorious perception of the star, but a feeling that I was missing something. She's shot like an icon of another age in that early-00s action romp, someone whose mere presence comes bearing the memories of a dozen other movies, star turns, mayhap scandals.

Memories I simply did not have. Not then, at least. In the past month, I've done much to correct that, venturing into the depths of Demi Moore's filmography, watching over twenty pictures I'd never seen before, and revisiting a couple of others I had. It was an odyssey and a half, rummaging through some of the worst dreck Hollywood had to offer in the last two decades of the 20th century while getting a masterclass in the perilous cishet sexual politics of that period. One conclusion was apparent – the straights were not alright and the egg-obsessed Edie was correct. Another epiphany came with understanding the now Oscar-nominated Demi Moore as something more than a mere star.

Through her work and celebrity, she's almost like the crystallization of an epoch, an embodiment of late-20th century womanhood in its tensions and contradictions, the anxieties and the aspirations, dreams and pitfalls, the punishments of societal pressures and the media's hateful scrutiny. She's also a much better actress than most would have you believe. Hell, much better than I would have assumed earlier last year, before The Substance forced a reckoning that I'm sure wasn't exclusive to my experience. So, let's go back to the start, when Moore, then a teen, made her big screen debut after a few stints as a songwriter and underaged nude model.

BLAME IT ON RIO (1984) Stanley Donen | © Sherwood Productions

From the beginning, Moore found herself sexualized, even objectified, and her first film credits followed this trend. There was the tertiary girlfriend character in 1981's Choices, and her topless hijinks in the bizarrely incest-insinuating Blame it On Rio from 1984, going through Parasite's horror schlock. Overall, these roles asked very little of the novice performer. Mostly, they used her as a prop, though there are some suggestions about what's to come in the Stanley Donen movie. In that sex comedy, though much of her screen time is spent in states of nakedness or lost in suggestive chatter, the script provides some chances for Moore to project a world-weariness at odds with her youthful appearance. Is that a note of cynicism, a flash of no-bullshit lucidity? Much of it stems from her husky voice and disaffected delivery, which is dry and straightforward in opposition to ditsier readings of her characters.

This dynamic is especially apparent in St. Elmo's Fire, that zeitgeist-capturing piece of yuppie nonsense that drove moviegoers mad in 1985, surpassed box office expectations and turned many of its 20-something actors into bonafide movie stars. Like many a Joel Schumacher joint, the flick's a vapid mess, bursting at the seams with horrid politics and odious personalities that we, as the audience, are supposed to care for against all odds. Reader, I hated the hell out of this thing. However, Moore is a highlight - or a life raft - playing a materialistic banker whose spendthrift tendencies incur a major breakdown. In writing and styling, the role's a cruel joke, all pink-frilled affectations waiting for act three to bring about a moralistic message of sorts.

ST. ELMO'S FIRE (1985) Joel Schumacher | © Columbia Pictures

In Moore's hands, however, one almost senses a subversion of authorial intent. Her outrageous fashions would beckon laughter if not for the unpretentious way with which she models them. The dialogue, laden with superficialities meant to suggest a vacuous young woman, rings with the possibility of cynicism when she says it. On the page, nothing about this part indicates a weary cadence, but Moore's performance, intentionally or not, brings that to the table. It does a lot of work to set up the eventual crisis, as if erecting emotional scaffolding that neither director nor writer provided. Because of their on-screen interpreter, some of Moore's characters seem worldlier than their scripted selves, coming into the action with lives and secrets that extend beyond the narrative frame.

It wasn't always smooth sailing for the actress, but this quality helps hide plenty of the starlet's handicaps. Moreover, it conjures the illusion of authenticity into bauble-like Hollywood confections that are seldom at Moore's level. Think of About Last Night… and its Mamet-inspired battle of the sexes, Wisdom's Badlands-wannabee pretensions, or the deliberate cartoon-y-ness of One Crazy Summer. Conversely, one can recognize another factor in the star's early screen presence, something that's, more often than not, seen as a failure. You see, as a dramatic actress, Moore is awfully brittle. Her characters struggle through emotion, but rather than expressing them in a fluid manner, they stay restlessly still, waiting to shatter in awkward permutations of sorrow and fear and utter despair.

Obviously, such aspects of an actor's style can be made into qualities. It all depends on the project, the director, the friction between performer and performance. Sometimes, these bristling ways produce unpersuasive work, like her turn as a sex worker raising a mute daughter in Neil Jordan's We're No Angels remake. In other instances, what Moore comes up with can be electric, if not wholly successful in traditional terms. I'm thinking of the madness in The Seventh Sign when the actress must play a nosey landlady confronting the apocalypse while the reincarnation of Jesus Christ stays in the room above her garage. It's a demented horror plot whose emotional resonance stems from the discombobulation in Moore's work.

GHOST (1990) Jerry Zucker | © Paramount Pictures

Even Ghost shows some of this, exemplifying why a thespian's limitations don't always need to spell disaster. Moore's hardness, the note of willful independence she strikes in every role, is wildly at odds with what the Jerry Zucker haunting asks of her. Molly is all about soft-focused romance, a life so idyllic as to taste saccharine, giving way to wet-eyed grief. In theory, all of this suggests a melodramatic approach, overtly demonstrative and open. But that's not who Moore is as a performer. Instead, her early scenes with Patrick Swayze strike a tentative note, his murder is characterized by stunned hoarseness, her depression manifests a frozen sort of thing. She's not forthcoming at all, leading to the sentimental climaxes surging as near-religious astonishment, perfect tears streaming down a face stuck in awe rather than lovesick blues.

She looks more like a madonna than a woman in love and in mourning. You may say that's proof of incompetence, but I like what it does to the movie, what idiosyncrasies it brings out. Indeed, at this point in her career, Ghost proved to be Moore's biggest success, creating a platform from which the star could consider her projects more selectively, seek some favorites, and even produce a couple of them. This was to be the most iconic period for Demi Moore as a movie star, typified by a hodge-podge of erotic thrillers, prestige-seeking flops, a couple of demented comedies and more personal passion projects along the way. On the thriller side of things, I must mention Mortal Thoughts, the first feature Moore ever produced.

MORTAL THOUGHTS (1991) Alan Rudolph | © Columbia Pictures

As if wanting to contradict some of the tropes consolidating in the land of mainstream Hollywood pablum, the Alan Rudolph drama centers on a story of domestic abuse and feminine retribution. Its forays into luridness are presented in stark terms, meant to elicit compassion for two women whose stories may contradict one another and often seem to hide the truth. Moore is at the forefront, playing duplicity in a protracted police interview monologue and a series of flashbacks that aren't always as revealing as her character wants us to think. The writing can be a tad belabored, but Moore is on fire, grounding the pulpier stuff and giving credence to the emotional stakes of a story that could have leaned into exploitation but doesn't.

That movie opened in 1991, the same year that found the actress trying her hand at broad farce. Nothing But Trouble is a nightmare in all senses of the word, but Moore does what she can with a secondary part. The Butcher's Wife is more successful as a movie, but not because of its leading lady. In fact, she's wildly miscast as a North Carolina clairvoyant who was clearly meant to be played by a Southern Daryl Hannah type. Also, for what it's worth, Moore was born to be a brunette. Blonde looks wrong on her. Perchance to course correct, she jumped back into drama for 1992's A Few Good Men. Now, it's true that nobody talks about Moore much when discussing the film's merits. Nevertheless, it was a hit and fits into another interesting aspect of its star's persona.

IF THESE WALLS COULD TALK (1996) Cher, Nancy Savoca | © HBO

As mentioned before, Moore feels very independent as a screen presence, even when made to downplay such things in the name of more reactive, oft-sidelined, supporting parts. In the 1990s, this manifested in an array of so-called career woman roles where she stood tall within male-dominated ensembles and milieus. Either that, or she's settled into plots whose lynchpins are her character's relationships with men, often sexual if not always romantic. There are exceptions, of course, and they feel extra refreshing if you're doing a marathon like I was. Notably, the most salient ones of all were produced by Moore. I've already mentioned Mortal Thoughts, but there were also Now and Then and If These Walls Could Talk.

The former marks Lesli Linka Glatter's first major big-screen project after years of amassing TV credits and acclaim. By my account, she's the best non-David Lynch director in the original run of Twin Peaks, and though this movie doesn't showcase much formal invention, it's still another proof of her skills behind the camera. Moore narrates the whole thing but is rarely on screen, letting herself be put in the background for a project that's bigger than her. While critically unsuccessful at the time, this lovely coming-of-age tale proved to be a hit with audiences and has gained a cult following. Moore's performance is nothing special, however. She's much more impressive in If These Walls Could Talk, that TV movie tryptic revolving around abortion rights.

The actress plays a nurse in postwar America, recently widowed, struggling with the rawness of her loss and the dilemma of an unwanted pregnancy. Moore is incredible, weaponizing whatever stiffness marked her early turns to portray a woman so tense she looks ready to implode at any given moment. It's all about hiding oneself beneath a mask of respectable widowhood while, inside, her soul's eaten alive by shame. All in all, it's a tour de force in miniature form, coming to a tragic end in a sequence built upon Moore's physicality as her body gives out amid waves of blood and a helpless cry. Though the Emmys paid her no mind as an actress – she was recognized in her role as a producer – the HFPA honored Moore with her second Golden Globe nomination.

INDECENT PROPOSAL (1993) Adrian Lyne | © Paramount Pictures

I guess it's time to talk about the failures, isn't it? As much as I might admire a few of the actress' 90s output, there were plenty of stinkers to contend with, some of them cultural artifacts you can't simply ignore. The first and best of these came in the form of Adrian Lyne's Indecent Proposal, a bizarrely chaste picture that could only come from a society both obsessed and afraid of sex, tantalized by transgression and sex work yet committed to reviling them, horny for wealth even as it recognizes its poisonous attributes. The production was troubled, the final product compromised, but audiences still showed up for the thing. If only Moore's work was worth all that struggle. Sadly, her role as a married woman who accepts one million dollars to sleep with a millionaire is the definition of thankless, and, though the actress brings some life to the first half, the final act finds her lost beyond words.

But that 1993 conversation starter was high art when compared to Barry Levinson's Disclosure from the following year, a garbage movie that manages to be both dismissive of male rape and women-hating to a shocking degree, even by 1990s standards. As a predatory tech boss, Moore can't make heads or tails of her character, opting for cartoon villainy with a side of psychological incoherence. It's maybe her worst performance ever, if not her most embarrassing. That would be her take on Hester Prynne in Roland Joffé's re-imagining of The Scarlet Letter. I don't know what's worse – the accent or the negative chemistry with Gary Oldman. Maybe it's the failed aspirations of period mannerisms that end up with a seasoned movie star looking amateurish. Her only worthwhile scenes are those shared exclusively with other women – Joan Plowright! – and her ease with the child actress playing little Pearl.

It should be noted that, between 1987 and 1998, Moore was married to Bruce Willis and had three daughters with him. Motherhood changed her star persona, and not just because of that infamous Vanity Fair cover shoot. In films like The Scarlet Letter and The Juror, even the clown show that is Striptease and Passion of Mind's mindless psychodrama, Moore's characters are strongly defined by their maternal commitments. Moreover, the actress always excelled at sharing the screen with kids – no easy feat. I'd go so far as saying that such ease with children saved many of those performances, imbuing them with weight and resonance, a sense that her characters would do anything to protect their own. Look, The Juror goes completely off-the-rails by act three, but Moore is doing some top-notch work before that.

The final aspect that defined much of the actress' impact during this heyday was her athletic figure. I won't go into personal traumas and disorders, but Moore, the private person, always had a complicated relationship with her body. That was only exacerbated by Hollywood's pressure and expectations, not to mention the nudity a lot of these films involved. Striptease is the apotheosis of Moore's body as an instrument of eroticism, signifier of an exploitable resource that got little consideration past its commercial appeal. G.I. Jane, however, exemplifies a thespian using her physical attributes for characterization, pushing herself to the limit in a performance of palpable defiance, female rage, fire and fury.

Prior to The Substance, it was probably her best work as an actress, regardless of Ridley Scott's uninspired direction or the film's status as a tremendous, career-ending bomb. The 1997 drama was a passion project and one can feel every bit of that sentiment underpinning Moore's star turn. Her physicality, her brittleness, her hardness, her stubborn refusal to show fragility and strength in traditional modes are all here, turned to eleven and unleashed on unsuspecting audiences. It's a tremendous achievement within the set parameters of 1990s middlebrow entertainment. So much so that I couldn't believe my eyes when I looked at contemporary reviews. My incredulity only grew when scrolling down her IMDB awards section, finding out the Razzies voted her Worst Actress of 1997. That organization has always been pathetic, but this choice is positively demented.

Like many a star before her, Demi Moore walked away from the spotlight as she became cause for ridicule, an easy target for the press, and box office poison to boot. Across the 2000s, many of her parts are couched in notions of has-been fame, a star left behind and brought back as an embodiment of bitter obsolescence. That she could turn this straw into something resembling gold is a testament to her talents – just look at the fun, energetic villain in Full Throttle. Or even some of those sad stabs at respectability in stuff like Half Light, Bobby, Mr. Brooks, Flawless, and her late-career turn in the second season of Ryan Murphy's Feud. Aged beyond ingénue territory or what the industry deems bankable sex appeal, Moore continued to develop as an actress, but it seemed nobody was paying attention.

Either that, or they were too busy speculating on her erstwhile romantic relationship with Ashton Kutcher. That push and pull between the tarnish of a faded star and forty-something tabloid fodder informs many of the opportunities she got around this period. I've mentioned those roles enshrined in melancholy, but there's also the Miley Cyrus-starring LOL and how it tries to capitalize on Moore's image as a cool mom cum sexually liberated woman of a certain age. To my surprise, she's actually good in that teenage wasteland of a movie, looser than she ever was in the 90s, charismatic as ever. She's similarly solid in Margin Call, returning to her status as the only woman in a sausage fest ensemble, leaning on that brittleness to sell the idea of someone who compromised herself to the point of self-effacement, mayhap inhumanity.

The rest of the 2010s was much the same, with only some notable forays into weirdo comedy marking a new avenue for actorly explorations. That particular strand in the tapestry of Moore's career started with Mitchell Lichtenstein's Happy Tears, a 2009 dramedy that pairs her with Parker Posey. It culminated in 2022's Please Baby Please, an acid trip foray into midcentury iconography, queer as fuck, and so far outside realist precepts that it feels radical in the context of Moore's filmography. Hell, it'd feel downright experimental in whatever mainstream Hollywood context you try to fit it into. Looking back on that oddity, Amanda Kramer's gender-deconstructing fantasia comes off as a prelude to what was to come in The Substance, the actress' best film, greatest performance, and the reason for this whole essay.

As I've already reviewed Coralie Fargeat's movie twice, considered the merits of Margaret Qualley's performance, and discussed its Oscar prospects in multiple volleys, I'll try to restrain myself from repetition. All I want to say is that, revisiting the film with the sprawl of Moore's career behind it, her tour de force strikes me as even more revealing and miraculous, a self-evisceration willing to bite down and mess with the star's legacy. She tears it apart and spits it back out, snarling at an industry that defined and destroyed her, that made her a star and then a joke. Furthermore, it's an echo of all that was before, amalgamating every strength that the actress showcased during four decades on screen. It goes further, still taking what were once problematic strategies and turning them on their head.

In other words, I can't imagine the Demi Moore that made Ghost acing Elisabeth Sparkle's mirror agonies. I can't begin to conceptualize the actress that stiffly stripped herself for 1990s audiences erupting into paroxysms of unselfconscious grotesquerie we see in her latest. These qualities were acquired over time, learned and developed, elevating this Oscar-nominated achievement into a declaration of talent, of craft, of silver screen glory, a life lived in front of the cameras, for better and for worse. I'll restate my thesis: after The Substance and her collection of awards speeches – Golden Globe, Critics Choice, AARP – no one will ever look at this screen legend the same way again. That is her greatest victory and, when all is said and done, I feel it's more valuable than the Academy's final vote. Demi Moore lost, but she's still a winner.

After celebrating Marianne Jean-Baptiste and Demi Moore, my final Best Actress-related piece will be about Fernanda Torres. Stay tuned for that season-closing write-up.