Two very different takes on ageing
In today’s youth–obsessed culture, women, in particular, are constantly bombarded with contradictory advice about how to age “gracefully.” We’re told to cover up our wrinkles, stay fit, and remain attractive—but without trying too hard, because heaven forbid we appear vain. The pressure is relentless: be visible, but not too visible. Age naturally, but still look young. It’s exhausting, and it’s a paradox many of us confront daily. Luckily, cinema occasionally explores these themes with both poignancy and humour.
Two films that really stand out here are The Substance and Death Becomes Her. They tackle the same subject from very different angles, and both hit home in their own way. For me, The Substance strikes a deeper chord, embracing the horror of ageing in a way that feels raw and painfully authentic. Meanwhile, Death Becomes Her takes a more light–hearted, satirical approach. It’s brilliant fun, but it doesn’t cut quite as close to the bone.
The Substance
The Substance is the kind of film that stays with you, lingering like a half–remembered nightmare. It explores the psychological and physical toll of ageing, particularly on women, with an intensity that’s hard to shake off.
One scene, in particular, sticks with me: Demi Moore’s character (Elizabeth Sparkle) is approached by an old schoolmate who asks her out on a date. Her face betrays a mix of emotions—she sees him as a bit of a loser and doesn’t really want to go, but there’s guilt in there too. She feels like this is what she “should” be doing, given they’re the same age and, well, options might feel thinner on the ground. The societal expectations versus her personal desires collide in a painfully relatable way, leaving her trapped in this awkward, unspoken conflict.
This internal battle becomes even more poignant as she prepares for the date. She keeps taking her makeup off, putting it back on again, trying to find some version of herself that feels “right”—to the world, to him, and maybe most importantly, to herself. It’s a moment that lays bare the doubts many of us harbour as we age. The message is clear: no matter how much we try to conform to society’s standards, we’re often left feeling like we’re never quite enough.
By the time the film reaches its over–the–top, Cronenberg–esque finale, the horror of ageing is in full, grotesque bloom. It’s graphic, disturbing, and utterly compelling—a metaphor for the relentless march of time. The exaggerated portrayal may be extreme, but it captures the raw fear society has of getting older, especially for women.
Death Becomes Her
On the other hand, Death Becomes Her opts for absurdity over authenticity, and it’s all the better for it. The film’s dark humour and fantastical premise—eternal youth through a magical potion—turn the fear of ageing into something delightfully ridiculous.
It’s a cult classic for a reason. Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn play their roles to perfection, lampooning the lengths people go to in their quest to look young and beautiful. It’s sharp, witty, and unafraid to mock society’s obsession with appearance.
But while Death Becomes Her is undeniably entertaining, it doesn’t quite pack the same emotional punch as The Substance. Not for me, anyway. Its satirical tone keeps it from delving into the deeper, messier realities of ageing. It’s hilarious and cutting, yes, but it stops short of exploring the vulnerability and self–doubt that comes with growing older.
For me, The Substance feels immediate and personal. Its depiction of ageing taps into something raw, making it resonate deeply with my own experiences of navigating society’s expectations. It forces us to confront some uncomfortable truths about how women are perceived as they age—and it does so with brutal honesty.
Meanwhile, Death Becomes Her shines a light on the absurdity of our obsession with youth. It’s a brilliant parody of the impossible standards women are held to, but it doesn’t make you sit with those truths in quite the same way.
Together, these films offer a fascinating contrast. Whether through horror or humour, they highlight the pressures we all face as we age—pressures that are ultimately constructs, ripe for challenging. Maybe it’s time we stopped letting them define us altogether.
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