once In Hollywood, Elizabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) was a star, her Walk of Fame plaque a major tourist attraction and a backdrop for endless selfies. Now, Sparkle hosts a morning fitness show that dates back to the 1990s. Her obnoxious, sexist boss, Harvey (Dennis Quaid)—we’re pretty sure the name has no real or symbolic significance at all, no, no, Mr. Bob—has handed Elizabeth her walking papers so he can recast her mornings with some younger, hotter models. A gorgeous woman in the City of Angels, she had the world crawling at her coiffed feet in her 20s. By her 50s, she’s become invisible.
Coralie Fargeat The material Sparkle takes this painful phase of the celebrity life cycle for granted, even though the target of her brilliant body-horror satire isn’t just the game that prizes youth and beauty above all else—it’s also aimed, unfairly or not, at players who will go to any lengths to stay in it. Sparkle is rapidly descending into professional nadir when a dewy-skinned young man gives her a phone number, a flash drive, and a note that reads, “He changed my life.” This “thing” is a rejuvenation system known only as “The Matter,” which promises you a whole new you. Sparkle joins the program out of desperation. What she doesn’t realize is that it will literally produce a whole new you—a twentysomething version of herself (Margaret Qualley) bursting fully formed from the back of Elizabeth 1.0.
French director whose previous film, revenge (2017), a feminist revenge thriller with a class-eating commentary, Fargate has a knack for taking the obscene, convenient fodder of Grindhouse movies and using it to play with real-world toxicity. It’s no surprise that the dead Elizabeth 2.0, who calls herself Sue, turns every man she meets into that laugh-out-loud wolf from a Tex Avery cartoon; the film embraces the male gaze to such an extent that you feel complicit in every predatory behavior displayed in every shot of Qualley’s curves. It’s also no surprise when this animated, talking thirst trap exploits the opportunities it took away from the original Sparkle. Never underestimate how the balance of power shifts when the baser instincts of stupid, lustful men come into play.
Margaret Qualley in The Matter.
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What is shocking is the cheerful way The material This graphic “birth” scene, already set to Cronenbergian levels of disgust, continues to ratchet up the body horror as things go awry. It’s established early on that even though the two Sparkles don’t share consciousness, they’re still the same person. (“There’s no ‘she’ and ‘you,’” the faceless caller on the helpline keeps repeating. “You’re ‘one.’”) In addition to strictly adhering to a plan that includes IV bags and daily “stabilizer” injections, both Sparkles must also swap places every seven days. Failure to do so will… well, let’s just say it gets ugly. And when Sue starts extending her time after landing the excellent job of hosting her network’s New Year’s Eve show… man, does it get ugly.
Once the film turns to a showdown between Sparkles, and Fargeat gives her actors a booze-soaked stage to rage on—if Moore's exceptional, career-best performance doesn't set the whole demi-aising in motion, there is no god—this improvisation on The Picture of Dorian Gray Events turn into chaos in the best possible way. You want a bloodbath that sets shinePlasma elevator flowing into shame? I get it! Even some logical errors in the story (so if the older Sparkle can't directly share the younger one's indulgences, what exactly does she get out of it?) don't take away from the excitement of seeing these women shatter impossible beauty standards with a new one. The material This film won't recalibrate society's focus on youth or cure Hollywood's sexual pathologies. But it will remind you that when you seek to reclaim your past by any means necessary, you are always your own worst enemy.
