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Coralie Fargeat's The Substance is a jaw-dropping, audacious dive into the dark underbelly of beauty culture. The film follows Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore), a fading celebrity who turns to a mysterious black-market drug that promises to create a younger, better version of herself. What unfolds is a grotesque, yet mesmerising journey that'll have you squirming in your seat and unable to look away.

From the get-go, Fargeat throws us into a world that's both familiar and nightmarishly distorted. The director's keen eye for satire is on full display, skewering society's obsession with youth and perfection with razor-sharp precision. It's a world where botox parties are as common as book clubs, and the pursuit of eternal beauty comes at a terrifying cost.

Moore's performance as Elisabeth is nothing short of revelatory. She brings a raw vulnerability to the role that's both heartbreaking and infuriating. You'll find yourself rooting for her one minute and wanting to shake some sense into her the next. It's a career-defining turn that showcases Moore's range and fearlessness as an actor.

The supporting cast is equally impressive, with Margaret Qualley delivering a deliciously unhinged performance as Sue, Elisabeth's younger doppelganger. Dennis Quaid rounds out the trio as Harvey, a sleazy TV executive who embodies every toxic male stereotype imaginable.

Visually, The Substance is a feast for the eyes-albeit one that might make you lose your appetite. Fargeat and cinematographer Benjamin Kracun have crafted a world that's simultaneously beautiful and repulsive. The use of colour is particularly striking, with sickly yellows and neon pinks creating an atmosphere of artificial glamour that feels like it could melt away at any moment.

The body horror elements are not for the faint of heart. Fargeat pulls no punches when it comes to depicting the grotesque transformations brought on by the titular substance. It's Cronenberg-esque in its unflinching approach, pushing the boundaries of what's acceptable on screen.

Where the film truly shines is in its exploration of themes surrounding ageing, self-worth, and the commodification of women's bodies. Fargeat doesn't just point out these issues; she takes a sledgehammer to them, forcing us to confront uncomfortable truths about our own complicity in these systems.

The pacing is relentless, rarely giving us a moment to catch our breath. This works in the film's favour for the most part, though there are moments where a bit more breathing room would have been welcome. The score, composed by Raffertie, is a pulsing, synth-heavy affair that perfectly complements the film's fever-dream aesthetic.

If there's one minor quibble, it's that the film occasionally teeters on the edge of being too on-the-nose with its messaging. However, given the subject matter, subtlety might be beside the point.

The Substance is a tour de force of filmmaking that demands to be seen. It's not an easy watch by any means, but it's one that'll stick with you long after you've left the theatre. Fargeat has crafted a modern horror masterpiece that's as thought-provoking as it is viscerally shocking. It's the kind of film that reminds us why we go to the movies in the first place-to be challenged, disturbed, and ultimately transformed. If you've got the stomach for it, The Substance is an experience you won't soon forget.

Kneecap is a semi-fictional biopic about the creation of the eponymous Irish-language rap group in Belfast. Set in post-Troubles Northern Ireland, the film follows three unlikely youngsters-a teacher and two street-smart troublemakers-as they form a controversial hip-hop group that challenges society standards and revitalises the Irish language.

Rich Peppiatt's directorial debut is a daring and exuberant trip that isn't afraid to ruffle some feathers. It combines the rebellious attitude of Trainspotting with the cultural pride of The Commitments, yet it falls short of both. The film's raw energy and unabashed attitude are its most powerful characteristics, capturing the essence of Kneecap's music and the harsh realism of Belfast's streets.

The decision to cast the actual band members as themselves is a two-edged sword. On one hand, it adds authenticity to the performances and musical sequences. However, their lack of acting experience occasionally shows, resulting in some stilted moments in the more serious scenes. Nonetheless, their inherent charisma and real camaraderie come through, more than compensating for any technical inadequacies.

Michael Fassbender's presence as Naoise's missing father lends seriousness to the proceedings, and he gives a strong performance that improves the sequences he appears in. The star, however, is Simone Kirby as Naoise's mother, who adds depth and emotional weight to her brief screen time.

Peppiatt's directing is ambitious, if uneven. He isn't hesitant to experiment with new visual approaches, including animation and stylised scenes that reflect the characters' hallucinatory experiences. While these decisions can feel gimmicky at times, they contribute to the film's overall anarchic spirit.

Ryan Kernaghan's cinematography is particularly impressive, portraying both the harsh urban environments and the frenzied intensity of the live performances with equal skill. The editing is quick and keeps the tempo going; however, it occasionally approaches sensory overload.

Thematically, Kneecap addresses some serious issues, ranging from the long-term impacts of the Troubles to the preservation of Irish culture, but it does not always go as far as it should in exploring these themes. The film's treatment of these issues can feel cursory at times, with broad strokes rather than detailed exploration.

The Irish language plays an important role in the film's identity, and it's great to see it portrayed as a real, breathing form of expression rather than a mere cultural artefact. The characters' flawless transitions between Irish and English give another depth of authenticity to the movie.

Where Kneecap truly shines is in its musical moments. The raw energy of the band's concerts is evident, and the film does a fantastic job of highlighting both their talent and the strength of their message. It is in these moments that you can truly understand why Kneecap has such a devoted following.

However, the film's irreverent tone and violent descriptions of drug usage may not appeal to all audiences. It strikes a delicate balance between honouring the band's rebellious attitude and glorifying its more dangerous behaviours, which may be off-putting to certain viewers.

In the end, Kneecap is a flawed yet immensely fun adventure. It has heart, humour, and a terrific soundtrack, even if it doesn't always reach the right note dramatically. It's a must-see for fans of the band and those interested in modern Irish culture. Don't anticipate a polished, by-the-numbers biopic; this is as raw and unfiltered as it gets.

With a disturbing storyline and a brilliant ensemble led by James McAvoy, Speak No Evil is a remake that both honours and departs from its Danish precursor. The film depicts the Dalton family-Ben (Scoot McNairy), Louise (Mackenzie Davis), and their daughter Agnes (Alix West Lefler)-who, after migrating to the UK, go on an apparently perfect holiday to Tuscany. Here, they encounter the Fields, a vibrant British family led by the mysterious Paddy (McAvoy). What starts out as a friendly escape gradually turns into a tense and unsettling nightmare as the Daltons become entangled in a web of social awkwardness and mounting peril.

The film's cultural context is based on the examination of social standards and the often unstated bounds of civility. By contrasting American and British family dynamics, Speak No Evil explores the discomfort that emerges when civility conceals deeper intentions. This philosophical complexity is enhanced by a plot that deftly unfolds, showing the characters' vulnerabilities and moral quandaries as they navigate increasingly odd situations.

James Watkins' direction is superb; he captures the tension with deftness. He skilfully creates suspense, especially in sequences where Paddy's pleasant mask begins to crumble. McAvoy's portrayal of Paddy is brilliant; he alternates between friendly and sinister, creating a character who is both appealing and dangerous. His performance is memorable, displaying a range that keeps you wondering about his true nature. The supporting ensemble, particularly Davis and McNairy, give great performances, eloquently depicting their characters' growing fear and helplessness as they struggle with their decisions.

The film's score adds to the overall atmosphere, alternating between frightening tones and moments of laughter to break up the tension. The cinematography is key, with stunning settings standing out against the film's darker themes. The use of colour is especially striking; the warm hues of the Tuscan sun contrast with the frigid, sterile interiors of the Fields' home, creating a visual metaphor for the dichotomy of appeal and danger.

The editing is tight, with a quick pace that keeps you interested; however, some may claim that the second act drags slightly as character development takes precedence over action. While this choice adds depth, it can also cause impatience as you anticipate the ultimate conflict.

The dialogue throughout the film is crisp and frequently tinged with dark humour, expressing the protagonists' discomfort and the absurdity of their circumstances. This creative writing resonates, making the characters' struggle more relatable and their eventual demise more poignant.

While Speak No Evil departs from the original's grim nihilism, it provides a new perspective that mixes terror with moments of dark comedy. Some may find the ending less adventurous than the first, but it neatly wraps up character arcs and gives a satisfying, if unnerving, climax. The movie ultimately acts as a commentary on the hazards of social niceties and ignoring red signs, making it a thought-provoking viewing experience.