Going to the cinema recently, I can’t help but be struck by a sense that film is becoming increasingly literal. This vague sense hardened into a crystallised thought when I went to see The Substance, a film about an aging Hollywood star creating, in a very visceral way, a perfect, younger version of herself. The film is extraordinarily stylish, alongside its stomach-churning gore, with flashy dance sequences scored by pulsating electronic music and flawless, uncanny set design.
The message, conveyed through its central concept, is a crystal-clear critique of societal pressures on women’s bodies surrounding aging. But is it any more than that? Yes, it’s a very fun watch, with its deliciously outrageous body horror, but I was left wanting more, well, substance from The Substance, which seems to almost talk down to its audience in how allegorical and repetitive its central messaging is.
This theme, perhaps, can be traced back to 2023’s Barbie, another flashy, fun, but ultimately disappointing didactic feminist piece that comes across as more of a beginner’s guide to feminism than anything truly revolutionary. I’m not saying that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy Barbie, or that it has nothing worthwhile to say (I actually think it has too much to say.)
Yorgos Lanthimos’ Poor Things, released in the same year, fails for me in the same way. It looks absolutely gorgeous, and should be perfect, but despite its outer shell of weirdness, the events of the film felt like boringly obvious observations of what feminism should look like (Women can enjoy sex? How
revolutionary!).
Feminist filmmaking is obviously a great and necessary thing, and can inspire so much change; but such matter-of-fact stories leave me wondering whether they are making any positive difference at all. I want films about women that feel like real people, not cardboard cutouts of women who exist to teach a feminist message.
I’m so tired of films trying to tell me things. I want to be confused. I want to be mystified. I want to honestly try to work out what a film was saying after I watch it, rather than being spoon-fed an obvious metaphor.
“I want to be confused. I want to be mystified.”
A counter to these literal films could be found in the surreal yet grounded work of the late David Lynch. I remember walking out of a screening of Mulholland Drive and being almost annoyed at how confused I was by its themes and dreamlike haze, or befuddled by the latest episode of Twin Peaks that my flatmate projected on her dorm room wall. This is the emotion I want films to elicit, what really excites me about cinema. It’s not that all films should be confusing, but I find I am left satiated when there is some untangling I can sink my teeth into.
With Lynch’s passing, it almost feels like a certain era of cinema is over. Perhaps this is just a personal preference, but I can’t help but think that film could be a lot more impactful if it left us thinking more, and told us less.