The Substance

Demi Moore is scarily good as an actress who drinks at the wrong fountain of youth

This corrosively vicious horror satire begins with an inspired joke: You're looking down the Hollywood Walk of Fame as a fresh, five-pointed plaque is being laid into the pavement. It's a polished marble testament to a beloved actress named Elisabeth Sparkle. Then years go by-Sparkle's star is ignored, neglected, de-sparkled. Passersby step on it with no thought of the name beneath their hurrying feet.

You couldn't come up with a more stinging metaphor for how movie fame, for all its glitter, can become a tombstone. (Seen any Greta Garbo movies lately?)