The new series from television architect Ryan Murphy and his collaborator Matthew Hodgson, titled “The Beauty,” immediately lays bare its ambitious intentions and inherent limitations within its very first scene.
Amidst a Paris catwalk showcase, where models glide with practiced poise, one face stands out, literally radiating more intensity than the rest. This is Ruby, portrayed by Bella Hadid, who is shown drenched in sweat and overcome by thirst. Her desperation for water leads her to seize water bottles from her fellow fashionistas. Cornered and gasping, she experiences a sudden and fatal spontaneous combustion.
This arresting, albeit extreme, opening may captivate some viewers while others might find it less compelling. However, it aligns with the established patterns of Murphy’s previous works, such as “Glee” and “American Horror Story.” His characteristic blend of sensationalism and spectacle might have appeared perfectly suited to the glossy yet gruesome narrative of “The Beauty.” The series purports to follow two FBI agents as they investigate a series of deaths across Europe’s fashion capitals, uncovering a clandestine drug operation and a sexually transmitted infection, both of which offer alluring but deadly consequences.
Yet, in execution, the series often feels disjointed and unfocused.
A recurring element in Murphy’s productions, alongside body horror, has been their reliance on extracting meaningful truths from their often audacious content. “The Beauty,” however, primarily conveys one central message: the inherent futility of striving to meet the ever-escalating and unattainable standards of beauty.
While the series occasionally delivers thrill with its graphic transformations, including the aforementioned catwalk carnage, its attempt at social commentary remains, regrettably, superficial. Much of this critique is confined to rather facile jabs at individuals using Ozempic. Coupled with aesthetic missteps, “The Beauty” struggles to capture the transgressive essence that typically defines compelling body horror. Furthermore, the series feels derivative, not necessarily because it is an adaptation of a well-known comic book, but because its insights are largely predictable and lacking in originality.
To appreciate what “The Beauty” aspired to be, one might consider David Cronenberg’s masterwork, “The Fly.” Despite a significantly different narrative, “The Fly” explores remarkably similar thematic territory.
In Cronenberg’s film, scientist Seth Brundle, played by Jeff Goldblum, grapples with the functionality of his experimental teleportation pods for living organisms. Following a romantic entanglement with reporter Ronnie Quaife (Geena Davis), Brundle succumbs to late-night insecurity and tests his machine. This leads to an accidental hybridization with a common housefly.
“The Fly” stands as a remarkably original love story, delving into the complexities and limitations of intimacy while unearthing profound truths. The gradual physical disintegration of Seth never fully erodes the affection between him and Ronnie. Cronenberg masterfully interweaves romance with deeply unsettling horror, ensuring that neither element diminishes the other. Concurrently, the film subtly explores themes concerning the ego’s demands, gender dysphoria, psychological fixation, and even the AIDS epidemic.
“The Beauty” does touch upon analogous subjects. One character expresses hope that years of PrEP usage might offer protection against a novel infection. Elsewhere, a transgender woman contemplating medical transition fears that a particular beautifying drug might impede her progress. The series even features a scene where a character meticulously removes their fingernails, mirroring Seth Brundle’s realization that something has gone terribly wrong with his transformation.
However, whenever the creators of “The Beauty” engage with potentially richer subject matter, their approach tends to be overly didactic. This contrasts sharply with Cronenberg’s method, which allows the implicit meanings within Seth and Ronnie’s story to resonate organically with the audience.
The underlying lesson suggests that while humanity may extensively alter the physical form in both alarming and astonishing ways, the true source of horror lies in a failure to conceive of anything genuinely new.
Further Recommendation: The Substance
Coralie Fargeat
Full disclosure necessitates an admission: the personal enjoyment derived from “The Substance” is uncertain. Nevertheless, this film demands to be seen, if only for a single, pivotal scene. It depicts aging star Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) administering the titular drug, resulting in her back splitting open to reveal a younger, more aesthetically pleasing iteration of herself.
In essence, “The Substance” achieves what “The Beauty” falters in, and it does so with a considerably greater degree of dynamism and verve.
Bethan Ackerley serves as a subeditor at New Scientist. Her interests encompass science fiction, sitcoms, and all things related to the spooky. She can be followed on X @inkerley.