On stage in front of the giant screen before the film last night, Paul Williams recalled the days when the film was released in 1974. "What was very good fortune for us, was that it wasn't a small hit, or even a big hit," Williams told the Canneds audience. "It was a film that, the people that loved it, would not walk away from."

Before he gained much deserved acclaim for films like Carrie, Scarface and The Untouchables, Brian De Palma was best known for scrappy experimental films like Hi Mom and Sisters. The Phantom of the Paradise was an apparent attempt at a commercial breakthrough. But some audiences were weirded out by its garish ambience, and some jaded critics considered it a ho-hum satire of the music industry.

In retrospect, it’s simply one of the strangest movies we’ve ever seen — and one of the coolest. Music producer Swan (Paul Williams, who also provides much of the haunting music) makes naive songwriter Winslow Leach (William Finley) sell his soul and his songs so that they can be performed by Swan’s pet protege, Phoenix (Jessica Harper). He seeks justice by becoming The Phantom of the Paradise.

The atmospherics are incredible — doomed and portentous, without ever veering fully into camp. It’s also fun to note that Williams would, just a few years after this, co-write “The Rainbow Connection” for Kermit the Frog — and to wonder if, considering that De Palma and George Lucas traveled in the same circles, The Phantom influenced Darth Vader.

“You remember exactly what the anxiety was of the day,” Henry said of rewatching “Body Double” for the interview. “Seeing the shots that were difficult…I don’t know if you remember the shot that sort of like when Sam first takes Jake up to the house? It’s the looking and seeing the view, you see it from outside and whatever and then takes him over to the Hollywood sign and the camera then goes from inside to outside the house, and it’s this long shot that goes out as the score sort of kicks in, and looking at us in the window and then it connects to the other house. All of that, we were on Stage 16, the big stage of Warner Bros. They built both houses in this stage so that he could execute these kind of shots.”

While the erotic thriller pays homage to “Rear Window,” Henry detailed just how much “craziness” was going on behind the scenes, including De Palma refusing to film the climax outside after one “freezing” night shoot.

“Speaking of that big stage, we shot the scene that takes place by the aqueduct, right where the grave ends up being dug,” Henry said. “We went out and shot the first scene scheduled there. I knew all of the freeway. It comes down on the mountains, that border, and they have some shots of it in the movie that are really, really cool. We were shooting up there, but it was freezing. It was so cold, and we’d be up there at like two in the morning, three in the morning, four in the morning, and Brian is like, ‘That’s it. We’re not shooting up here anymore.’ And so he then took the other corner of [Stage] 16 and built a piece of the aqueduct type. I think the schedule sort of widened a little bit for what was going be done on the stage that night, but it was so terribly cold out there.”

Upon being moved indoors, the “special shots” for that scene included Henry throwing dirt into the grave of Melanie Griffith’s character.

“I’m up on 25 feet, way up, so you get that long shot from underneath of the dirt coming down. Then all the stuff that took place there at that location instead of, you know, in the grave,” Henry said.

Shocking and resonant, disarmingly grotesque and weirdly fun, “The Substance” is a feminist body-horror film that should be shown in movie theaters all over the land. By that, I don’t mean that it’s some elegant exercise in egghead darkness like the films of David Cronenberg, or a patchy postmodern punk curio like “Titane.” Coralie Fargeat, the writer-director of “The Substance,” has a voice that’s italicized, in-your-face, garishly accessible and thrillingly extreme. She draws on much of the hyperbolic flamboyance that’s come to define megaplex horror. But unlike 90 percent of those movies, “The Substance” is the work of a filmmaker with a vision. She’s got something primal to say to us.

Fargeat, who has made one previous feature (2017’s “Revenge”), works in a wide-angle-lens, up-from-exploitation style that might be described as cartoon grindhouse Kubrick. It’s like “A Clockwork Orange” fused with the kinetic aesthetics of a state-of-the-art television commercial. Fargeat favors super-close-ups (of body parts, cars, eating, kissing), with sounds to match, and she also vacuums up influences the way Brian De Palma once did (though he, in this case, is one of them). We’ve all seen dozens of retreads of the Jekyll-and-Hyde story, but Fargeat, in her imaginative audacity, fuses it with “Showgirls,” and even that isn’t enough for her. She draws heavily on the hallucinatory moment in “The Shining” where Jack Torrance embraces a young woman in a bathtub, only to see her transformed into a cackling old crone. Beyond that, Fargeat‘s images recall the exploding-beast-with-a-writhing-face in John Carpenter’s “The Thing,” the bloodbath prom of “Carrie,” and the addiction-turned-dread of “Requiem for a Dream.”

What makes all of this original is that Coralie Fargeat fuses it with her own stylized aggro voice (she favors minimal dialogue, which pops like something out of a graphic novel), and with her feminist outrage over the way that women have been ruled by the world of images. At first, though, the over-the-top-ness does take a bit of getting used. Dennis Quaid plays the brash pig of a network executive, in baroquely decorated suit jackets, who has decided to fire Elisabeth, and when he’s having lunch with her, shoving shrimp in his mouth from what feels like four inches away from the audience, you want to recoil as much as she does. But Fageat is actually great with her actors; she knows that Quaid’s charisma, even when he’s playing a showbiz vulgarian as reprehensible as this, will make him highly watchable.

Special makeup effects designer Pierre-Olivier Persin becomes the film’s secret weapon in its second half. Unlike other films that claim to be body-horror, Fargeat delivers in spectacular and revolting fashion, not just conjuring memories of David Cronenberg but also Brian De Palma. At 140 minutes, The Substance can feel bloated and a tad repetitive, but the extra runtime allows Fargeat to push her disturbing premise to its logical, funny, utterly disgusting end point.

Well, they’re both not dissimilar, they’re a similar age group, aren’t they. And, you know, Terrence, he does that very familial thing of saying, “Will you just come and join us?” He left me a voice message – I was in Washington doing a play, and he said, “I’d like you to be in my film.” And I said, “Well, I’d like to meet you.” I didn’t really want to just do a film with somebody having not met them. So he came to New York and we had breakfast. And he said, “What will you have for breakfast?” And I said, “An omelette.” And he said, “I think I’ll have an omelette, too.” [laughing] And he’s the most beautiful, simple, person you could meet. And then I went down to Smithville, and we made it very familially. He would shoot all night, just keep the camera rolling while the young kids played around and snakes would come out from under a rock and he’d follow the snake, follow the kid. And he would make it and make it, and I think he shot maybe… I mean, maybe he shot a thousand hours of film. And for a long time the producer would ring me up and say, “You know, you’re really a leading character in that film. He’s really captured you.” And then in the last six weeks, he gets rid of me. So each of us was … holding this film up, and then he just takes you away, and leaves what he needs. And that’s the person. So, you know, it’s more rewarding to work with him than it is [laughing and indecipherable]. But, wonderful genius.

And I loved Brian De Palma because he’s very grumpy. And very, kind of, uncharming, in the best sense, because you feel you’re with a real person. You know. And one night, there was one big bit, a man was having his head cut off. And I said, “Does this still bother you?” And he said, “Are you kidding me? I’ve been doing this since 1962.” [laughs] He just does horror and torture without any… you know, he has no … he hasn’t got the excitement that John Krasinski has about making a scene happen, he just does it. You know, he just does it, like work.