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| Credits |
Director: Mitchell Lichtenstein
Starring: Jess Weixler, John Hensley, Josh Pais, Hale Appleman, Lenny von Dohlen
Screenplay: Mitchell Lichtenstein
Country: USA |
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Ever had the sneaking suspicion that inside your lady friend's snatch lie row upon row of razor-sharp canines just waiting to make mincemeat out of your innocent member? Me neither. Sounds like a load of Freudian psychobabble bollocks. Yet it is the supposedly long-standing, if subconscious, male fear of vagina dentata that forms the crux of Mitchell Lichtenstein's feature-length debut.
Not only is prudish teenager Dawn (Jess Weixler) abstaining from sex until wedlock, she apparently feels her purpose on this earth is convincing as many of her peers as possible to follow suit. Organising rallies, spouting tortured 'true love waits' claptrap and wearing a succession of t-shirts emblazoned with sanctimonious slogans is all par for the course. Then she meets fellow abstainer Tobey, sparks fly, and before you know it the pair are at a local makeout spot sans trousers. Dawn remembers her pledge to God in the nick of time but Tobey is having none of it, forcing himself upon her with decidedly unchristian abandon. Well, that turns out to be a mistake, as Dawn is apparently the embodiment of the aforementioned fable. Her toothy crotch is appalled at Tobey's violation and expresses its disdain in no uncertain terms, much to the surprise of both. In the ensuing histrionics Tobey bleeds to death, a crab scuttles off with his dick and young Dawn winds her way homeward in something of a quandary.
Not that her home life is any less fractious. Her relationship with stepbrother Brad (John Hensley) has been a little strained, to say the least, since a childhood incident in which her vagina bit off the tip of his index finger. Whilst the memory appears to have been neatly repressed, the trauma has resulted in a decided preference for alternate forms of lovemaking, much to the chagrin of Brad's long-suffering girlfriend. 'You know, I've got a perfectly good pussy' she complains after one of their numerous marathon anal sex sessions. Unconvinced, the libidinous fellow is seen roughly sodomising her on several other occasions, stopping only long enough to tastefully inform his sweetheart that she 'looks better with a dick in her ass.'
Long story short: Dawn decides to put her snaggletoothed pussy to good use, fighting misogyny and chauvinism by seducing a series of cads and subjecting their nether regions to her distinct brand of justice. The tagline of this movie should have been When the shit hits the fan, the cocks hit the floor. This is literally what occurs during one notable scene in which Dawn stands triumphant over one of her victims, pausing momentarily before letting his mangled old fella tumble out of her ravenous minge. Then his dog eats it, presumably putting to bed any hopes of a John Bobbitt-style reattachment.
I can safely say I never thought I'd see a film about a carnivorous and decidedly vengeful vagina. Ultimately however, given its central premise rests on a mix of mythology, dimestore psychology and feminist horseshit, Teeth is a memorable but highly muddled debut. Ostensibly a horror-comedy, Lichtenstien plays it so unrelentingly straight (no pun intended) that any hint of levity almost completely falls by the wayside. Penises being severed left right and centre, rape, sexism, a bit more rape - call me a boring old hetero, but that's not my idea of fun. There are a couple of lighthearted moments amidst all the cock-lopping, such as when an impish surgeon appraises one of the many appendages to be reattached before dryly noting 'it's hardly worth bothering,' but these are few and far between. Ultimately Mitchell 'Son of Roy' Lichtenstien's debut feature is a decidedly fault-laden, if spirited, opening gambit. |
