Teeth.   “You know, I do have a perfectly good pussy.”  4.0 out of 5.0

Most cultures, past and present, view the female body as an animated work of mysterious and enigmatic natural art.  The curves, the crescents, the organic feminine flow of the body of the woman all contribute to its association with the essence of what cultures claim to be true beauty.  But why, in these cultures, is the female body so remarkable, such an obsession?  Perhaps the curves contribute to the natural allure, but how then does one explain the so-called mystique surrounding the feminine figure; why, when women reveal themselves, is sexuality and shock an immediate thought, while, in contrast, when men reveal themselves, the reaction is almost tepid, repulsion from its vulgarity aside?  Perhaps it is naturally programmed within our minds to hold sacred and to an extent fear the vessel from inside which life emerges?  Or, perhaps we don’t trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn’t die.

        The film Teeth, an independent horror film which received considerable attention within the indie film circuit, is the story of blonde beauty Dawn (Jess Weixler), a teenage abstinence advocate and member of the “Promise Ring” club at her high school (which I presume to be located in Kansas, based on their textbooks and the evident hostility inside of a biology class examining evolution and adaptation), who, like any other adolescent girl, is coming to terms with her body, and, subsequently, her sexuality.  Naturally, her libido is increasing in spite of her strong anti-sexual will, and she grows attracted to Tobey (Hale Appleman), a nice young man and fellow member of the abstinence club.  However, despite her attraction to Tobey, Dawn fights her urge to have sex with him, first luring him with kisses and then turning him away.  Eventually, Tobey grows sick of this teasing charade Dawn puts on and decides to take things into his own hands; little did we know that Tobey, in fact, fantasizes about Dawn and masturbates, and, well, we just can’t have that now, can we?  Things seem to be going well for Tobey and not so much for Dawn when, suddenly, the tables turn; we hear a sickening crunch, a wet sort of pop, and then an awkwardly high-pitched and terrified scream from Tobey.  Tobey pulls away, and we see that Dawn’s vagina is not pleased with Tobey’s intrusion, and has taken the liberty to munch off the poor soul’s penis.  Tobey proceeds to scream insanely, as does Dawn, and Tobey runs off with a  few inches off the front when Dawn’s honey pot spits out Tobey’s disembodied bushwhacker.  Dawn runs home, terrified, and desperately searches for answers to her questions, namely “Why did my vagina just try to eat my new boyfriend?” and discovers that she has a clinical case of the legendary vagina dentata, or the toothed vagina.

        Teeth is probably one of the most original horror films to come out in recent years.  The film itself is a throwback to 1970s exploitation flicks in much the same way that Eli Roth’s Cabin Fever (2001) and the underappreciated Slither (2006) served as homage to The Evil Dead (1979) and The Thing (1981).  However, unlike Cabin Fever and Slither, the threat is based slightly more in reality, and relies much more on basic human fears; not on fears of violation so much as on fears of repressed sexuality, hidden power, and for men, the universal fear of castration.  Teeth examines a young girl who, much like Stephen King’s Carrie White, is unnaturally repressed and unfamiliar with her own physicality, and who, despite her naïve mind, has a terrifying power which she is capable of unleashing upon her wrongdoers.

        The film also takes a smart look at awe directed towards the female body.  Dawn herself says that women have a “natural modesty,” another way to phrase the natural mystique and fear of women within humanity’s subconscious.  However, the secret of Dawn’s body is not so much “veiled by modesty” as it is, say, “hidden within the murky confines of the female cavity.”  Maybe we aren’t so much afraid of women’s bodily capabilities so much as we are afraid of the possibilities of what in the world could be lurking beyond the vulva.  For most women, it’s just the cervix, the uterus, the Fallopian tubes, and the rest of that health class mumbo-jumbo.  For Dawn, however, it’s a beast akin to the tentacle-laden Tatooine pit monster from Return of the Jedi (1986).

        Teeth is one of the most effectively shocking and horrifically funny horror films in recent memory, as well as one of the most well-made.  Director Mitchell Lichtenstein constantly provides us with subtle (or maybe not-so-subtle) imagery and locales to remind us of Dawn’s hidden potential.  Two nuclear power plants form in silhouette the shape of an opened vulva.  The hallowed-out base of a tree forms an uncanny shape.  Even the first of many castrations takes place inside of a dark, wet cave...laden with stalactites, no less.  For splatter fans, the hideous gore effects are very well-done; blood gushes forth from emasculated stumps, pieces of flaccid flesh lie limp on the ground like beheaded snakes, a loosened tooth protrudes about an inch long, drawing comparisons to sharks and lampreys.  While the vagina dentata story is stuff of legend and myth, we are infected with horrifyingly realistic images which we conjure within our minds even though we don’t get the opportunity to see them on-screen.

        Overall, Teeth succeeds as a complete and well-rounded horror film.  Made with independent edge and sensibility, it’s an excellent departure from studio-churned modern horror; it provides horror fans a great dark comedy and fairly original take on the teenage-girl-with-unnatural-power story. In fact, it almost improves upon it; the film avoids ripping off of Brian De Palma’s Carrie (1976) by removing the teenage angst and constant bullying and instead replaces it with a feeling of justifiable distress and the subsequent abandonment of restrictions.  Once Dawn overcomes her fear of her power, she uses it to get even with those who wrong her and violate her, both physically and emotionally.  We get someone who has a power, and, for once in a movie, realizes that it’s hers forever and that she’s got to make the best of it.  Ironically, the only one with enough balls to accept her power is the one that has the power to, well, remove them.  In a few years, when critics and audiences look back on the 2000s horror films and try to determine which ones had the most impact, Teeth will undoubtedly be one of them.  Smart, funny, and razor-sharp, Teeth has some real bite to it.  Rated R.