Teeth – Film Review

Mitchell Lichtenstein’s 2007 horror-comedy Teeth is one of those films that rides almost entirely on the strength of its premise. The concept of a young woman discovering she possesses “vagina dentata”—a mythical condition where teeth grow in the vagina—feels like the perfect launchpad for a sharp, satirical, and grotesquely entertaining horror experience. However, while Teeth flirts with horror, dark comedy, and feminist themes, it ultimately suffers from uneven execution, shallow character development, and tonal inconsistencies that hinder its ability to fully capitalize on its intriguing concept. What could have been a biting critique of sexual politics and power dynamics ends up feeling like a film caught between wanting to be an exploitative horror movie and a serious allegory—never fully succeeding at either.

The film introduces us to Dawn O’Keefe (Jess Weixler), a high school student and devout purity advocate who actively promotes abstinence through her church’s chastity group. Living under the shadow of a nuclear power plant, her small-town existence is filled with repression, guilt, and naïveté, as she struggles to reconcile her natural desires with the rigid, sex-negative dogma she has internalized.

Lichtenstein establishes an intriguing contrast between Dawn’s worldview and the pressures surrounding her. The opening scenes introduce the unsettling premise: a childhood incident in a kiddie pool hints at Dawn’s unique biological condition when she unknowingly injures a boy who tries to inappropriately touch her. From there, the film sets up its central conflict—Dawn’s growing awareness of her sexuality colliding with the horrifying discovery that her body has a terrifying defense mechanism.

The early parts of Teeth are arguably its strongest, as they create a compelling narrative around repression and the dangers of a society that teaches women to fear their own bodies. The first act successfully builds a sympathetic portrait of Dawn, making her transformation into a reluctant force of nature somewhat compelling. However, as the film progresses, it stumbles over its own ambitions, leading to an experience that is neither particularly insightful nor consistently entertaining.

One of the biggest weaknesses of Teeth is its struggle to find the right tone. It fluctuates between campy horror, absurd satire, and disturbing sexual violence, yet never fully commits to any of them in a meaningful way. On one hand, the film seems to want to be a feminist revenge horror flick, empowering Dawn as she takes vengeance on predatory men. On the other, it revels in grotesque, almost exploitative scenes that border on shock value rather than meaningful commentary.

The film’s satirical elements—poking fun at the hypocrisy of purity culture and the way society both fears and fetishizes female sexuality—are promising in concept but underdeveloped in execution. There are moments of dark humor that work well, such as when Dawn researches “vagina dentata” online and finds absurd myths about how “only a hero” can overcome such a condition. However, these clever moments are few and far between, often drowned out by the film’s more jarring tonal shifts.

Additionally, Teeth’s treatment of sexual violence is troubling. Multiple scenes depict Dawn being assaulted or coerced, and while the film frames these moments as catalysts for her “awakening,” they feel exploitative rather than empowering. Instead of delivering a satisfying revenge narrative, Teeth often reduces its protagonist to a passive figure whose power is only triggered through trauma, rather than her own agency.

For a film marketed as horror, Teeth is surprisingly lacking in genuine scares or suspense. While the concept of vagina dentata is inherently unsettling, the execution of the horror elements leans more into grotesque body horror rather than psychological terror. The film’s most memorable moments involve the graphic depictions of Dawn’s victims—each of whom meets a grisly fate as her condition takes effect.

However, these moments, while shocking, don’t carry the weight they should. Instead of evoking fear or dread, they often feel like juvenile attempts at gross-out humor. A prime example is the scene in which a gynecologist, attempting a clearly inappropriate exam, gets his fingers bitten off. The over-the-top nature of the moment makes it more ridiculous than horrifying, undercutting any real tension that could have been built.

Worse still, the film lacks any real sense of stakes or escalation. Dawn’s transformation from a sheltered purity-ring-wearing teenager to a vengeance-driven figure is rushed and lacks emotional depth. Unlike traditional horror films where protagonists evolve through their experiences, Dawn remains frustratingly one-dimensional, making it hard to become truly invested in her journey.

At its core, Teeth presents an intriguing concept that could have provided a rich commentary on gender, power, and trauma. The idea of a woman’s body literally fighting back against abuse is a compelling metaphor, but the film does little to explore its deeper implications. Instead of using the vagina dentata myth as a nuanced examination of empowerment, Teeth reduces it to a gimmick—something that happens to Dawn rather than something she actively wields.

A more sophisticated film might have explored the psychological aspects of Dawn’s condition—her fear, her self-acceptance, or her eventual embrace of her power. However, Teeth never fully commits to any of these possibilities, instead opting for a series of repetitive encounters where men attempt to exploit her and subsequently suffer the consequences. The result is a film that feels more like a collection of shock moments rather than a cohesive narrative with a purpose.

If there’s one saving grace in Teeth, it’s Jess Weixler’s performance. She brings a believable sense of innocence and later defiance to Dawn, managing to make her character engaging even when the script fails to do so. Weixler plays the role with an earnestness that makes Dawn’s experiences feel real, even when the film around her struggles with coherence. Her ability to balance vulnerability and quiet strength makes her an actress to watch, even if Teeth itself doesn’t serve her talents well.

Ultimately, Teeth is a film that squanders its potential. What could have been a clever, subversive horror-comedy instead becomes a messy, inconsistent, and at times, uncomfortable watch. While the premise is undeniably intriguing, the execution lacks the depth, nuance, and commitment needed to make it truly effective. The film’s indecisiveness—straddling the line between satire and exploitation—prevents it from being either an empowering feminist statement or an effectively terrifying horror movie.

Despite its flashes of brilliance, particularly in its early setup and Jess Weixler’s performance, Teeth fails to leave a lasting impression beyond its initial shock value. It’s the kind of film that will be remembered for its audacious concept but forgotten for its lackluster storytelling. For those looking for a truly biting horror satire, there are far sharper films out there.