Here's an alternate version of the terrible review I am sure you missed the first time around at Proto-Cranky. Enjoy?
For your own good and because I remain in the throes of a certain acute form of male anxiety (and am feeling euphoric due to the meds), I will spoil this flick the way that it will destroy sex for you forever if you do not heed my warnings. This is not a joke. Go watch animal porn instead; it’s more wholesome. Ok.
A tender story about the littlest shop of horror, “Teeth”…
(Clears throat. And in a broken, pubescent voice.)
“Teeth” is a movie about, well…it’s about…uhh… this girl’s...um… thing... you know... down there... and… well, it…um… has fucking TEEEEEEEEETH! Hell, yes it does! And, Chews for Jesus, are they fucking sharp!
(Rides around on imaginary horse.)
YEEEEHA! Brusha Brusha Brusha! Try the new Crest! Now with spermicide! And while you’re at it, give that dog a BONE! WoooHooo! “Warning: Sex changes everything”, her T-shirt says. No shit! Sex with HER changes your fucking SEX! AhahahahahahahahahaBoohoohoohoohooAhahahahahahahaBoohoohoohoo….
Why, God? WHY?!?!
(Collapses. Leans head against toilet. Days pass…)
(Interior: white-washed medical ward. In soft focus.)
Where were we, friend? Oh, yes. The teeth...
Some girl whose mom is dying from something awful heads up her high school chastity group, Evangelizing Shit Against the Tide or something. And as every other preachy, morality-bound phony does, she up and decides that the rules don’t apply to her and that this cute, also-abstinent kid is deserving of her “special gift”. Whether or not she is fit to receive his Intractible Gift of Self (that’s Catholic for “spooge”) is, for reasons unclear, not examined. They should have been, because this girl is the devil. Anyhow, eyes are made, boners had, guilt wrought, and… Cut to cave-with-teeth. Really. The makeout cave has teeth. Just turn your Rocky Horror Picture Show poster sideways and staple a jagged tip of a hot dog to it and you get a glimpse at this flick’s sense of nuance.
Anyhow…lah dee dee… petting ensues, things happen and… What? Whaaaaaaat?!?!?! Forget it. Can’t do it.
I must resort to latin.
Vagina Dentata (translation: “Angelina Jolie”): Who other than a psychotic tattoo artist with a thing for eunuchs would come up with THAT shit? Apparently the Greeks did, which should surprise exactly nobody who saw the mutants in that gay porno, “300”.
So, VD, it turns out, is a legend as rooted in irrational fear as the neoconservative movement (the other pussies who bite). The sons of Homer, among other cultures run by conservative men who would rather wage war than face women, came to terms with their own inadequacies by giving the thing they desire most dentures (and then presumably took their frustrations out on little boys). Not so mighty. But as far as these things go the story relies on some modicum of sense. Literally speaking, however, one might ask, “Given the inherent complications of lamprey-shark-badger teeth vis a vis the act of procreation, how could such a mutation be passed on?” This would be a bad idea. Because the answer from “Teeth” is: It is only “The Prince of Pretty Horses who Knows What a Beautiful and Dainty Thing He is Banging” (or, like, that kid with the 2 dollar finger vibrator?) who can tame the teeth. So, I guess if you happen to have the Pit of Sarlaac for genitalia, all you need is an asexual being from Narnia and it’s orgasms all around! I weep for her fetus.
That said, the gigantic nuclear power plant down the street is as much responsible for the femme-dentures as it is for this bimbo’s homelife, which centers around a deathly ill mother, and a step-brother who nearly lost a digit to “the low bite” back before either can remember and who now has (along with the bimbo) a powerful, subliminal dread of…stuff. And, while Polly Purehart ignored her demons by becoming chaste, her brother, who looks like a reject from Depeche Mode applying to mop floors at Miami Ink, fights his lust for sister, etc. via dope smoking, air pistols, speed metal and compulsive, anal-only sex with his white trash girlfriend (to whom he also tries to feed dog biscuits). And by taunting an angry Rottweiller daily with his penis. You know, the usual. Textbook Freud. And now things really suck for Polly. But then, well… she learns something. Something precious. She learns from Fisty, her first gynecologist, and from an old pervert that perhaps the Clitorosaurus isn’t necessarily bad after all. And that, who knows? Perhaps evil CAN be punished… grotesquely. And that maybe, just maybe, the world is ready for its first vagilante.
Well, I am here to tell you it isn’t.
Men, run. Women, stay the hell away from me.