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In their new musical “Teeth,” making its world premiere at Playwrights Horizons off-Broadway, writers Anna K. Jacobs and Michael R. Jackson dive straight into this dark world, especially the shame and insidious secrets that preside over it. The show explicitly features acts of rape and assault that may be difficult for some to watch (or even read). But “Teeth” is a cheeky, unique and laugh-worthy piece of musical theater, even if it sometimes falls flat.
According to the pastor’s teachings, virginity is the quickest path to salvation, so the young women of this quaint, fictional town in Eden must remain steadfast in preserving their “precious gift.” But as the carnal urges of teenage Promise Keepers begin to increase, that promise of godliness becomes harder to keep. Especially when Dawn’s boyfriend, a basketball star named Tobey (Jason Gotay), looks so good sporting the No. 7 jersey (the Bible ending number) on his chest.
Jacobs and Jackson, as co-authors of the book, shamelessly weave such biblical allusions and popular Christian rhetoric into their satirical play. Jackson, who won the 2020 Pulitzer Prize for his hit musical “A Strange Loop,” fearlessly writes lyrics filled with punchy rhymes (“My panties are wet / But it’s not blood and sweat”) that director Sarah Benson animates to her ensemble. to sing. with zealous conviction.
The musical turns the tenets of evangelicalism on their head, mocking the rigidity of modesty and purity culture. From the beginning, Jacobs’ music even welcomes Christian rock into the soundscape, mixing it with Americana folk and strident pop. The result is the kind of simple, dazzling music one might expect from Natasha Bedingfield…if Natasha were singing about the burning insides of her.
Louis is a great physical comedian and emotional talent here, expertly oscillating between Dawn’s chastity and her concupiscence; at points, he even moves on the church’s red carpet floor (appropriately damp and decrepit thanks to scenic designer Adam Rigg) as if it gives him an orgasmic release. Dawn relies so much on “the sting of shame in (her) body” as a moral compass that her character finds it confusing when she begins to feel seriously ill, as if something inside her is wrong. And that’s when “Teeth” starts drawing blood.
Those familiar with director Mitchell Lichtenstein’s 2007 horror film of the same name, the basis for this musical, will already know Dawn’s diagnosis: vagina dentata, or vagina with teeth. For centuries, this mythical disorder served as a sexist exaggeration of the serpentine “evils” that women have between their legs. With her musical, Jacobs and Jackson try to recover the misogynistic myth, positioning Dawn as an anti-heroine: the fangs only come out when she is raped or assaulted.
The first few times that happens, she blames herself, a scathing critique of the Book of Genesis society’s old habit of putting all the responsibility for men’s sins on women. But after falling victim to one too many lewd interactions, including with her incel stepbrother Brad (Will Connolly), Dawn’s feminine rage takes over and she goes from cherubic church leader to murderous siren. .
Benson is in complete control of everything and leads her ensemble through these tonal shifts, from fundamentalist satire to sobering depiction of sexual violence to castration bacchanal. Jacobs’ music follows suit, evolving into a cacophony of punk rock numbers that energetically feed Dawn and the Promise Keeper Girls (at this point, more like the Phallus Killer Girls) into their rampage.
While it’s all raucous and fun, one can’t help but wish for more for our protagonist. Pastor, Brad, Tobey – these men govern every aspect of Dawn’s inner and outer life. As delightfully triumphant as it is to see her reject her influence, separate members from her, and spearhead “feminocratic liberation,” what kind of woman is she? between That overwhelming guilt and seething rage? “Teeth” doesn’t know. Or if she does, he never opens his mouth to tell the rest of us.
Teeth, through April 14 at Playwrights Horizons in New York. One hour and 55 minutes without intermission. playwrighthorizons.org.