Director: David Atkins (first time director; wrote the cult classic, “Arizona Dream”)
Cast: Steve Martin, Helena Bonham Carter, Laura Dern
Rating: R — sex, violence, drug use, and unlawful acts of dentistry that make your teeth march out of the theater
Area Sightings: Fine Arts Theatre

It’s hard to appreciate the smell of grinding teeth. I recall that scent from the days of yore when my wisdom teeth decided to see what the open air had to offer. My dentist was there to greet them with an Inquisition-like drilling device (making an Iron Maiden looked like a feather mattress) that pried the curious teeth from their gummy outlet. I knew the pain was there, but my world had been altered by the dentist’s soul mate, nitrous oxide. Not to mention the shot of Novocaine that was conveniently mainlined into my unwelcoming gums. The horrible discomfort was dozing, waiting for its moment to shine when the numbness lost hold.

This shadowed ache came a calling while watching the toothy noir, “Novocaine,” an independent pitch black comedy staring Steve Martin. The story centers around an anal dentist (Martin) who watches his whole life unravel when his attraction to a drug addict (Helena Bonham Carter) unleashes a mound of disastrous events.

Dr. Frank Sangster (Martin) is under the false notion that life is adorned with peaches. His practice is thriving, his gregarious secretary adores him, and his gorgeous fiancé, Jean (Laura Dern), is tall, blonde, breathes Yoga, and kick boxes with a sexy fervor. Dr. Sangster has built the ultimate uptight life, and his pursed grin shows a man inadequately satisfied.

But, alas, his material days are about to crumble when Susan Ivey (Carter) stops by for a root canal.

Susan is the antithesis of Jean — sloppily dressed, hair flitted together in disorganized pigtails, and a pasty pallor that only a street urchin could appreciate. But Frank is attracted to her in the most primal sense. His animal glow is obvious the minute he gazes at his one o’clock. The perfect world of white walls and politically correct conversations fly out the window like untrapped gas.

Susan is a very bad girl. When Frank offers her Ibuprofen, she claims she’s allergic, and the only thing that helps the pain is Demo ... Dema ...

“Demerol?” Frank asks.

“Yeah, that’s it,” she says behind feline indifference.

“I’m not that kind of dentist,” Frank asserts.

The movie could end there. Drug addict turned down by a man of morals and teeth. Doctor is happily married and retires to Tahiti at 50. However, Susan’s cooing melts the doctor’s brittle fortress, and before you can say, “no pain,” Frank writes out a prescription for 5 tablets of Demerol goodness.

The flick of the pen ends Frank’s salad days. The white picket fence, the dog, the three kids, and the complimentary two car garage are dissolved — thanks to the little dictator below the belt line. Lust fogs Frank’s common sense, betraying him when all he has to do is tell the truth. It begins when our protagonist minx adds a zero to the five and strides out of the pharmacy with 50 Demerol. Frank could have blown the whistle then, but his attraction befuddles his tattletale instinct. When Susan shows up that evening for her exam (“Oh, I thought it was 7:30 p.m., not a.m.”), he chides her by sleeping with her in the dentist chair (don’t front, reader, you know you’ve thought about it).

The only way to weasel out this situation is to lie. And Frank starts building them like an unscrupulous development contractor. When his supply of narcotics is taken, Frank knows who it is, but his carnal desire puts mischief on the tongue. He lies to cops, to the DEA, his faithful secretary, and his angel-pie of a fiancé.

Bad situations thicken like unneeded cornstarch. Frank’s black sheep brother, Harlan (Elias Koteas) shows up and decides to camp on his couch for an indefinite period. Harlan’s taste for illicits rivals Susan’s, and his addiction gives Frank a sub-plot he doesn’t need. Susan’s brother, Duane (Scott Caan) is a filthy little troll, and his jealousy of Frank magnifies every minute. Out of this mess come murders, betrayals, and a whole lot of uncomfortable tooth shots (you’ll have to see the movie).

Frank’s painful dilemma is obvious. But it’s numbed by an attraction to a waif that can only offer him temporary comfort. He ignores the obvious repercussions, knowing full well that sooner of later his epiphany is going to feel like a disregarded rotted tooth. “Lying is a lot like tooth decay,” he notes in one voice-over. “One small lie, and everything unravels from there.”

All the good dentist has to do is tell the truth, and all the ogres go away. But you get the sense that Frank almost wants out of this perfect life. It’s too tidy, too easily tainted by a stray smudge. His “savior” is a woman who represents chaos and dirt. She has a ticket to Hades and Frank follows, white starched coat and all.

First-time director David Atkins (whose father and two brothers are both dentists) does a good job of lacing humor inside a twist that would have made Hitchcock blush. There’s a good amount of predictability, but it’s fun watching heaps of disaster coagulate into a satisfying ending. Steve Martin should also be commended for taking a risk with an independent film that doesn’t equate into big box office numbers. He plays Dr. Sangster with convincing uneasiness, putting on an acting sheen reminiscent of the poor sod he played in “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.” And, of course, there’s Helena Bonham Carter who slinks around the screen, making adultery seem chic. Carter (who played the same kind of seductress in “Fight Club”) needs to make sure she’s not typecast in the future. Her dirty ways are perfect for many a ribald script. Also, watch out for a cameo by Kevin Bacon, who plays an actor following cops around for his next big role.

“Novocaine,” like a trip to the dentist, is not comfortable for everyone. The movie is labeled a comedy, but some of the violence (against molars and humans) makes it as serious as an overdue bill for braces. Hopefully, you’ll find the laughs overshadowing those uncomfortable moments of gore. Besides, watching pain for $7 is a lot better than feeling pain for $700.

(Hunter Pope writes about entertainment for The Smoky Mountain News. He can be reached at w.h.pope@worldnet.att.net)

 

Back to Top

The Smoky Mountain News