Born With Teeth Review

Review by Giada

When I was a teenager, I used to masturbate over Harry and Louis fanfictions. This compulsion not only made me realise from an early age that sex is 80% foreplay, but also, foreseeably, that I was destined to the grand path of literary criticism. I naturally developed a skill set similar to that of men choosing porn from the thumbnail: I got pretty quick at clocking if a story had potential. I was ten minutes deep in when the thought hit me - Born With Teeth should have never made it out of Wattpad.

Photo by Johan Persson

I’ll admit, I fell hard into the trap of the marketing lore. It must have worked pretty well on every level, cause it literally made it into the show. Frames from the photo shoot, set against LED panels paired with strobe lights and techno music, attempt to disguise – with a contemporary and quirky direction – what is ultimately a dull and soulless production. Undoubtedly, Born With Teeth will open to raving reviews, acclaiming how sexy, queer, and edgy it is. But I’m here to ask you to resist the hype.

Three 30-minute-long scenes, spanning a period of three years, comprise a structure that is tedious and repetitive. Each follows the same dynamic, with an introductory phase, followed by bickering and flirting, and then a tiny reference to the threatening world outside, enough to suspend the banter and bring the action forward. Within such monolithic walls, it's almost ironic how narratively inconsistent the play manages to be.

Sparked by a study suggesting that Henry VI (Parts I–III) was likely a collaborative effort, playwright Liz Duffy Adams locks Marlowe and Shakespeare up in a shadowy tavern backroom, charged with the duty - and delight - of writing a cycle of history plays. If it’s true that opposite attracts, building a partnership fuelled by literary envy, unspoken desires, and clashing temperaments is a poisonous proposition. Ultimately, the script, as their relation, fails to move beyond its intriguing premises.

Photo by Johan Persson

Kit Marlow, as a character, is simply two-dimensional. Ncuti Gatwa makes up for it with his smirky, witty, mischievous stage persona. It felt so familiar, it got me pondering: was he - brilliantly - playing Marlow the same way as his Algernon Moncrieff in The Importance of Being Ernest (which is, btw, opening next door with an unsurprisingly whitened-up cast)? Upon discussions with friends, I came to the conclusion that, knowing what is expected of him, he might just be running with the typecasting. This would be yet another testimony of how rarely black bodies get access to the West End (let alone their stories), and when they do, it’s for the white gaze to fetishise them.

Edward Bluemel renders a naïve, fearful, morally “righteous” Will Shakespeare. His internal struggles span more than Kit’s, allowing some emotional truths to come through. Apparently destined to succumb to Kit’s darkness, it’s Will who will ;) eventually prosper.

Of course, the chemistry between these two was undeniable. But nothing could make up for the flimsy and (dare I say?) cringy dialogue. And I understand that Duffy Adams, through Will and Kit,
made it clear this would be a romanticised take on history. But that choice ultimately gutted the only truly rich thread the play could have explored: art in service of power and censorship. In some sort of improper body-swap, it feels like it’s me who has experienced more of Queen Elizabeth’s totalitarian rule, the religious persecution, the ravening plague than Kit and Will, for whom it is merely a convenient literary device. With a lot of romance and a little history, any substance is swept away in order to give the target audience exactly what it wanted.

With a set stripped to an underwhelming bare minimum, the perfectly tailored costumes of Johanna Scotcher stand out. Bridging the Victoria age with the Met Ball, I couldn’t really tell if Will and Kit were about to attend a public hanging at the Newgate Prison or drink an overpriced matcha latte in East London.

Photo by Johan Persson

At the end, it’s the constant wondering about every acting, directing, and writing choice that distracted me. And kept me awake. Sadly, putting all together, the result is an insufferable, hollow, self-indulgent produc(tion). You might be Born With Teeth, but you still need to learn how to bite.

Born With Teeth runs at London's Wyndhams Theatre until Saturday 1st November 2025. Tickets are available from https://www.wyndhamstheatre.co.uk/whats-on/born-with-teeth