Milk Teeth: A Slow, Subtle Glimpse into Romania’s Shadowed Past

Mihai Mincan’s Milk Teeth carries the unmistakable stamp of Eastern European filmmaking with long pauses, silences that speak louder than words, and a strong focus on facial expressions rather than dialogue. It is a style that demands patience, but it also demands attention because what isn’t said often matters more than what is.

Set in late 1980s Romania during the crumbling years of Nicolae Ceaușescu’s dictatorship, the film places us inside the fractured world of a young girl, Maria, whose sister suddenly disappears. What begins as a family tragedy quickly reveals itself as a story about a broken system. The missing girl becomes another lost file in the thick layers of bureaucracy, swallowed by the indifference of the authorities. It is a quiet indictment of a time when voices, especially those of children and families, could vanish without leaving a trace.

What stands out most are the film’s dreamlike detours. Maria imagines her fears, and those fears are given form on screen through ominous dungeons, mysterious women, and disturbing imagery of childhood innocence corrupted. These moments are not meant to be taken literally. They blur the line between what is real and what is imagined, leaving viewers to wonder whether we are watching memory, fantasy, or a nightmare.

For me, the film struggled to hold its ground. Its pacing is undeniably slow, sometimes frustratingly so, and its subtlety risks making the message almost invisible. The refusal to clearly separate truth from fiction is interesting as an artistic choice, but it also left me wondering what the movie ultimately wanted to say.

Milk Teeth is certainly crafted with intention, but it is not a film that will appeal to everyone. If you enjoy meditative, atmospheric cinema where silence and ambiguity dominate, it may resonate deeply. If you prefer a story with sharper focus and clearer answers, you might find yourself restless, waiting for a payoff that never fully arrives.