The Tenth Dentist
A black supernatural workplace comedy — by Elliot
Logline. Nine out of ten dentists always recommend. There's a tenth, and he only ever says no.
The Association of Ten Dentists is the shadow body behind every "9 out of 10 dentists recommend" verdict. The tenth is the eternal holdout — a petty, small-time Satanist who vetoes everything out of pure contrarian spite. His satanism is amateur hour: no black magic, just vibes and vetoes.
Then a real one arrives. A long-dead dentist claws his way out of the grave — Cronenberg-wet, a reanimated assassin sent up from the underworld. He's a genuine senior Satanist, offended not that the tenth dentist is evil but that he's bad at it — a poser giving the craft a tacky name. His mission: become the real Tenth Dentist, take the seat, and find out what supernatural destruction can be done to the dental industry once the veto is held by someone who means it.
Under the gore it's a micro-study of workplace hierarchy and human aggression — climbing the ladder by literally putting the person above you back in the ground. The tenth chair isn't a personality; it's a position of power, and "no" stops being a marketing footnote and becomes an unmaking force.
The eighth dentist is the sunny counterweight — happy-go-lucky, two blindingly white teeth, a running homage to Ross's glow-in-the-dark smile from Friends.
Tone. David Cronenberg body-horror crossed with deadpan black comedy — a comedy of errors, influences worn loud.
Pilot Teaser (AI-generated animatic, for review)
A short image-to-video teaser stitched from five shots, with trailer narration. Play the teaser (or the silent version).
Concept Stills (AI-generated, for review)
Scene 1 — the Association of Ten Dentists boardroom, and the tenth chair in shadow.
Dirk — the Tenth Dentist, our petty amateur-Satanist holdout.
Gary — the Eighth Dentist, sunny counterweight with the glowing smile.
The reanimation — a real one claws his way up.
Ambrose Vane — the genuine senior Satanist, back to take the seat.
Pilot Script (approx. 3 minutes)
FADE IN.
INT. ASSOCIATION OF TEN DENTISTS — BOARDROOM — DAY. A sterile, blindingly white conference room. Ten high-backed leather chairs around a molar-shaped table. Nine dentists in pristine coats. The tenth chair sits slightly apart, in shadow. SUPER: "9 out of 10 dentists recommend..." The nine nod along to a slide: a smiling toothpaste tube.
CHAIRMAN: All in favor of endorsing BrightMint Pro? Nine hands shoot up. A beat. Everyone turns to the shadowed chair.
THE TENTH DENTIST (DIRK, 40s, smug, a cheap inverted-cross tie-pin, picking his nails): No.
CHAIRMAN: Dirk. It's fluoride. It's good for people.
DIRK (leaning into candlelight he brought himself): And that... is exactly why I oppose it. I serve darkness. Also I didn't like the font. The nine groan. One quietly mouths "every time."
EIGHTH DENTIST — GARY (Will Arnett, sunny, two impossibly white front teeth that faintly GLOW, cheerful): Dirk, buddy, you veto the water fountain last week.
DIRK: The water fountain had a smug aura. Gary laughs, blinding. A lens flare off his teeth whites out the frame.
SMASH CUT TO: EXT. FORGOTTEN CEMETERY — NIGHT. Rain. A cracked headstone: DR. AMBROSE VANE, D.D.S. — 1911. A gloved hand ERUPTS from the mud. Wet, Cronenberg-slick sinew reknits over bone. AMBROSE VANE (Elliot's father) rises — half-decayed, immaculate vintage dental coat, eyes like drill bits.
AMBROSE (to the sky, a low growl): Someone... is doing my work badly. He spits out a mouthful of grave dirt and, reflexively, checks it for plaque.
INT. ASSOCIATION — HALLWAY — CONTINUOUS. The lights flicker. The boardroom doors BLOW open. Ambrose stands dripping in the frame. The nine scream. Dirk swivels, delighted.
DIRK: Whoa — okay, big goth energy, love it, are you a fan? Ambrose crosses the room slowly, leaving wet footprints, and looks Dirk dead in the eye.
AMBROSE (quiet, disgusted): You wear the cross upside down as a bit. I wore it to a war. (beat) I'm not here to kill you, boy. (He pulls out the shadowed chair, sits, folds reanimated hands.) I'm here to take your seat. He turns to the frozen board. Smiles — rows of black teeth.
AMBROSE (CONT'D): Now. Let's talk about what "no" can really do. The candle flames bend toward him. Gary's teeth flicker and, for the first time, go DARK.
SMASH TO BLACK. TITLE CARD: THE TENTH DENTIST. END OF PILOT.