John Waters

Female Trouble

Serial Mom

Welcome to April: a month cursed by two chaotic holidays, an influx of pollen, and Aries season. In a weird month like this one, I felt it’d be fitting to kick it off with an ode to the best of the weirdos of cinema: John Waters. Born in a suburb of Baltimore, Maryland, John Waters is the established master of colorfully crass films. For over 40 years he’s been making transgressive and confusingly delightful films, each one marked by a unique and thoroughly twisted sense of humor. Waters has said that he’s influenced just as much by sleazy exploitation films as he is by high-brow art films, and this earnest appreciation is clear in each one of his projects. His early career was full of controversial, shock-inducing films starring Waters’ muse and constant collaborator, Divine: a drag performer and character actor who often played violent, wild female leads. Divine starred in all of Waters’ films until their untimely death in 1988, including all three of what’s called the Trash Trilogy: Pink Flamingos, Desperate Living, and tonight’s first film—Female Trouble. Female Trouble (1974) documents the rise and fall of troublemaker and eventual criminal Dawn Davenport—beginning with her villain origin story wherein she never receives a pair of Cha Cha Heels like she expected for Christmas. From there, Dawn’s life descends into calamity and crime—each nosedive into the absurd becoming more and more extreme. John Waters’ films are certainly, at times, grotesque and shocking, but in my opinion it’s never done in an off-putting or uninspired way. There’s never any moral lesson to be learned in a Waters film, there’s no big take away from any of the films that I’ve seen, there’s a general feeling of “fuck it” within all of his films. The subject matter varies wildly within John Waters’ filmography, but his trademark glitz and grime and eschewing of all things considered “pure” and “decent” can always be guaranteed. With its NC-17 rating, Female Trouble was bizarre, funny, and fairly jaw-dropping, even though this isn’t even the film where Divine actually eats dog poop. I’ve personally never been offended by anything I’ve seen in his films, but the constant subverting of the norm and acceptance of garbage counterculture has always offended people. In fact, one film critic who saw Female Trouble hated it so much that he wrote: “Where do these people come from? Where do they go when the sun goes down? Isn't there a law or something?“ which became the tag line for the film. Divine, and the rest of “these people” make up Waters’ collective of performers and longtime friends called the Dreamlanders (Mink Stole, David Lochary, Susan Lowe, Edith Massey, Cookie Mueller, Paul Swift, Mary Vivian Pearce) and they were as captivating, fascinating, and funny as Divine, and would appear in many of Waters’ films until their respective deaths. Even after becoming a well-known director and creating more mainstream, less controversial films, Waters stuck with the same ensemble cast in most of his films. People like Ricki Lake and Traci Lords and Patty Hearst joined the new generation of Waters’ films, where the budget and billing were much bigger, but the tone and appreciation of bad taste remained the same. Two of my favorite films growing up were Hairspray and Cry-Baby, which belong to this era, and since I’m such a fan of his later films I simply had to see his 1994 dark comedy Serial Mom. Kathleen Turner stars as Beverly Sutphin, a mother and housewife with a deadly habit. Beverly is kind and wholesome, and only wants the best for her family. Her desire for perfection, though, along with her annoyances with various members of her community, drives her to the point of murder—way before other dark suburban stories like Desperate Housewives, Pretty Little Liars, and Santa Clarita Diet came into being. The title cards at the beginning of the film state that it’s based on a true story, but this is just one of John Waters’ trademark uses of satire and surrealism. Scandalous and shocking cases like that of Pamela Smart occurred just before this film was made, and the O.J. Simpson trial went on right as this film was released, so clearly Waters didn’t have to look far for malevolent motivation—nor did he have to exaggerate too much. Kathleen Turner really killed it (HA) in this role, and led this film with the calm restraint of a Stepford Wife and the terrifying self-assuredness of a Real Housewife of Beverly Hills. She had a way of delivering each lines that was hilarious and each theatrical choice felt incredibly deliberate from her smile to her scowl to the slightest tinges of irritation, you could feel it all. Her, along with Sam Waterson, Ricki Lake, and Matthew Lillard (in his first major film role) were a hilarious and somehow believable family. The entirety of this movie felt like a fucked up episode of Leave it to Beaver or The Brady Bunch in the best way—like many of Waters’ films, we’re presented with a certain ideal only to dismantle and spit on it. Serial Mom has all of the bonkers qualities you’d want, minus only some of the filth, from a typical John Waters affair. I would say all of his later films fit this description, because compared to Waters’ Trash Trilogy, these films are downright wholesome. I love John Waters’ brand of surreal and gross because, as odd as it sounds, it seems to come from a pure place. Nowadays, all things shocking and grotesque in film feel so forced and utilized solely to outdo others or standout in the crowd of cinematic weirdos. John Waters found a way to be so creatively funny and foul that no other surrealistic, bizarre director can compete with—nor should they try. He offered a unique perspective and vision of what art could be, inhabiting a space within film that is both admirable and appalling. The weirdos that get it, get it. And the weirdos who don’t, don’t. As an out gay man, and a proprietor boldly subversive content, he’s become an icon and an inspiration to many. His films are constantly being referenced, from Ru Paul’s Drag Race to The Simpsons, Waters’ appreciation for the absurd and the kitschy has left a longstanding impact upon others— expanding minds and taste levels everywhere he goes. He is an effortless talent and a genuine weirdo, one that a weirdo like myself will always look up to. Whether you’re fond of filth or an upstanding citizen you should try out a John Waters film or two, because it’s healthy to be freaked out every now and then. And to the art hoes and normies, I’ll leave you with two of my favorite John Waters quotes: “Remember: you must participate in the creative world you want to become part of.” and “I'd love to sell out completely. It's just that nobody has been willing to buy."