Pink Flamingos (John Waters, 1972)

You probably wouldn't come to this conclusion by looking at it from a pedestrian point-of-view. However, if you were to say switch to a more cockeyed point-of-view, you would definitely agree with me when I say that John Waters' infamous Pink Flamingos is one of the sexiest movies of all-time. I know, how can a movie that features shit-eating, a chicken coop foursome, shrimping, singing assholes, blue-haired degenerates with pepperoni tied to their dicks and obese retarded women in playpens be considered one of the sexiest... Whoa! Would you listen to me, I'm starting to sound like a real square. Which is odd, because I'm the least square person I know. Sure, I don't drink, I don't do drugs, and I've never been to Flin Flon, but trust me, the thoughts rattling around in my head on a semi-regular basis are beyond debased. What I think I meant to say was: How can a movie that features shit-eating, a chicken coop foursome, shrimping, singing assholes, blue-haired degenerates with pepperoni tied to their dicks and obese retarded women in playpens not be considered one of the sexiest movie of all-time?

Oh, and when I say, "singing assholes," I'm not referring to, oh, let's say, the guy from Nickleback (I don't feel like looking up his name, but you know who I'm talking about - his first name is either Chad or Brad), I'm talking about an anus that sings... well, to be technical, it lip-synchs. Either way, Pink Flamingos is a non-stop cavalcade of crotch-based wetness from start to finish.

Think I'm joking? How else would you describe a movie that boasts Mink Stole in jet black pantyhose, Mary Vivian Pearce in jet black pantyhose and Cookie Mueller in, you guessed it, jet black pantyhose? What's that? I didn't hear you. Speak up. That's right, it's a non-stop cavalcade of crotch-based wetness from start to finish, and don't you forget it.

Since my raison d'être involves filling in holes that are gaping in nature, it only makes sense that I review Pink Flamingos. What I mean is, it's been bothering me for quite some time that there isn't a Pink Flamingos review on this site. It's not that I love the film (it's no Female Trouble... and it's no Desperate Living either), it's that the film features Mink Stole at her most churlishly gorgeous.

Yes, I realize Mink Stole is gorgeously churlish in everything she appears in. But in Pink Flamingos, she seems to be firing on all cylinders. It could be the bright red hair, it could be sparkly cat eye glasses, but there's something extra churlish, extra gorgeous about her as Connie Marble, The Filthiest Woman Alive.

Huh? You say, Divine, a.k.a. Babs Johnson (Divine) is the real "Filthiest Person Alive," and that Connie Marble and her wonderfully perverted husband, Raymond (David Lochary), are merely jealous posers who wouldn't know true filthiness if it bit them on their scab-laden taints.

If that's the case, I'm going to have to disagree with you. I mean, does Divine keep kidnapped hippie chicks locked in her cellar? Does she even have a cellar? Does Divine force their cross-dressing chauffeur to impregnate the cellar-dwelling hippie chicks and then sell the babies to lesbian couples? I didn't think so.

Actually, the more I think about it, the less filthy it sounds. Don't get me wrong, kidnapping and raping women (even if there are hippies) is not morally correct. But providing lesbian couples with low-cost babies is awesome.

Filthy or not, I'm still trying to figure out how Connie Marble, thrift store goddess of the wasteland, managed to be bested by such trailer trash.

On the surface, Divine/Babs Johnson, her trusted traveling companion, Cotton (Mary Vivian Pearce), her delinquent son, Crackers (Danny Mills), and her mentally-ill mother, Miss Edie (Edith Massey), looked like they would be no match for the filthiness Connie and Raymond Marble were putting out there. But it just goes to show that you should maybe think twice before mailing someone a bowel movement, as what they send back could be even worse.

As Crackers says, "No one sends you a turd and expects to live!"

While Miss Edie is waiting in her playpen for her beloved Eggman (Paul Swift) to deliver the eggs she craves, Connie is interviewing Sandy Sandstone (Nancy Crystal) for a job she has no intention of giving her. I know, what's the point of interviewing someone for a job if you have no intention of hiring them? Well, that's just the way Connie operates.

When Miss Sandstone realizes she isn't getting the job, she starts whining incessantly. This, as you might expect, does not sit well with Connie, who lashes out at Miss Sandstone with a series of cruel one-liners. My favourite, of course, being: "I guess there's just two kinds of people, Miss Sandstone: My kind of people, and assholes. It's rather obvious which category you fit into. Have a nice day."

Meanwhile, back at Babs' trailer (located in a wooded area on the outskirts of Phoenix, Maryland), Babs and Crackers are getting ready to go into town; the latter to pick up his date and the former is going to run some errands. And by "errands," I mean, shove a steak between her legs, take a piss in front of large house and strut down the street to Little Richard's "The Girl Can't Help It."

After successfully placing "Little Noodles" with a lesbian couple named Annette and Merle, Connie... Wait, I think I should mention that "Little Noodles" is the name of the baby one of the women locked in "The Pit" gave birth to. Like I said earlier, the Marbles run a baby ring out of their suburban home. They also own a couple of pornography shops and sell heroin to school children.

Anyway, after the baby is handed over to the dykes (don't worry about the baby's mother, she died during child birth), Connie starts to stress over the whereabouts of Raymond.

He's out doing what most people were doing back in the early 1970s, flashing his pepperoni-enhanced junk at leggy teenage girls in the park.

It turns out that Crackers' date is a spy working for the Marbles. Hired to get dirt on Divine, Cookie (Cookie Mueller) goes that extra mile to extract the information the Marbles will desperately need if they expect to claim the title of "The Filthiest People Alive." And if that means participating in a chicken coop foursome with Crackers and two live chickens while Cotton watches, than so be it.

Since "The Pit" must contain at least two women at all times, Connie and Raymond pluck a hitchhiker named Linda (Linda Olgeirson) off the street and dump her in "The Pit" with the alluringly foul-mouthed and very pregnant Suzie (Susan Walsh). When Suzie realizes Channing plans on inseminating Linda using a cum-filled syringe, she vomits. The cool thing about the vomit scene is it occurs just as Channing is about to ejaculate seminal fluid into his hand. Jizz and puke, together at last.

While jizz and puke are great and all, nothing comes close to topping the sight of Connie and Raymond sucking on one another's toes. Taking a break to bask in the information Cookie obtained for them, Connie (who is wearing nothing but a white pair of men's underpants) and Raymond (who is wearing nothing but ladies drawers) continue to suck each other's toes. But as they're doing so, they proclaim their love for one another using exaggerated language.

"Oh, I am yours, Connie, eternally united to you through an invisible cord of finely woven filth that even God himself could never, ever break." - Raymond Marble

I think most people will agree that the relationship that Connie and Raymond Marble have with one another is truly an inspiration to us all. I mean, their love is so fucking powerful. It's too bad their obsession with becoming "The Filthiest People Alive" clouded their ability to think straight.

Call me someone who isn't hooked up right, but the only parts of Pink Flamingos that grossed me out were the scenes that featured Edith Massey eating eggs. Seriously, someone get this woman a bib. 

As for the other so-called gross scenes. I, say, what gross scenes? There's nothing gross about the sight of Mink Stole, Mary Vivian Pearce and Cookie Mueller lounging in jet black pantyhose. And the part where Raymond comes pepperoni-enhanced-cock-to-floppy-girly-cock with a leggy transgender woman (Elizabeth Coffey) in the park, well, that scene was simply delightful.

Maybe I've become jaded over the years, but I've come to view Pink Flamingos more as an erotic comedy than anything else. Sure, the uninitiated will still find material in it to be shocked by. But deep down, the film is an eerily accurate reflection of the times, the early 1970s. And it contains what I consider to be Mink Stole's best role to date. It should go without saying, but I love her more than my own shit.

Multiple Maniacs (John Waters, 1970)

Quick, alert the mainstream media, I'm about to wallow in my element. Has anyone seen me wallow in my element? It ain't pretty, honey. And it doesn't get anymore hella-mental than my face wallowing in the vicinity of Multiple Maniacs, the John Waters' film that raises the question: What's a rosary job? Licking bicycle seats and sniffing glue, now these are my passions, and they're fully explored in this flimsy excuse for filmed entertainment. Okay, maybe they're not my passions, and they might not even be fully explored. But I do appreciate it whenever a director decides to include either one of them in his or her film, especially glue sniffing, as you don't see it depicted or talked about much nowadays. Oh, sure, you'll see it on reality shows on that channel that used to show ballet in the 1980s (now they only air programs about lumpy, illiterate mouth-breathers who pay money for other people's junk), but you hardly ever see it movies anymore. I love inhalant abuse. (Fuck you, Mr. Drug Dealer. I'm going to the housewares section of my local hardware store to shoplift me some spray paint.) In fact, I love inhalant abuse almost as much as I love cross-dressing. And, get this, this flick features both in the same scene. Yeah, you heard right. A male glue fiend in a dress rapes Divine, with the help of a female glue fiend, sort of in an alleyway. What do you mean "sort of"? You either rape Divine or you don't rape Divine. No, what I mean is, given Divine's ample girth, her body wasn't entirely in the alleyway. Hence, she was "sort of in the alleyway." In retrospect, the glue sniffers were probably just too lazy to pull Divine all the way into the alleyway after they jumped her on the street. In other words, I apologize for implying that Divine was too fat to fit in an alleyway. Anyway, what Divine's unpleasant encounter with the glue sniffers has to do with the film's plot is anyone's guess, but I did enjoy it on some bizarre level that went well beyond my sphere of comprehension.
 

 

In case you're wondering, the reason I pretended that licking bicycle seats was one of my passions was because I own a bicycle with a seat and I thought about licking it after the movie was over. But cooler, less bicycle seat licking heads prevailed, and my bicycle seat is currently languishing in a state of not being licked.
 

 

"Welcome to Lady Divine's Cavalcade of Perversions: The Sleaziest Show on Earth," announces Mr. David (David Lochary), the M.C. of the aforementioned show that purportedly features fags, sluts, dykes, and pimps. Beckoning all those within earshot, Mr. David is selling the living shit out of this show. But get this, it's free!
 

 

Standing before a couple of crudely erected tents, Mr. David eventually catches the attention of three ladies wearing clothes that were inexplicably fashionable at the time this film was made. Now, I don't know who two of the women were, but I know for sure that one of them was played by none other than Mink Stole (Female Trouble, Desperate Living, etc.), my favourite Dreamlander. The second she appears onscreen I had this sudden urge to thrust my hand up her skirt. Which, I've been told, is perfectly normal. At any rate, playing a total square, Mink and her friends reluctantly enter one of the tents. What they see, according to Mr. David, will shock and amaze them.
 

 

Check this out, for absolutely nothing you get to see a guy fondling a bra, a heroin addict go through withdrawal, some armpit licking (and some bicycle seat licking as well), watch the puke-eater eat his own puke, and see two "actual queers" kissing. I'll admit, it's pretty tame by today's standards; in fact, you can probably see all of them acted out on HBO's awesome new show, Girls (eww, you just mentioned something current). Either way, in typical John Waters fashion, he manages to make the perversions on display seem harmless.
 

 

Is Susan Lowe the topless cavalcade pervert in the black pantyhose we see at the beginning of the film wondering when the shows going to begin? I'm just asking because I only know her as Mole McHenry from Desperate Living, and the woman in the black pantyhose doesn't look an angry bull dyke.
 

 

Just as Lady Divine (Divine), the star of the show, is about to go on, a bleach blonde chick named Bonnie (Mary Vivian Pearce) tries to approach her. Not in the mood to hear what some autoerotic coprophiliac has to say, Lady Divine, who is lounging in the nude, tells her henchmen to remove "this slut" from her presence. Instructing Mr. David to "hand me my hose," Lady Divine eventually hits the stage. What's her perversion, you ask? Why her perversion is to pull out a gun and rob the audience of their valuables.
 

 

You see, the "Cavalcade of Perversions" is merely a ruse, a scam, if you will, that Mr. David and Lady Divine run. However, things start to fall apart when a bleach blonde, you guessed it, named Bonnie, enters the picture. Just because his attempt to get Bonnie into the cavalcade was thwarted doesn't mean Mr. David is going to continue being  Lady Divine's lap dog. Telling Bonnie to meet him at Pete's Club (a joint run by Edith Massey), Mr. David, Lady Divine and Ricky (Rick Morrow), Lady Divine's right hand man, head over to the apartment that belongs to Cookie Divine (Cookie Mueller), Lady Divine's always topless daughter, to argue. In other words, engage in some over the top John Waters-style dialogue.
 

 

While Mr. David is making arrangements to meet with Bonnie, Lady Divine is busy being raped by a couple of glue fiends.
 

 

You know how I said certain parts of Multiple Maniacs went well beyond my sphere of comprehension? Well, when the Infant Jesus of Prague grabs Lady Divine by the hand and escorts her to a church, St. Cecilia, I think, things definitely started to sail away from comprehension comfort zone. As we're shown images of a badly beaten man wearing a crown of thorns dragging, what looked like, a giant lower case 't' made out of wood, spliced with a scene that featured Mink Stole, playing a character named "Mink Stole," cramming rosary beads up Lady Divine's ass in one of the church's pews.
 

 

Thankfully, things start to come back to my realm once Lady Divine and Mink Stole leave the church together. Their conversation on the street (Mink's talks about her transient lifestyle), is edited together with a scene that has Mr. David performing cunnilingus on Bonnie; I loved it when David Lochary, during a moment of post-coital bliss, puts his ashtray Mary Vivian Pearce's stomach. I don't know what I like better, David Lochary and Mary Vivian Pearce as a couple or David Lochary and Mink Stole as a couple. On the other hand, the sight of Mink Stole and Divine as a couple was just plain odd.
 

 

Make sure to keep on a close eye on Mink Stole (who is wearing a turban) when she's talking to Lady Divine on the street. As her facial expressions are almost as memorable as the film's infamous lobster rape scene. Carefully examining the scene several times now, I've come to the conclusion that Mink was trying to get John Waters's attention. And instead of breaking character, Mink tries to inform him that some people are were about to walk through their shot by bulging her expressive eyes in a manner that signaled to John that something was up.
 

 

Hold on. Did you say, "lobster rape"? Yeah, yeah, Divine is unexpectedly raped by a giant lobster near the end of the film. If you don't mind, I'd rather talk about Mink Stole's eyes. So, where did the lobster come from? Fine. I'll talk about the lobster. To answer your question, I have no idea. In fact, I don't think anyone really knows where it came from. And that's what makes the scene so special, it just comes out of nowhere. Like, boom! Here's a giant lobster. Suck on that, crustacean enthusiasts.
 

 

As far as classic lines go, you know, like, "I wouldn't suck your lousy dick if I was suffocating and there was oxygen in your balls!" from Female Trouble, or "My saliva tastes funny, and I itch a lot," from Desperate Living, I'd have to say that David Lochary's "I love you so fucking much I could shit," was my favourite line uttered in Multiple Maniacs, as it encapsulates everything I love about John Waters: Sweetness wrapped in a cheaply made veneer of vulgarity.

Female Trouble (John Waters, 1974)

The demented soliloquy that is the sound of a car aerial being repeatedly thrashed against a supple, un-violated behind was something I unfortunately never experienced as a child (I was so freaking well-behaved). However, through the magic of inelegant cinema, I have since been able to witness this alternative child rearing technique first hand. Where, you might ask, did I find such a film that showed this irregular nurturing in action? Well, I saw it in Female Trouble (a.k.a. Rotten Mind, Rotten Face), John Waters' salacious ode to crime and beauty, that's where. One of the most educational and enlightening films about parenting I have ever had the pleasure of viewing with the seeing part of my face, this moralistic adventure through the disgusting mire that is city living mirrors my life almost exactly. For example, I, too, openly ate meat ball sandwiches in class; cut my daughter's umbilical cord by using my teeth; let my hippie husband breach my vagina with needle-nose pliers; and giggled my flabby hindquarters at a go-go bar. Wait a minute, none of these things happened to me. Talk about gross. I mean, meatballs? On a sandwich? Eww! Seriously though, tantamount to staring directly at some sort of mirror-like object, to see my values shamelessly spewed across the screen like they are in Female Trouble was liked being bathed in a vat of coagulated saliva. Now, the dewy contents of people's mouths invading your clogged pores may not be the most flattering way to describe the sensation of watching a film. But if you've seen the film from beginning to end multiple times like I have, then you know that it's the highest praise one can give. It sure beats the old, "I liked the movie. It was funny" routine.

The film diligently follows the unbalanced life of one Dawn Davenport: thief, stripper, waitress, single mother, prostitute, abused wife, disfigured super-model, liquid eyeliner addict, and mass murderer.

It might be hard to believe, but the reason she became all of those things can be attributed to the lack of cha-cha heels in her life. Her friends, Concetta (Cookie Mueller) and Chicklet (Susan Walsh), were warned as to what might happen if her parents failed to bestow her with cha-cha heels on Christmas morning, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise when Dawn flipped out when she discovered they weren't under the tree. Her father tried to tell her that "Nice girls don't wear cha-cha heels," but Dawn was so dead set on cha-cha heels, that she burst from her house in nothing but a puke green nightgown and never looked back. Of course, this leads her to partaking in all the activities I listed above.

The only positive thing to happen to her after the cha-cha heel incident was her acceptance as a regular customer at the exclusive Lipstick Beauty Salon (you have to go through a rigorous audition). Run by the dictatorial Donald and Donna Dasher, Dawn experiences a brief taste of happiness at the selective salon. Brief, because the Dasher's are making plans for Dawn, sinister plans.

There are a lot of things to overly praise about Female Trouble: the unpleasant sex, the bizarre outfits, and the unsavoury posturing. However, it's the outlandish dialogue that keeps me coming back for more, as John Waters' script features some of the most clever one-liners I've ever heard said aloud in a movie. And the quintet of Divine, Mink Stole, Edith Massey, Mary Vivian Pearce and David Lochary are more than up for the demanding task of reciting it in the most exuberant manner possible.

One of the few films that I'll watch with the subtitles switched on, the dialogue is like listening to twisted poetry as spoken by an over rehearsed gaggle of drug addicts. Take, for example, the dinner party scene: the amount of sheer funniness in this segment never fails to bring a single tear to my urethra. A classic, not only in terms of comedy, but in terms of depicting humanity in an honest and forthright manner.

The legendary Divine is spectacular as the misguided Dawn Davenport, the world's most unfit mother. Playing an insolent teen and a grotesque freak in the same movie is one thing, but engaging in a sex scene with yourself on a dingy mattress on the side of the road has to be the pinnacle of high art. Oh, and call me slightly unhinged, but I think Divine has a timelessness about him. I mean, his face is quite appealing. Don't worry, when fantasizing, I try to imagine Divine's head in on Kirstie Alley's body circa 1991 ('92, if I'm feeling extra naughty).

I loved Mary Vivian Pearce and David Lochary's possessed enthusiasm as the sex-hating, beauty-loving Mr. and Mrs. Dasher. The brief exchange they have with one another as they're walking towards Davenport's ramshackle house was priceless; especially Pierce's nervousness over the prospect of rats gnawing on her brand new nylons.

Of course, as with all of John Waters' early films, it's the gorgeous Mink Stole who shines the brightest. Playing Dawn's fourteen year old daughter, Taffy Davenport, the sexy Mink repeatedly makes Meryl Streep look like a dishevelled whore through her unblinking industriousness.

Attacking Waters' dialogue like a ravenous beast, the way the refined actress hurls complaints and insults in this film was the equivalent of listening to a rogue scholar give a commencement speech on the wonders of crystal meth. The mere thought of Mink uttering her lines like a normal person makes me shudder.

Dressing Mink in little girl clothes was also a nice touch, as it causes your aroused state to doubt itself every time she'd stomp into the room. Anyway, Taffy Davenport is hands down the coolest movie character ever to be filmed rubbing Ketchup all over their chests while pretending to be in a car accident on a garbage dump-quality chesterfield.

Oh, and "I wouldn't suck your lousy dick if I was suffocating and there was oxygen in your balls" is not only the greatest line ever to be uttered in a film, it's my new mantra.

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