Polyester (John Waters, 1981)

Judging by the way the harsh light of day cascaded off her legs as she sat on the pavement outside the entrance of the Crockfield Mall in suburban Baltimore, I'd say they were sheathed in a pair of tan pantyhose (legs in hose shimmer, legs not in hose... well, they... um... I think I'm going to be sick... ugh... let's try not dwell on hose-free gams, shall we?). Grabbing the foot that had just been stomped on by Dexter Fishpaw, a.k.a. The Baltimore Foot-Stomper, Shirley Evans (Susan Lowe), a.k.a. "The Mall Victim," cries out for help. But no assistance is forthcoming. Instead, she must sit there and watch as Dexter dances around her in a frenzied manner; his outward expression of arousal no doubt pressing tightly against the fly of his jeans as he danced... frenziedly. Later that week, Dexter is in the supermarket combing the aisles for a pair of feet worthy enough to stomp. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spots a vision of foot-based loveliness in a tartan skirt and a snug-fitting burgundy sweater. Following the unnamed "Supermarket Victim" (Marina Melin) as she enters the aisle that contains products that boast water-soluble cleansing agents, Dexter can hardly contain his excitement, as her feet are simply sublime.

Overwhelmed by the erotic potency her feet are putting out there (the firmness of her black tights causes her feet to excrete a pungent odor that only he can smell), Dexter begins to fall over. Luckily for him, a shelf stacked with nothing but roll after roll of paper towels manages to break his fall.

Composing himself, Dexter approaches the supermarket victim and stomps of her left foot with all of his might. However, unlike the foot stomping that took place outside the mall entrance, two men come to the supermarket victim's aid almost immediately. Meaning, just as Dexter's outward expression of arousal was about to press tightly against the fly of his jeans, he's thrown into a giant stack of canned peas.

Oh, hello. This site hasn't, believe or not, turned into the place to satisfy all your Dexter Fishpaw fan fiction needs. It's still the place to read overlong essays about "cult movies." That being said, I felt compelled to start off my review of John Waters' Polyester with a piece that focuses primarily on the two instances in the film where Dexter Fishpaw is shown doing what he does best. And that is, stomping on women's feet.

The reason I felt compelled to do is easy, I admire the heck out of Dexter Fishpaw (Ken King), the combat boot-wearing, foot-obsessed rapscallion who also inhales solvents and does angel dust. Why? It's simple, really, he's passionate about something that doesn't exactly gel with mainstream society. Yet, at the same time, he doesn't seem to care what this so-called "mainstream society" might think about his varied interests.

Of course, a lot of you are probably wondering why I didn't start off my review with a tangent about Mink Stole in black stockings (attached to a black garter belt, no less). Well, I thought about doing that, but Dexter Fishpaw's plot line was impossible to ignore.

I know, the sight of Mink Stole, one of my favourite people in the known universe, prancing about in black stockings and cornrows(!) is impossible to ignore as well. But Dexter Fishpaw's plot line has so many ups and downs. And not only that, Dexter's foot stomping, if you think about it, actually prevents outside forces from destroying the Fishpaw way of life.

And what exactly does this way of life entail, you ask? Well, for one thing, it doesn't involve being humiliated by your porno theatre-owning husband on a daily basis. Poor Francine Fishpaw (Divine), all she wants to do live a normal, semi-productive life. Unfortunately for her, civil society has gone to shit.

The smut peddling antics of her husband, Elmer Fishpaw (David Samson) are bringing unwanted attention to her quiet cul-de-sac, her son Dexter is the Baltimore Foot-Stomper, her daughter, Lu-Lu Fishpaw (Mary Garlington), is a trampy Farrah Fawcett wannabe who's dating a scumbag named Bo-Bo Belsinger (Stiv Bators), and her mother is in cahoots with a shady Lothario named Todd Tomorrow (Tab Hunter). So, as you can see, Francine has no choice but to start drinking heavily.

To make matters worse, Lu-Lu is learning about her cervix at school and she's driving around Baltimore with Bo-Bo hitting non-wasp pedestrians with a broom. As terrible as the latter sounds, Bo-Bo meets his match when he stumbles upon Jean Hill while she's waiting for a bus. Remember when Jean Hill said in Desperate Living that she doesn't want no white man lookin' at her Tampax? Well, in this film, she doesn't want no white man hitting her in the ass with a broom, so she hijacks a bus, chases Bo-Bo down, bites one of his tires and beats the crap out of him.

At any rate, if that wasn't enough, Lu-Lu tells her mother that she's going to get a job as a go-go dancer at The Flaming Cave.

While having a lunch with her friend Cuddles (Edith Massey), a woman her mother describes as a "retarded scrubwoman," Francine gets a phone call from Susan Sullivan (Mink Stole), her husband's "secretary."

Sitting on Elmer's desk, Susan Sullivan hangs up the phone and begins to giggle while jiggling... or is she jiggling while giggling?!? Either way, Mink Stole is in black lingerie and I couldn't be more pleased by what is transpiring onscreen.

I don't know what it is about John Waters and heterosexuality, but like Mink Stole and David Lochary's relationship in Pink Flamingos (as Connie and Raymond Marble) and Mary Vivian Pearce and David Lochary's relationship in Female Trouble (as Donald and Donna Dasher), the pairing of Mink Stole and David Samson (as Susan Sullivan and Elmer Fishpaw) in Polyester depicts heterosexuality in a positive light.

Most movies look down on heterosexuality, but the films of John Waters seem to embrace it.

Suspecting that her husband is having an affair with his "secretary," Francine asks Cuddles to spy on them. However, before Cuddles can report back Francine, Lu-Lu tells her that she's two months pregnant. Which leads to this little nugget of scripted sunshine: "I'm getting an abortion and I can't wait." Just for the record, that particular passage is my second favourite line in the entire movie.

What's that? You wanna know what my favourite is. As luck would have it, it's coming right up.

Tracking Elmer and Susan down at a sleazy motel, Francine and Cuddles burst into their room to discover them sitting on the bed together. While that sounds innocuous, if you look closely, you'll notice that Elmer is drinking champagne out of one of Susan's red pumps. And you know what that means, right? Exactly, Mink Stole's nylon-ensnared feet are exposed for the world to see. And the world agrees, it's a beautiful thing.

Huh? Oh yeah, my favourite line. After the word divorce bandied about, Francine asks about Elmer's commitment to Dexter and Lu-Lu, Susan chimes in by saying: "Children would get in the way of our erotic lifestyle." I know, it's not quite up there with " I wouldn't suck your lousy dick if I was suffocating and there was oxygen in your balls! or "Tell your mother I hate her! Tell your mother I hate you!" as far as Mink-isms go, but I like the idea of people foregoing the drudgery of child rearing to live erotic lifestyles.

Putting aside the novelty that is "Odorama" (numbers appear on the screen periodically instructing you to sniff, using your Odorama card, a series of foul-smelling odors), Polyester was turning point for John Waters. The amateur, do-it-yourself aesthetic of his previous films has been replaced with helicopter shots, steadicam shots and professional stunts. The biggest change, however, comes in the form of Divine, who, for the first time in his career, is playing a part not associated with his Divine persona. At the time, this was seen as a bit of a gamble, but Divine, channeling his beloved Elizabeth Taylor, is pretty convincing as a stressed out housewife.

Mixing the crude humour and the social satire of his underground movies and combining it with classic Hollywood filmmaking techniques (think Douglas Sirk meets Russ Meyer), John Waters's Polyester is the best of both worlds. Competently made filth.

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.

video uploaded by a96ozsteak

...

Desperate Living (John Waters, 1977)

The seemingly uncomplimentary worlds of feminine fascism, organized lesbianism, and hippie nudism clash like they've never clashed before in the uproarious Desperate Living, John Waters' genteel ode to societal decay and the problems that can arise while trying to muff dive in a dystopian morass of your own making. Taking the borderline distasteful banquet of tainted meat and deformed potatoes the demented writer-director severed us in his previous ventures, Baltimore's most uncontaminated resident has dipped his latest cinematic nugget in a steaming cauldron of rabid bat pus, and sprinkled it with a hint rat urine. On the threshold of engaging in a full-on giddy fit on a number of occasions, this has to be one of the funniest movies I have ever seen. Sure, the characters that populate the world of Mortville, a dilapidated refuge for murders, nondescript scumbags, well-kept nudists, pie merchants, and lesbian wrestlers with excess facial moles, aren't exactly the most pleasant people to spend ninety minutes with. However, in my well-balanced mind, they represented the best and brightest the humanity have to offer.

The words and sentences these folks utter at the top of their lungs had me fumbling to retrieve the lacy contents my niminy-piminy lingerie collection and caused me to repeatedly roll around in a slimy heap of uncooked shellfish in an odd, yet rational celebration of its sheer wrongness. Yep, it was that funny. I mean, self-castration has never been rendered this humourous before.

The story of Desperate Living follows the on the lam adventures of professional neurotic Peggy Gravel and her alcoholic, Tampax-shielding housemaid Grizelda Brown after they kill Peggy's husband (Peggy knocks him unconscious, Grizelda asphyxiates him with her extremely large ass).

After a vexing run-in with a perverted motorcycle cop (the sight of the randy policeman writhing on the leafy ground while wearing both Peggy's and Grizelda's incompatible panties–along with his own panties–was strangely relatable), the fugitives find themselves in the aforementioned town of Mortville. Where they end up rooming with Mole, a surly dyke, and her bosomy girlfriend, Muffy (Liz Renay), and living under the tyrannical rule of one Queen Carlotta.

Protected by her platoon of gay bikers not on acid (leather-clad sycophants who give her sexual gratification at the drop of a hat), the pudgy monarch (played to the hilt of madness by Edith Massey) is randomly cruel and has a tight grip on the town. Nevertheless, there are signs of weakness. Specifically in the form of Princess Coo-Coo (a sexy, even with rabies, Mary Vivian Pearce), who's dating of a garbage man/nudist causes the Queen much anguish. Now, I'm no pundit, but this bit of family strife could start a revolution in Mortville.

The film is slathered in wonderfully diseased dialogue from start to finish, and who better to recite this dialogue than Mink Stole. I mean, I can't think of anyone I would rather watch go completely berserk over the simplest thing than Miss Mink. Her brazen turn as the mentally askew Peggy Gravel solidifies my opinion that she is the most accomplished actress in the history of cinematic filthiness.

Sporting an unexplained leg brace (which I constantly pictured resting atop my right shoulder as I gingerly defiled her aura) and her trademark gorgeousness (she looked like a catalogue model with stringy hair), Mink circumnavigates the bawdy and disgusting realm of Mortville with a breathtaking ease.

Seriously, the transition she makes from a puritanical housewife who hates nature to a hydrophobia producing fascist brought little bits of yellow matter custard to my eyes. Breathtaking ease aside, it was actually her pre-Mortville tirade that impressed me the most; as it's a thing of unhinged beauty.

Coming in second in the diseased dialogue department is the fearless Susan Lowe as Mole McHenry (a.k.a. Rastlin' Rita). Covered in moles and boasting an unflattering haircut (even by raging butch standards), Miss Lowe chews up Waters' unbalanced prose and spits it all over the place. An inspiration not only to tempestuous dykes the world over, but an inspiration to us all. If only everyone shared her headstrong approach to life. So here's to Mole McHenry: Trailblazing visionary with a festering Barbie-doll crotch.

video uploaded by congobeat

...