Offscreen, Belgium’s most adventurous film festival, is geared up to hit your retinas hard with a special focus on trash and camp cinema over the next few weeks. We talked to guest of honour John Waters, who will be the subject of a retrospective and will also do a live stand-up show. “It was never just about shocking people.”
In John Waters, Offscreen hosts an icon of US underground cinema. In the 1970s the cult film-maker made history with his notorious “Trash Trilogy” featuring the transvestite Divine. Pink Flamingos, Female Trouble, and Desperate Living were no-budget productions in which Waters juggled with exploitation, underground, and Hollywood melodrama, redefining as he did so the idea of bad taste and directing a hearty “Up yours” at conservative America. The atmosphere of scandal surrounding his work provided him with tons of free publicity and confirmed his reputation as an anarchistic, obscene provocateur. In the 1980s Waters moved into the mainstream with Polyester and, above all, Hairspray and Cry-Baby, although he remains a wily fox who hasn’t forgotten his tricks.
During your career the press has given you a number of colourful titles, including the Baron of Bad Taste, the Prince of Puke, the Pope of Trash, the Sultan of Sleaze...
John Waters: The Ayatollah of Asshole is another one.
I didn’t know that one! Are you amused or irritated by those titles?
Waters: Completely amused. They were all said in a good way. The Prince of Puke was the first one and that came from the Baltimore Sun when the Baltimore Museum gave me a retrospective around the time of Desperate Living [1977 - GH]. They used taxpayers’ money and a lot of people became angry, but the paper praised the museum for having the courage. The Pope of Trash was given to me by William Burroughs. I think he gave me a quote when my book Crackpot came out [in 1987 - GH].
Where does your fascination with trash come from?
Waters: I never use that term anymore. I prefer “filth” because it’s funnier, has more edge, and is more punkish. I was always interested in behaviour and tastes that I couldn’t understand. I guess movies had a lot to do with it. As a kid I would collect ads from all those movies that the Catholic Church condemned and I was not supposed to see. There were always people telling me I could not do something. So I tried to find beauty in my battle against the tyranny of good taste.
John Waters: juvenile delinquent of 66
(Divine in Pink Flamingos)
How did your parents respond to this?
Waters: I came from a very conservative, upper-middle-class family. As a child I was obsessed by car accidents and I wrecked every toy car and pretended there was an accident. Then my mother took me to a real junkyard to look. So even though she was horrified by my interest, she indulged me. My father paid for my very early movies, though he did not see them because he was so embarrassed. But later, after he died, I found in his safety deposit box little notes that I had written him each time I paid back a hundred dollars. So he was proud that I started my own business. He just wished my product would have been a little different. Especially since his name was John Waters and I was the junior! [Laughs]
Many young artists feel the need to rebel, but as they grow older, they quit. You never did. Could you say that, at the age of 66 – to use a term from Cry-Baby – deep down you are still a juvenile delinquent?
Waters: Yeah, John the adult delinquent! Brigid Berlin, who is my favourite of the Andy Warhol stars, recently said to me: “How can you be bad at seventy years old?!” And that’s a really good question. The key is: my dreams have already come true. Everything I ever wanted to do has happened. I’m rebelling, but I’m not angry. What do I have to be angry about? I’ve had a great career; people have understood me. It’s really sexy at twenty, but if you’re still angry at sixty-six, if you have not figured out some way to have happiness by then, you’re an asshole.
Yet, you still enjoy shocking people.
Waters: I enjoy surprising people, hopefully with wit. It really is not just about shocking people. I don’t think I’m ever mean-spirited. I’m not like reality television that asks you to make fun of the people you’re watching and feel superior. I look up to my characters, even the strangest. In fact, I believe that everything I have done, strangely enough, has been politically correct.
Really?
Waters: Yes! Think about it. Challenge me: what have I done that is against political correctness? I’m not racist. I don’t do black jokes, because I'm not black. I don't do Jewish jokes, because I'm not Jewish. I’m not sexist: women are strong individuals in my films. I respect all the red flags of political correctness.
How did your parents respond to this?
Waters: I came from a very conservative, upper-middle-class family. As a child I was obsessed by car accidents and I wrecked every toy car and pretended there was an accident. Then my mother took me to a real junkyard to look. So even though she was horrified by my interest, she indulged me. My father paid for my very early movies, though he did not see them because he was so embarrassed. But later, after he died, I found in his safety deposit box little notes that I had written him each time I paid back a hundred dollars. So he was proud that I started my own business. He just wished my product would have been a little different. Especially since his name was John Waters and I was the junior! [Laughs]
Many young artists feel the need to rebel, but as they grow older, they quit. You never did. Could you say that, at the age of 66 – to use a term from Cry-Baby – deep down you are still a juvenile delinquent?
Waters: Yeah, John the adult delinquent! Brigid Berlin, who is my favourite of the Andy Warhol stars, recently said to me: “How can you be bad at seventy years old?!” And that’s a really good question. The key is: my dreams have already come true. Everything I ever wanted to do has happened. I’m rebelling, but I’m not angry. What do I have to be angry about? I’ve had a great career; people have understood me. It’s really sexy at twenty, but if you’re still angry at sixty-six, if you have not figured out some way to have happiness by then, you’re an asshole.
Yet, you still enjoy shocking people.
Waters: I enjoy surprising people, hopefully with wit. It really is not just about shocking people. I don’t think I’m ever mean-spirited. I’m not like reality television that asks you to make fun of the people you’re watching and feel superior. I look up to my characters, even the strangest. In fact, I believe that everything I have done, strangely enough, has been politically correct.
Really?
Waters: Yes! Think about it. Challenge me: what have I done that is against political correctness? I’m not racist. I don’t do black jokes, because I'm not black. I don't do Jewish jokes, because I'm not Jewish. I’m not sexist: women are strong individuals in my films. I respect all the red flags of political correctness.
(Johnny Depp in Cry-Baby)
You made your point! Back to Cry-Baby. Did you as a teenager belong to a group like the Squares or the Drapes?
Waters: I was too young for that and I did not live in that kind of neighbourhood. But I saw them. There was one juvenile delinquent across the street in our neighbourhood. It was the first rebel I ever saw! That’s why it made such a strong impression. That was Cry-Baby, but I never knew him.
Why are all of your movies set in your hometown? What is so special about Baltimore?
Waters: There’s something in the water here! I don’t know. We’re not trendy. We have a sense of humour about ourselves. We exaggerate and praise things about the city that others might want to hide. Baltimore is like a character in my movies. When I write the script, I pick out the locations first. In my movies the geography is always correct: if you turn right, then you really turn right. You would be surprised how realistic my movies are. You see people like Divine standing on the corner here. When people come here, they say: “God, I didn’t know you made documentaries!”
You made your point! Back to Cry-Baby. Did you as a teenager belong to a group like the Squares or the Drapes?
Waters: I was too young for that and I did not live in that kind of neighbourhood. But I saw them. There was one juvenile delinquent across the street in our neighbourhood. It was the first rebel I ever saw! That’s why it made such a strong impression. That was Cry-Baby, but I never knew him.
Why are all of your movies set in your hometown? What is so special about Baltimore?
Waters: There’s something in the water here! I don’t know. We’re not trendy. We have a sense of humour about ourselves. We exaggerate and praise things about the city that others might want to hide. Baltimore is like a character in my movies. When I write the script, I pick out the locations first. In my movies the geography is always correct: if you turn right, then you really turn right. You would be surprised how realistic my movies are. You see people like Divine standing on the corner here. When people come here, they say: “God, I didn’t know you made documentaries!”
This year's Offscreen Film Festival is focusing on trash and camp. Irony is essential to camp. I would like to confront you with a quote on this subject. You once said that: “Irony ruined everything. Even the best exploitation movies were never meant to be ‘so bad they were good’. They were made to be violent for real, or to be sexy for real. But now everybody has irony. Everybody’s in on the joke now. Nobody takes anything at face value anymore.” Yet your own work is full of irony. Can you explain?
Waters: What I meant was that these exploitation movies, when they came out, were not funny. They were not made for the intellectuals. People at festivals like Offscreen all love this type of movies, but they are seeing them through the lens of irony, which has now become almost inevitable.
I was referring to your own work: how do irony and camp function in your films?
Waters: I happily used irony in every one of my movies. I am an irony dealer: I use it and I sell it, but I’m a bit weary of irony as well. That’s why at the end of my movie Pecker there’s a toast: “To the end of irony!” But not everything is irony and camp in my movies. In fact, I don’t use the word “camp”. I prefer “filth”. Today, “camp” makes me think of two elderly gay men in an antique shop talking about a Tiffany lampshade. I don’t think young people use the word anymore.
Maybe not in conversation, but in articles on your work, the term “camp” is often used, and even today, Divine is still considered to be one of the greatest camp icons.
Waters: I have no problem with that, but not everything Divine did was camp. When he played a housewife [in Polyester and Hairspray - GH], he gave a totally convincing performance. Not so bad that it became good, but very well acted.
Waters: What I meant was that these exploitation movies, when they came out, were not funny. They were not made for the intellectuals. People at festivals like Offscreen all love this type of movies, but they are seeing them through the lens of irony, which has now become almost inevitable.
I was referring to your own work: how do irony and camp function in your films?
Waters: I happily used irony in every one of my movies. I am an irony dealer: I use it and I sell it, but I’m a bit weary of irony as well. That’s why at the end of my movie Pecker there’s a toast: “To the end of irony!” But not everything is irony and camp in my movies. In fact, I don’t use the word “camp”. I prefer “filth”. Today, “camp” makes me think of two elderly gay men in an antique shop talking about a Tiffany lampshade. I don’t think young people use the word anymore.
Maybe not in conversation, but in articles on your work, the term “camp” is often used, and even today, Divine is still considered to be one of the greatest camp icons.
Waters: I have no problem with that, but not everything Divine did was camp. When he played a housewife [in Polyester and Hairspray - GH], he gave a totally convincing performance. Not so bad that it became good, but very well acted.
Divine made me think of Elizabeth Taylor in Polyester.
Waters: Well, he always wanted to be Elizabeth Taylor. In fact, Divine was my Elizabeth Taylor. [Waters uses the past tense because Divine died in 1988, a few months after the release of Hairspray - GH]
Talking about Polyester, I think the screening of that film and of Pink Flamingos will be two of the highlights of the retrospective Offscreen is honouring you with. Do you think those films have retained their power?
Waters: Well, I know that they have because they play at colleges all the time where people that weren’t even born when I made them are discovering them. Do I think Pink Flamingos is my best movie? No, I think Female Trouble is the best of my Divine movies. Because it’s a showcase for Divine and has some of my best scenes. But Pink Flamingos will always be extreme, it did not get nicer over the years. It will always be in my obituary, no matter what I have done ever since.
Waters: Well, he always wanted to be Elizabeth Taylor. In fact, Divine was my Elizabeth Taylor. [Waters uses the past tense because Divine died in 1988, a few months after the release of Hairspray - GH]
Talking about Polyester, I think the screening of that film and of Pink Flamingos will be two of the highlights of the retrospective Offscreen is honouring you with. Do you think those films have retained their power?
Waters: Well, I know that they have because they play at colleges all the time where people that weren’t even born when I made them are discovering them. Do I think Pink Flamingos is my best movie? No, I think Female Trouble is the best of my Divine movies. Because it’s a showcase for Divine and has some of my best scenes. But Pink Flamingos will always be extreme, it did not get nicer over the years. It will always be in my obituary, no matter what I have done ever since.
(Polyester scratch and sniff card)
Some of the fans of your early movies claim that since Hairspray your work has lost much of its power to upset.
Waters: I disagree. Cecil B. DeMented is about film terrorism – I wouldn’t call that a straight commercial movie. And the last movie I did, A Dirty Shame, is about sex addicts. The very last shot is some kind of a facial for the viewers [the character of Johnny Knoxville climaxes onto the screen - GH]. I don’t know how safe that was! [Laughs]
A Dirty Shame dates from 2004. What happened since then?
Waters: Well, I had a good development deal to make this movie called Fruitcake, but then all the independent companies I work with went out of business, because of the recession. I’m still having meetings, but if it doesn’t work out, it’s not the end of the world to me. I’ve made seventeen movies. If I don’t make another one, I write a book. My latest book, Role Models, was a best-seller. Or I do a show.
Some of the fans of your early movies claim that since Hairspray your work has lost much of its power to upset.
Waters: I disagree. Cecil B. DeMented is about film terrorism – I wouldn’t call that a straight commercial movie. And the last movie I did, A Dirty Shame, is about sex addicts. The very last shot is some kind of a facial for the viewers [the character of Johnny Knoxville climaxes onto the screen - GH]. I don’t know how safe that was! [Laughs]
A Dirty Shame dates from 2004. What happened since then?
Waters: Well, I had a good development deal to make this movie called Fruitcake, but then all the independent companies I work with went out of business, because of the recession. I’m still having meetings, but if it doesn’t work out, it’s not the end of the world to me. I’ve made seventeen movies. If I don’t make another one, I write a book. My latest book, Role Models, was a best-seller. Or I do a show.
Not many fans in Belgium know you give stand-up shows.
Waters: I have been doing this for forty years. In the early days, Divine and me did an opening vaudeville act before the film screening started. And from that it evolved and became a real show. Last year I did fifty. In Brussels I will present This Filthy Worldin which I talk about fashion and crime, about Baltimore and Divine. I will talk about everybody, from Joey Heatherton [a sexy TV actress from the 1960s and mother to a gang member in Cry-Baby – GH] to Divine. In short, it’s about how to be a happy neurotic. You know, the real reason why I make movies, write books, and do shows, is to make people laugh. If you are up there on your soapbox ranting about your politics, nobody cares and you won’t change anybody’s mind. But if you can make people laugh, they will listen to you.
This Filthy World + Polyester, 9/3, 20.00, Bozar
Retrospective + His Master’s Choice, 10 > 24/3, Cinematek & Cinéma Nova
Offscreen Film Festival • 6 > 24/3, Cinéma Nova, Cinematek, Bozar & Cinema Rits, www.offscreen.be
> READ OUR SEVEN OFFSCREEN TIPS
Waters: I have been doing this for forty years. In the early days, Divine and me did an opening vaudeville act before the film screening started. And from that it evolved and became a real show. Last year I did fifty. In Brussels I will present This Filthy Worldin which I talk about fashion and crime, about Baltimore and Divine. I will talk about everybody, from Joey Heatherton [a sexy TV actress from the 1960s and mother to a gang member in Cry-Baby – GH] to Divine. In short, it’s about how to be a happy neurotic. You know, the real reason why I make movies, write books, and do shows, is to make people laugh. If you are up there on your soapbox ranting about your politics, nobody cares and you won’t change anybody’s mind. But if you can make people laugh, they will listen to you.
This Filthy World + Polyester, 9/3, 20.00, Bozar
Retrospective + His Master’s Choice, 10 > 24/3, Cinematek & Cinéma Nova
Offscreen Film Festival • 6 > 24/3, Cinéma Nova, Cinematek, Bozar & Cinema Rits, www.offscreen.be
> READ OUR SEVEN OFFSCREEN TIPS
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