Pink Flamingos (1972)

August 28, 2004

Brattle Theater, Cambridge, MA

This film cannot be rated.

Watching John Waters’ notorious Pink Flamingos is like observing a train wreck. We know we shouldn’t be looking, we really don’t want to, but for some reason we can’t turn our heads away from the carnage. Pink Flamingos creates this alternate dimension of reality in the form of Babs Johnson, a 300 pound drag queen named Divine, and a plethora of kooks, creeps, and criminals slithering beside her. Together they are the basis for the filthiest, most disgusting movie of all-time. For once, a movie that lives up to its billing even while we sometimes hope it does not. In the most simple terms Pink Flamingos is the grossest movie ever made and proud of it.

Though the story merely serves as an excuse for the gross outs I will do my duty as a critic and explain it anyway. Pink Flamingos tells the story of media darling Babs Johnson hiding out for whatever reason in a mobile home with her son, Crackers (Danny Mills), companion Cotton (Mary Vivian Pierce), and her overgrown, egg loving mother, Edie (Edith Massey). Divine is a tabloid sensation known as “The filthiest person alive.” Her crown, while loathsome to most, is however the envy of vengeful Connie and Raymond Marble (Mink Stole and David Lochary), purveyors of their own brand of putridness who make their money in very vile fashion (this must be seen to be believed). Their jealousy of Divine is so great that they will stop at nothing to make her life Hell and take the title for their own. From this central thread John Waters and his obtrusive, zoom in, zoom out camera goes on tangents at every direction fleshing out the contemptible fetishes of his characters. These fetishes and the bizarre practices they produce are the reason this movie has existed so famously for thirty some odd years. And for good reason: this is bad taste of the most nasty kind.

To give away any of the grossness in Pink Flamingos to someone who hasn’t witnessed it first hand is a sin. Going in I knew a few details of what would take place but even with that knowledge I was still utterly unprepared for a majority of the shenanigans. As my stomach churned, however a strange thing happened: I suddenly found myself laughing out loud. Was it my inner pervert screaming for attention? Was it my voyeuristic tendencies bubbling to the surface? Am I as jealous of Divine’s lack of inhibitions as the Marbles? Am I sick and twisted myself? Or is John Waters some kind of psychotic genius catering to our suppressed inner longings? I don’t know the answer but whatever the reason I couldn’t turn my head away no matter how much my conscience begged me.

In my opinion the best humour comes from true insight. After watching this movie start to finish I can only conclude that although Waters and his crew are completely disgusting and foul (and you have to be to do some of the stunts they pull off here) and record and present their perversions for a paying audience there is something deep inside of them that realized exactly what they were getting into with this film from the beginning. These are real freaks living among us, for better or worse, and as such represent truth in the most obtuse form of the notion. And Waters knows this and cherishes ever excruciatingly horrid yet hilarious moment of it. Though this movie is obviously not for everyone (or perhaps anyone for that matter) I must still thoroughly recommend all those who can to watch it if for no other reason than to prove you can and say you did. In my humble though warped estimation it is worth the trip. Just don’t forget your barf bag. You may need it.