A Journey Through Perversion: The Films of John Waters

By scott colbert

From Pink Flamingos to A Dirty Shame, John Waters has something to offend everyone, and have you laughing while doing so. In this collection of essays, Scott Colbert takes a conversational tone in talking about Waters' movies and why he's one of the most important film directors of the past 40 years. Collected from his popular columns on the now defunct talkbacker site, Colbert offers an insightful, humorous, and approachable take on the films from the Pope of Trash. With a foreword by NIck NIghtly, co-host of the Shut Up Kids podcast, A journey Through Perversion: The Films of John Waters, is an essential collection of essays, sure to delight and shed new light on some classic underground films.

• Language: English
• Publisher: scott colbert
• Release date: Jun 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781501487279

scott colbert

Phoenix resident Scott Colbert is a transplanted New Yorker. Prone to send pictures of his cat to random strangers, you can listen to him babble on various podcasts and his website thesupernaughts.com

Book preview

Foreword by Nick Nightly

I was eight years old when John Waters first exposed himself to me. The year was 1988 and my family had its first VCR for less than a year.  My father used to buy us VHS tapes about once a week and it was extremely exciting for me to see what cinematic adventures each Friday would bring.  One day he came home - not a Friday, mind you - with three nondescript tapes that he quickly rushed over to the staircase leading up to my parents' bedroom.

What are those?  I asked, naturally.

Oh no, he said. Those aren't for you.  Just some movies that I have to bring back to a guy at work.

What a fool. That's just about the worst thing you could say to a curious eight-year-old. How could he not know those words would send me on a mission to solve this mystery?  When he went to use the bathroom, I peeked at the tapes and saw that only one was labeled.  It said Pink Flamingos, the title hand-written in blue ink on one of those long, white VHS labels.  I thought it was a rather odd name for a movie and so I became determined to see what it was all about.  (In case you were wondering, I only found out what one of the other two tapes were.  It was a porno called SPLASHDANCE that my father kept for a few years, keeping it hidden on top of a kitchen cabinet.  It was the first pornographic film I ever saw, but ironically it was out of the house before I started masturbating.)

It was probably around a week later when I was finally able to get my grubby paws on Pink Flamingos. My father was at work and my mother was in the backyard skimming the pool.  I ran up to my parents' bedroom and found the tape sitting atop their dresser, so I snatched it, ran downstairs, and popped it in the VCR as fast as possible, hoping to catch just a few minutes of this forbidden film.

HOLY SHIT.

Seeing Edith Massey in lingerie, screaming for eggs inside of a child's playpen was nothing short of mind-blowing to my inexperienced brain.  Just when I thought I had seen the weirdest thing ever, here comes an overweight ... person ... to care for her.  I was confused. The character was clearly meant to be a woman, but he/she/it was also awfully masculine and wore some pretty hideous makeup.  I remember pondering the enigma of this man-lady and instantly learned that there are things about the world that I will never, ever understand.

I was far from scared off, though.  It became my mission in life to see the rest of that film, and I held tight to that title—along with those beautifully confusing images—in my memory.  The day finally came when I was 17 and Pink Flamingos was released on video for it's 25th anniversary.  I remember taking it home and examining the box and seeing the name John Waters listed as the writer/director.  I know that name, I thought to myself, and it didn't take long for me to put all the pieces together.  I had unknowingly been a fan of this guy for years!

After some old-fashioned, dial-up internet research, I learned that John Waters had made a bunch of oddball comedies that I had been enjoying throughout my adolescence.  There were the titles—Polyester, Hairspray, Cry-Baby, Serial Mom—all of them pure gold as far as I was concerned.  But, man, these were quite tame compared to Pink Flamingos.  I immediately sought out Waters' other early work, which gleefully lived up to the trash standards of Pink Flamingos. I've been a die-hard fan ever since.

I quickly learned that Waters' brand of comedy isn't quite for everyone.  Even the tamer work of his later career can be off-putting, or even flat-out unfunny to many people.  These people are no longer my friends.  When I was younger I would show everyone the trash celebration of Desperate Living or Female Trouble, usually to someone who couldn't be less interested or entertained.  It was disheartening to say the least—HOW THE FUCK ARE WE FRIENDS?! I'd think—but there were a special few who got it, and we remain friends to this day.

Pink Flamingos even became a girlfriend-tester for a while. If I met a girl I liked and things seemed like they could go somewhere, I'd pop it in and gauge our future on her reaction.  If she didn't think any less of me after watching it, well, then, she was worth