John Waters

by Ivana Brehas / The Big Issue Australia / courtesy of INSP.ngo

The director and arch-raconteur John Waters has always found humor – however twisted – in his hometown of Baltimore. The result: outrageous cult classics like "Pink Flamingos" (1972), with its notorious dog-turd-eating scene; the odorama melodrama "Polyester" (1981); and the juvenile delinquent romance "Cry‐Baby" (1990).

His films earned Waters nicknames like the “Pope of Trash” and “The People’s Pervert,” while their transgressive influence transformed mainstream culture. A pioneer of queer visibility, his deliberately campy work skewered suburban normativity and pushed against the “good taste” standards of the day.

Even his tamer works, like "Hairspray" (1988) – a 60s segregation satire, which was remade by Hollywood in 2007 – have proved subversive. “It snuck in middle America and no one noticed,” he explains. “It’s done in high schools, and it encourages gay marriage and interracial dating. Even racists like 'Hairspray.'”

Throughout his career, Waters has steadfastly championed rebellion, irreverence and “bad taste,” sporting a pencil mustache and wonderfully kooky fashion sense to match. The queer icon is, unsurprisingly, a hit with young people.

“There are ones at my spoken-word show that weren’t even born when I made my last movie,” he laughs. Now a fully-fledged, self-described “filth elder,” he’s doing the generous thing and sharing his mischievous wisdom with the world.

Before the pandemic, he was performing his one-man show, "Make Trouble," at respectable venues like the Sydney Opera House and Thalia Hall in Chicago. The title refers to a university commencement speech in which he urged the students to do just that. “It’s a good slogan for life,” he explains. “There’s bad and good trouble, but all trouble changes things, starts culture, and makes life exciting. I always mean it in a positive way.”

The irony of the speech’s popularity among graduates is not lost on him. “I got thrown out of every school I ever went to,” he laughs.

He is also releasing a new book, his ninth, titled Mr. Know-It-All.

John Waters

Greg Gorman

“My intentions were to show the lessons I’ve learned: how I got through life never having to get a job I hated; never having to, today, be around assholes anymore. It was a gradual thing I learned through years of trying to get through many different systems – Hollywood, the art world. You can do this, but it’s hard. You have to negotiate your way through to even hope to come out still doing what you want to.”

Waters is one of those rare 70-somethings who is genuinely considered cool by youngsters – his book fondly recalls Justin Bieber telling him, “Your ’stache is the jam!” Aware of his influence, Waters tries to be a bad (read: good) influence on the youth, urging them to lead the troublemaker charge.

“I think it’s young people’s duty to make trouble. That’s what they were put on this Earth to do. With all the politics that are going on – it seems weirdly the same in every country, this kind of scary right-wing takeover – they aren’t making enough trouble, if you ask me.”

His encouragement of subversion extends to every arena of life, from politics to fashion. “No young people should pay money for lots of designer clothes. When you’re young, you should try and wear clothes that cost nothing, really. Go to the thrift shop and buy the one thing that nobody would wear – the one that, when you put it in a Goodwill box, they throw it back out at you. Wear it militantly, then it becomes fashion. You’ll look the cutest and sexiest you possibly could.”

Waters’ affection for outcasts and rule-breakers is evident throughout his work. This year marks the 20th anniversary of "Cecil B. Demented," his comedy about a cult of independent radicals who wreak havoc on the world of commercial cinema. “[Cecil] was not one of the critics’ favorites,” Waters laughs, “but I still have a warm heart for it.”

Little has changed since its release – sequels and big profits still rule the box office. “It seems to me that arthouse cinema is vanishing,” Waters sighs, “and that it’s being taken over by films that don’t even want dialogue – they just want special effects. They don’t even want movie stars.

“When I go to arthouse cinemas, it’s all old people – and God bless ’em – but I think that there’s a time for activism. Maybe Cecil’s needed today more than ever. But the movies survived television and video, and they’re gonna survive Netflix and all that.”