6th July.

Something struck me when watching the musical film version of Hairspray. Where is the new John Waters, another Sultan of Sleaze? Who is there these days that would dare show dog shit eating (Pink Flamingos), lobster rape (Multiple Maniacs) or propose ‘Crime is Beauty’ (Female Trouble)? Bad taste was Waters’ metier, something he consistently plundered and tried to ramp up even in his last few, not so good, works.

I did a lot of coverage on the original 1988 Hairspray. That pop culture nostalgia binge was really the only way left for Waters to shock. By making a family-friendly film. Okay it starred drag queen Divine and Deborah Harry’s exploding beehive, but its edge was sweetness rather than disgust. Waters told me then that the sting in its tail was what tickled him the most. He loved the idea of people seeing it and then renting his back catalogue thinking they contained the same kind of entertainment!

Some critics are complaining even that edge has been blunted in director Adam Shankman’s adaptation of the hit Broadway musical. And who saw that show tune spectacular coming back when ex-Warhol hunk Joe Dallesandro and Pia Zadora, the Paris Hilton of her day, played second banana to over-weight, future daytime TV star, Ricki Lake! They clearly didn’t listen to the lyrics of the period perfect catchy songs. All the spice and dirt is contained there in the grooves of the lavish Phil Spector-esque production. I loved the musical, even fat-suited John Travolta, and it’s strange to trace back its jaundiced pedigree in the light of it probably becoming the new Grease.

Non-withstanding we have Waters to thank for starting the whole Herschell Gordon Lewis and Russ Meyer splatter and sex cults, now he’s establishment rather than the angry Baltimore man of pot-smoking 60s permissiveness, the field is wide open for someone to step up to his awesome benchmark. To all those budding young filmmakers I say this. Forget about making zombie movies on council estates with your friends and families. How many more of those do we want to see? Yes, we all know George Romero is God, but enough already. Do something like Waters did with the same no budget. Put your granny in a bikini and give her filthy dialogue to spout. Get the local butcher to fashion a fake penis out of steak and shove it down your sister’s pants for that all-important cannibal orgy. And put everyone in glamour-puss fabulous outfits, sequins and feathers.

Who wants American Pie, Boat Trip or whatever passes these days as cynically manufactured Hollywood shock value. Give us the real thing only those with nothing to lose can truly go for. It’s been ages since I was truly appalled or offended by cinema going beyond the kitsch pale like Waters did. I miss it. I only hope that someone with equal visionary vitality isn’t something we’ve lost in these days of striking up the bland.

Until next time…