Pink Flamingos

I first saw Pink Flamingos in the mid 70's, back before VCRs. A college dorm had rented a print, and in a drunken state I've not achieved again this past quarter-century, I went to see it. Having finally seen it again only recently, this time sober, I'm here to tell you... it looks a hell of a lot better when you're drunk. Those who call it "great" or a "masterpiece" are plain wrong, they don't recognize what they are seeing. The camera work is a hair's breadth above home movies; the acting and story are... well, they are better than in porn flicks and even some straight-to-video movies, but, jeez, not by much. And then there is the primary purpose behind Pink Flamingos -- to make the most disgusting, revolting movie possible, perhaps even conceivable.

But... BUT... Pink Flamingos is distinctive. Even if you - yes YOU out there - the reader, wanted to make the most disgusting movie in the world and even if you had the money and the skills that John Waters lacked in 1972, you couldn't make a film as good as he did. Yes, GOOD! You couldn't because, first of all, I doubt you have the same quality of acquaintances that Waters had and put into into his early movies. And it's not just a matter of WHAT they will do, but HOW they do it. Waters' actors had a style, no matter how bizarre, that is rarer than most depravities. Could YOU recognize the virtues of, let alone even find, someone like Edith Massey? I doubt it. Which leads to the second point.

Pink Flamingos has panache! It has a free-wheeling sense of daring-do that borders on innocent fun. So, although the movie is so disgusting that I wish it had never been made, it is not a squalid film. And I don't think YOU, the reader, or anyone other than Waters could have pulled that off. It doesn't make Pink Flamingos a masterpiece. It does make it unlike any other film.

This is, without a doubt, the most disgusting, most vile thing I have ever seen. I thought I had a very strong stomach. Oh, dear Lord, I have never felt so violated in my entire life. By the film getting ONLY an NC-17 rating, John Waters got off so easily! The very last scene, with the dog, is the most vomit-inducing scene I have ever seen. I don't know if I like it or not. I just know that I would think long and hard about seeing this movie again.

The Divine and Doggie bit at the end is a bit much for me; I have to turn away. But a lot of it's pretty hysterical -- and it obviously works since folks are complaining why anyone would make a movie like this.

The answer, of course, is: to annoy folks who would complain why anyone would make a movie like this.

Don't be fooled by those who would have you believe that there's some deep meaning in, or mark of genius on, this film. There isn't. There is, though, a kind of bizarre, kinetic and desperate energy to this nonsensical enterprise.

I didn't hate it. There, that's my review: I didn't hate it.

I tend to agree with Ebert in this regard: this film is an object. It simply "is," and no amount of explaining will settle your nerves after you've seen it, nor convince you to see it in the first place.

On the surface "Pink Flamingos" could easily be dismissed as a nostalgic piece of shock cinema. With an unparalleled level of notoriety -- based almost entirely on the final scene, the film has become a curiosity of sorts and a right of passage for those testing their own boundaries of decency. Beneath this seedy exterior however, lies a brilliant and biting satire of society's obsession with fame and the lengths one will go to in order to achieve it. This theme is relevant even more so today than it ever was. Just consider the over abundance of reality TV shows, for example 'Fear Factor' – a show boasting contestants eager and willing to outdo one another by performing a variety of dangerous stunts and eating unimaginable specimens – how is this any different than the characters in 'Pink Flamingos' attempting to outdo one another in an effort to claim the dubious title of the filthiest people alive? Society is (and has always been) captivated with sensationalism; from the Roman era and the coliseum packed with bloodthirsty audiences, to modern day and the likes of the 'Jerry Springer Show' (of which Babs Johnson and the Marbles would make excellent guests!!). The purpose of "Pink Flamingos" is to not only put a hilariously depraved spin on the fascination with celebrity but to also provide a cautionary tone to the dissolution of society itself. The performances are all top-notch; especially the ever-dependable and over-the-top Mink Stole, as heartless Connie Marble; and scene stealing Edith Massey, as Edie 'The Egg Lady'. It's amazing that the film is over thirty-years old because the message is just as fresh today as it was back in 1972.

Babs Johnson (Divine) lives in a trailer with her son Crackers, her daughter Cotton and her mother Edie (Edie Massey). She's in competition with a couple named Connie and Raymond Marbles (Mink Stole, David Lochary) to be named the filthiest person alive. The film shows their attempts to outdo each other.

This film is very much NOT for everyone. It's a in your face no holds barred assault in bad taste. Crackers has sex with a woman with a live chicken between them while his sister watches; the Marbles pick up female hitchhikers, impregnate them, keep them chained in the basement and sell the babies to lesbian couples; Divine and family have a party which includes cannibalism etc etc. It's disgusting but, in a way, not unwatchable. It's SO over the top and is so unapologetic about it that it's kind of fascinating. As director John Waters might say, it's bad taste done well. Also it's kind of amusing to watch--the acting is so wretched (especially by Massey) that you just watch it in disbelief. A friend laughed out loud at how bad Massey was (she improved in later pictures).

This is NOT for people who are easily offended. Even though it's over 30 years old it's STILL shocking. However if you have an open mind and can take a lot of extreme behaviour this is a must-see. The only part that really was too much is what Divine does at the very end.