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“You couldn’t put footage in it, you’d give away everything,” explains Waters. The original trailer for Pink Flamingos didn’t feature any footage from the film, and was instead comprised entirely of shocked reactions from people who’d just attended a screening. I’d shoot myself with it accidentally if I had one.” It was a good date, but I never then wanted to go shoot a gun again. “It was a fun day, but it was more fun because I was with him than it was shooting a gun. “A biker took me out into the woods and we shot machine guns,” he says. In the wake of high profile mass shootings in Texas and California, Waters says simply: “There’s no reason why anyone should have guns in America.” He adds that he’s only shot a gun once in his life. Prior to the sh**-eating climax, Pink Flamingos also features a double shooting, a satire of America’s obscene gun culture. I think I did release that power and gave him an outlet for the anger and rage that he must have felt from being bullied so much.” “He was an overweight nerd that got beat up in school every day, but I saw my father shudder when he saw him and I knew that there was a certain power there waiting to be released. “He was very un-Divineish,” recalls Waters. What child has a stage?!” He saw potential in Divine from the first time he spotted him waiting for the school bus. My parents built me a stage in my house where I put on very self-indulgent shows for my poor aunt. “I had a puppeteer career when I was 12 years old. “I knew I would be in show business,” he says. “They ran a nursery school for children and Divine was their only child, which I’m not saying was the best advertisement.”Įven at an early age, Waters saw himself as an artist. “His family moved five houses up the street from my family,” he remembers. “I didn’t write on it, but I think it certainly led to some of my writings.” He’d first met Divine, born Glenn Milstead, at high school in Baltimore. “We used to take LSD a lot,” says Waters. It was a radical time, and it was group madness in a creative way.” Waters made his early films with a tight-knit group of cast and crew known as the Dreamlanders. “I said: ‘Will you eat dog sh**?’ He said: ‘Sure,’” recalls Waters of his friend and frequent collaborator, who passed away in 1988 at the age of 42. After Deep Throat had become legal, it was a joke on ‘what’s left that you can’t do?’ And it was a publicity stunt that’s working to this day.”ĭivine, ever the professional, didn’t take much convincing. “I knew that it was in the spirit of Mondo Cane, and in the spirit of Jackass before it ever even happened, and in the spirit of the punk world that was right around the corner. Waters conceived of the gross-out finale before writing the rest of the script. It is surely the only film in the Library of Congress to climax with a scene in which its star eats a freshly produced and unmistakably real dog turd. Half a century on, Pink Flamingos retains the same ability to shock that once saw it banned in Australia and Switzerland. “An irony on top of all ironies,” says Waters. Even more remarkably, last year Pink Flamingos was selected for preservation by the Library of Congress as being “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant”. In a sign that respectability has come for Waters whether he likes it or not, the film will soon mark its 50th anniversary by being re-released with new bonus extras as part of the prestigious Criterion Collection. Christened “The Pope of Trash” by Naked Lunch author William Burroughs, Waters made his name in the early Seventies with exuberantly transgressive independent films like 1972’s Pink Flamingos, a depraved tale of incest and underground baby mills starring drag queen Divine as a criminal living under the name Babs Johnson and dubbed “the filthiest person alive”. Respectability has never been high on Waters’ agenda.
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They said: ‘You can’t say that!’ But it’s just too hard for me not to, because you’re supposed to give such a respectable answer and I’m tired of being respectably gay.” “I told my office I was going to say that. He interrupts himself with a knowing laugh. “I’m just gonna blow as many people as possible,” the cult filmmaker, stand-up and newly-minted novelist tells me, audibly smirking. It’s the first day of Pride Month when I reach John Waters by phone at his summer home in Provincetown, Massachusetts, so it feels remiss not to ask the 76-year-old how he plans to celebrate.
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John Waters: ‘When I was 12 years old, my parents built me a stage in my house where I put on very self-indulgent shows for my poor aunt.