Despite his infamy I wouldn’t have guessed JW would make it out to this little town that, last weekend attempted to prove itself to be a far outpost of the world when very few made it out for the weekend of John Waters movies that played at the Mercury Cinema. The opening night even featured free ‘Pink Drinks’- Some manner of trashy cocktails laced with unseen or tasted but ever present vodka. They even rolled out a couple of drag queens and a glorious purple carpet to kick off the proceedings. However its lack of serious publicity may be to blame for the thin attendance. Still, Pink Flamingos was glorious on the big screen. Still savagely shocking to newcomers who couldn't believe what was unfolding and as hilarious as ever to veterans of filth. Films like Hairspray, A Dirty Shame and Cry Baby (featuring Johnny Depp) are world famous but to little avail at this movie marathon. 
Happily though, after easing a bout of spring humidity with imperial pints of beer we find that the cult following has come creeping out of the woodwork. Adelaide really turned out for the Pope of Trash. All manner of secret fans, overt ones, rockabilly folks and the gay community (including a pretty good Divine look a like) came out of the wormwood and delivered rapturous laughter and enthusiastic applause as he took to the stage and yarned non-stop for an hour and a half, without a single in-breath. John Waters must have six lungs for he is an almighty and relentlessly funny gas-bagger. And indeed it was mainly new stories and anecdotes and tales of John interacting with the modern celebrity scene and a few new sex acts and horrors. Including his obsession with Justin Bieber to whom he gave an eyebrow pencil…and the world subsequently witnessed a douchebag with Water’s trademark pencil thin mustache. John went on to add, on the subject of Justin, ‘If Michael Jackson were still alive…’
John’s presence was pure gold and he exceeded my expectations which had built up like an inextinguishable hellfire. In true form he introduced us (me?) to a new sex act- Blossoms- Swollen results quite deliberately obtained through significant rear fisting. And his amusing sandbagging of ‘sploshers’, the obsession of dousing ones private parts with food items, sent light heartedly packing with one liners like ‘ you can’t date rape a cookie’ and ‘you can’t hate fuck a cake.’
John’s idea for a bar was something to be treasured. Featuring 'unhappy hour' where penniless and barred patrons are given free drinks and brawl with each other. Another splintered mental note comes back simply as …’serving vinegar from a witches asshole.’ But despite his very individual and creative Baltimore universe of trash and filth, a warm hearted spirit and unshakeably decent values shine through. John isn’t telling you how to live, he is shocking and entertaining you, like one of his B movie idols William Castle. This same glow bursts out of Hairspray, whose heroine is overweight 'Hefty Hideaway' girl Ricki Lake dancing her way to local stardom in a 60’s teeny bopper show. And side by side with her pals protests her favourite show because it won’t show a single black face unless it is ‘negro day’, the last Thursday of every month. And Pecker with its loving family and faith in Baltimore’s homely insanity Vs. New York’s world of high art and fashion. Waters and his crew grew out of hippy protests and rebellious politics, plus the people at protests ‘looked good and had loose morals’.
He is clearly a polite and thoroughly decent chap who knows how to enjoy himself. During the post show meet and greet some people were too hasty and rude and harassed him quite a bit. At one point I noted a look on his face as some patrons headed off that seemed to say, well fuck you too, he seemed to have been disrespected. I couldn’t think of anything clever to say, so simply gave him a copy of the Nature Loves Courage zine (hoping he would get a kick out of the bad romance of ‘Booby Tuesday (see below)), placed an unforced arm on his back and wished him all the best, to which he responded with a deliberate and gracious thankyou. And besides daring a close friend to eat shit on screen and being treated like it in person are quite different.
But seriously as Charles Bukowski once said, ’those who preach love don’t have love'. John doesn’t need to harp on about good deeds and righteous behavior like a televangelist and doesn’t point fingers and demonise others. Perhaps it is the repressed neuters of the world who in their jealousy create proper evil, jealous of Satan’s freedom? Who hate the liberty of others and seek to keep it in check? But this is just speculation. My finger remains pointed at the sky, awaiting the new dawn. Ladies, gentlemen, transexuals and drag queens... Satan is love.Dominic J Clark
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