Kelly WandCry Baby
October 7th 2006 01:12
For some hardcore fans, no film by John Waters is complete without Divine, turd eating and news of some new sexual perversion (tea bagging anyone?). “Hairspray” had been one thing but many viewed “Cry Baby” as a sell out. It was his first studio picture and, admittedly, its edge is somewhat blunted. This is not a film to beat you around the head with.
That doesn’t mean this isn’t ninety minutes of the most fun you could possibly have in a cinema without somebody else’s hands on your genitalia. This is a film to be loved. From the moment Allison (played by Amy Locane) tells us she wants to be bad, we know this is going to be good. Basically, it’s like the best Elvis movie that never was; it doesn’t shy away from its Hillbilly soul. It wallows around in it quite happily like a red neck pig in pooh.
There is nothing new here; it’s merely a simple story of love across the tracks. Drapes and Squares stand in for Rock and Rollers versus Country Clubbers. This is merely “Grease” without the desperate striving for nostalgia. Instead of feeling like a themed costume party, this is like going around to someone’s house only to discover they have the largest collection of Retro furnishings in the State. This hits the spot with effortless cool. You don’t feel like you are looking back at a golden age. Despite the window dressing, you are there from the get go because the film feels timeless.
Besides, with Waters, the devil is often in the detail. When Joe Dallesandro steps out of usual home in Andy Warhol films to play a bible thumping parent, you know you are in the right movie. When Iggy Pop shows up in a tin bath tub as everyone’s favourite uncle that fact is underlined. Subversion is such a powerful and easy tool to employ that one wonders why so few directors seem capable of doing so. When Patty Hearst turns up to teach teenagers how to cross the road safely but still doesn’t know what “Fuck” means, well… you just have to have a gurgling warm feeling of satisfaction.
Porn Starlet Traci Lords is a surprise revelation. The deleted scenes hint she would have been even better if the studio hadn’t wanted her storyline pulled back. Apparently, the FBI had a warrant out for her arrest and the back room boys got cold feet. She should have been a mainstream star but, of course, like Marilyn Chambers before her, the industry at large will never forgive a woman with a disreputable past. For guys it remains fine. Ask Abel Ferrara and Francis Coppola about their first films. (Answers at the end of the piece.)
The star here is Johnny Depp. Well, you’ve already heard of him. You know that, as well as being a pretty attractive guy, he is probably the most talented actor of his generation. He’s smart and he’s funny and I hate the son of a bitch. Well, who wouldn’t? I mean to say. He makes the rest of us look really bad by comparison.
Look, you’re in a room chatting up an attractive woman. You’ve made eye contact and you have both started brushing up against each other seemingly by accident. She’s giggling at all your dumb arsed jokes. All signs are looking good until that Depp bastard walks into the room. He steps in and you are fucked or – more to the point – you are not.
I still go out of my way to see all his films and – fortunately – there are just enough stinkers in the pile to make up for his God-like perfection. I don’t want to point fingers but there was that piece of Stephen King dung a year or so back. You know the one. Part of his endless cycle of “it is so hard and dangerous to be a writer” stories. Not even Depp could rescue that one. It remains one of the few DVDs with Depp’s mug on the cover that you can pick up ex-rental for under a fiver. It is still overpriced.
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Back to the point. Depp is brilliant in and as “Cry Baby”. Most guys would not have been able to resist putting their tongue in their cheeks for this part (I’m looking at you, Mr Kilmer) but Johnny plays it straight no matter how camp it gets and the whole thing works a treat. The film could have rode on his charisma alone but it just doesn’t have to. Everyone is on top of their game.
The film is like one big enormous chocolate box. You open it up and tell yourself you can’t possibly eat all of that. But of course you do. I haven’t even mentioned Ricki Lake, Polly Bergman or Susan Tyrell. I haven’t even told you about the Square’s song and dance routines which Human Nature and the Backstreet Boys seem to have adopted step for step. I envy you the enjoyment you will have when you watch this for the first time.
I haven’t mentioned the whole joie de vivre thing this film has going for it. That’s just too hard to explain with words. Well, I just hope you picked up a taste of it from this review.
Finally, the DVD’s “It Came from Baltimore” featurette should be recommended on its own merits alone. And in answer to our quick quiz, Ferrara and Coppola directed “The Nine Lives of a Wet Pussy” and “The Peeper” respectively. They tend to leave them off of their official biographies. John Waters would not.
That doesn’t mean this isn’t ninety minutes of the most fun you could possibly have in a cinema without somebody else’s hands on your genitalia. This is a film to be loved. From the moment Allison (played by Amy Locane) tells us she wants to be bad, we know this is going to be good. Basically, it’s like the best Elvis movie that never was; it doesn’t shy away from its Hillbilly soul. It wallows around in it quite happily like a red neck pig in pooh.
There is nothing new here; it’s merely a simple story of love across the tracks. Drapes and Squares stand in for Rock and Rollers versus Country Clubbers. This is merely “Grease” without the desperate striving for nostalgia. Instead of feeling like a themed costume party, this is like going around to someone’s house only to discover they have the largest collection of Retro furnishings in the State. This hits the spot with effortless cool. You don’t feel like you are looking back at a golden age. Despite the window dressing, you are there from the get go because the film feels timeless.
Besides, with Waters, the devil is often in the detail. When Joe Dallesandro steps out of usual home in Andy Warhol films to play a bible thumping parent, you know you are in the right movie. When Iggy Pop shows up in a tin bath tub as everyone’s favourite uncle that fact is underlined. Subversion is such a powerful and easy tool to employ that one wonders why so few directors seem capable of doing so. When Patty Hearst turns up to teach teenagers how to cross the road safely but still doesn’t know what “Fuck” means, well… you just have to have a gurgling warm feeling of satisfaction.
Porn Starlet Traci Lords is a surprise revelation. The deleted scenes hint she would have been even better if the studio hadn’t wanted her storyline pulled back. Apparently, the FBI had a warrant out for her arrest and the back room boys got cold feet. She should have been a mainstream star but, of course, like Marilyn Chambers before her, the industry at large will never forgive a woman with a disreputable past. For guys it remains fine. Ask Abel Ferrara and Francis Coppola about their first films. (Answers at the end of the piece.)
The star here is Johnny Depp. Well, you’ve already heard of him. You know that, as well as being a pretty attractive guy, he is probably the most talented actor of his generation. He’s smart and he’s funny and I hate the son of a bitch. Well, who wouldn’t? I mean to say. He makes the rest of us look really bad by comparison.
Look, you’re in a room chatting up an attractive woman. You’ve made eye contact and you have both started brushing up against each other seemingly by accident. She’s giggling at all your dumb arsed jokes. All signs are looking good until that Depp bastard walks into the room. He steps in and you are fucked or – more to the point – you are not.
I still go out of my way to see all his films and – fortunately – there are just enough stinkers in the pile to make up for his God-like perfection. I don’t want to point fingers but there was that piece of Stephen King dung a year or so back. You know the one. Part of his endless cycle of “it is so hard and dangerous to be a writer” stories. Not even Depp could rescue that one. It remains one of the few DVDs with Depp’s mug on the cover that you can pick up ex-rental for under a fiver. It is still overpriced.
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Back to the point. Depp is brilliant in and as “Cry Baby”. Most guys would not have been able to resist putting their tongue in their cheeks for this part (I’m looking at you, Mr Kilmer) but Johnny plays it straight no matter how camp it gets and the whole thing works a treat. The film could have rode on his charisma alone but it just doesn’t have to. Everyone is on top of their game.
The film is like one big enormous chocolate box. You open it up and tell yourself you can’t possibly eat all of that. But of course you do. I haven’t even mentioned Ricki Lake, Polly Bergman or Susan Tyrell. I haven’t even told you about the Square’s song and dance routines which Human Nature and the Backstreet Boys seem to have adopted step for step. I envy you the enjoyment you will have when you watch this for the first time.
I haven’t mentioned the whole joie de vivre thing this film has going for it. That’s just too hard to explain with words. Well, I just hope you picked up a taste of it from this review.
Finally, the DVD’s “It Came from Baltimore” featurette should be recommended on its own merits alone. And in answer to our quick quiz, Ferrara and Coppola directed “The Nine Lives of a Wet Pussy” and “The Peeper” respectively. They tend to leave them off of their official biographies. John Waters would not.
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Comment by JohnDoe
Film & TV on DVD
Love the soundtrack, lovethe film, love Iggy.
Comment by Bob Short
Comment by JohnDoe
Film & TV on DVD