There might be people with a better pedigree and resume than my own when it comes to John Waters expertise, but I do have a Polaroid from the day I asked him to sign my tits with a sharpie and he obliged. Maybe that is enough qualification to adequately appreciate his recently opened retrospective at LA’s famed Academy Museum of Motion Pictures. I do think of myself as a superfan. I am an actor (on strike!) and writer (no longer on strike!) and of course I love the work of many, many filmmakers, but with John it’s different.
It’s likely my decision to go to college in Baltimore was driven by the films I loved. I was in Female Trouble, yes indeed, and a degree in something as strange as “Writing Seminars” was probably the only cure. At Hopkins and now back in LA, I was not unlike sweet and chunky Tracy Turnblad even if I wanted to be Muffy St. Jaques. At the very end of the DVD era, I collected Waters video cassettes, and I ironed my hair, dig?! If you’re reading this, you probably, almost certainly, get it.