Since his first film, 1964’s “Hag in a Black Leather Jacket,” John Waters has remained an enigma to American filmgoers. His movies are trashy, full of stilted dialogue, absurd
situations and cardboard characterizations. Yet all of this is done as aesthetic principle. In this way, Waters has leveled the playing field for audiences: Since it is no longer a question of whether his films will be good, all that remains is to decide whether they are entertaining.
Water’s latest, “A Dirty Shame,” splits the difference between his early, trashier 1970s work (“Pink Flamingos,” “Multiple Maniacs”) and his latter, more polished films (“Cry-Baby,” “Hairspray”). The story involves a prudish woman (Tracey Ullman) who
receives a concussion and wakes up a sex
addict. She discovers an underground society of fetishists who, with their Christ-like leader Ray-Ray (Johnny Knoxville), believe they will reach a state of grace through the discovery of a new sex act. Their competition is the Neuters, a group of outraged citizens
attempting to promote a 1950s form of decency in their neighborhood.
A lot of the trappings of Waters’ work show up here, particularly his tendency to split moral
issues into absurdly simplistic black-and-white dichotomies. In “Dirty Shame,” the characters are either sex addicts or prudes, with no middle ground. Whether or not Waters is making a joke by framing the plot this way is open for debate.
Throughout the film, Waters presents a
laundry list of obscure sexual fetishes, ranging from an attraction to dirt and filth to being turned on by human sandwiches. (My new, all-time favorite pick-up line: “We hope that one day you’ll be our lettuce.”) Another ongoing plot device is having an accidental head trauma flip a switch, which causes a person to go from being prudish to being sex-starved, or vice
versa. In a way, this makes the point that sexual perversion is totally arbitrary and that fetishes can pop up in just about anybody. They are a part of everyday life for a wide range of normal people and are not confined simply to some fearfully alien other. (By the way, I get
academic bonus points for using the word “other” to indicate an outsider. Just so you know.)
But any deep analysis might be giving the film credit for subtlety it does not possess,
especially when the concussion theme leads to an extended joke involving David Hasselhoff and a commercial airplane restroom. On its own, the film is entertaining in its absurdity and contains some pitch-perfect moments. Waters uses a montage of 1950s nudist-colony films to connote someone’s transformation into a sex addict, and then religious films for the transformation back into a Neuter. The film also wouldn’t work
without the interesting collection of novelty hits and obscure early rock ‘n’ roll cuts. It works as a reminder of why everyone thought rock was so sexually charged when it began.
The film did receive an NC-17 rating,
probably due to a few extended scenes of full-frontal nudity. But since the film contains nothing along the lines of David Spade being covered in excrement (not that I have anything against such a turn of events), I think the rating system might be a little skewed. The film, in fact, stands above today’s vomit stream of gross-out comedies – it is trying to make a point, though in a convoluted sort of way. It never really gets inside its characters and digs around. The script lacks an understanding of the intricate nature of fetishes, the sort of
understanding Luis Bunuel had when he directed “Belle de Jour” (bonus points for reference of foreign film director). Although the assault is a bit too blunt for the satire to work, some of the barbs strike home. And the film is funny, if for nothing other than its unabashed absurdity.
“A Dirty Shame” opens tomorrow at the Bijou Arts Cinema.

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