Twenty-five years have passed since John Waters gathered
his merry band of Baltimore friends and filmed Pink Flamingos, the outre
comic melodrama about the filthiest people alive (with its gross pinnacle being the
ingestion of a live dog turd by the 300-pound, drag queen/star Divine). The hilarious
and notorious film went on to become a midnight bonanza, a cult classic which stands
as one of the watershed movies in the canon of American alternative cinema. Divine
Trash documents not only the filming of Pink Flamingos but also the interdependent
evolution of the careers of John Waters and Divine, and furthermore provides some
context by which to understand these cultural phenomena as subsets within the colorful
history of independent filmmaking.
Steve Yeager, the director of Divine Trash, is uniquely positioned to document
the whole phenomenon. He was there at the beginning, back before Baltimore could
boast its milieu as the filmmaking petri dish for such original and geographically
devoted homeboys as John Waters and Barry Levinson. Yeager, who still lives in Baltimore,
where he teaches and continues to work in film says, "John and I have been friends
for 30-some years. I play a role of a reporter in Pink Flamingos. That's why
I was around all the times that I was, participated in the rehearsal process, and
really knew what was going on with John and his people. John and I met at a hippie
bar [described in Divine Trash as Baltimore's decades-old beacon for weirdos,
beatniks, and heads]; we were buying dope from the same dealer."
Indeed, Divine Trash reveals to us the young, long-haired John Waters,
well before he morphed into a dapper icon of weirdo cinema on late-night TV talk
shows. Through on-camera interviews with Waters, various of his filmmaking cohorts,
and knowledgeable commentators, we come to understand the formative elements that
shaped the director's career. We learn such things as how Waters was obsessed with
filmmaking since he received his first camera at the age of 16; how as a toddler
he cajoled his parents into taking him to junkyards to ogle mangled car wrecks; how
as a teenager he sat on a high hill by his house and watched gory Herschell Gordon
Lewis movies at the drive-in through binoculars; and how as a young adult he'd drop
speed and take the train up to New York to watch three films a day. "I think
John knew what he wanted to be when he was 12 years old," comments Yeager. "How
incredible is that?"
The influences on Waters' filmmaking are many - he absorbed everything from classic
European art films to Hollywood studio productions, New York underground movies to
grindhouse quickies. His shrewd marketing sensibilities were honed early on, as was
his habit of working continually with the same cluster of friends and associates.
Chief among them was Divine, aka Glenn Milstead, who is now deceased. Yeager
clearly sees the film as "an homage to Divine. I knew Glenn very well. He was
a terrific character actor, and he would, as evidenced in John's films, jump in a
freezing river and try to swim it. Divine would do anything for John because he believed
in him."
Insight is provided by such diverse interviewees as Waters' parents (who provided
Yeager with fascinating home movie relics, saying "Here, don't tell John");
underground film stalwarts Jonas Mekas, George and Mike Kuchar, and Ken Jacobs; above-ground
fringe filmmakers Paul Morrissey, Herschell Gordon Lewis, Jim Jarmusch, and Steve
Buscemi; Waters associates Mink Stole and Mary Vivian Pierce; and indie film observers
John Pierson and J. Hoberman.
Divine Trash was awarded the documentary Filmmakers Trophy at January's
Sundance Film Festival. It's the award chosen by other directors, a testament to
Divine Trash's ability to ignite a passionate contagion for the practice of
independent filmmaking.