Called “one of the most vile, stupid and repulsive movies ever made” (Variety), writer-director John Waters’ 1972 X-rated (now NC-17) paean to bad taste chronicles the rivalry between two opposing parties for the tabloid title of “The Filthiest Person Alive.” The 300-lb. transvestite Divine (character and stage name of Harris Glenn Milstead) —is living in a dilapidated trailer on the outskirts of Baltimore with her partner-in-crime Cotton (Mary Vivian Pearce), as well as Divine’s family: her mama Edie (Edith Massey), who spends her days in a crib exclusively eating (and/or talking about) eggs; and her son, Crackers (Danny Mills), who has chicken sex with a woman named Cookie (Cookie Mueller).
Spoiler alert: the clearly non-consensual chicken actually dies, for real.
Team Divine is challenged by Team Marble: blue-haired Raymond Marble (David Lochary), his red-haired wife Connie (Mink Stole), and their accomplice Channing (Channing Wilroy)—a rapist who impregnates women chained in the Marbles’ basement, whose babies are then sold to lesbian couples. This deranged family feud only serves as a flimsy plot hook on which to hang a number of outrageous sequences, ranging from an explicit incestuous blowjob that Divine performs on Crackers, to a contortionist with a gaping anus who flexes same to the soundtrack’s “Surfin’ Bird” by the Trashmen. The mildest (and, to my mind, funniest) of these visual assaults is when Divine and Crackers invade the Marbles’ domicile and proceed to lick every surface (couch, banister, plates), laying down their salivary diss with glee.
Along with novelist Anne Tyler (The Accidental Tourist), and TV showrunner David Simon (The Wire), John Waters is one of the patron artist saints of Baltimore, albeit offering up a decidedly different take on Charm City. Waters would eventually enter the mainstream with toned-down films like Polyester (1981) and Hairspray (1988)—both featuring his muse, Divine—but his ‘70s cult classics (also including Multiple Maniacs, Desperate Living, and Female Trouble) are unapologetically and defiantly envelope-exploding exercises in bad taste.
As Roger Ebert noted when he awarded Pink Flamingos zero stars, a star rating is beside the point (“It should be considered not as a film but as a fact, or perhaps an object”). And, yes, Pink Flamingos is the film in which Divine literally eats dog poop. Consider yourself warned. Added to the National Film Registry by the Library of Congress in 2021—presumably for its cultural and historical (but not aesthetic) significance—Pink Flamingos makes its Blu-ray debut with a colorful 4K transfer that nevertheless can’t hide the film’s 16mm origins.
Extras include two audio commentaries featuring Waters (from the 1997 Criterion laserdisc and the 2001 DVD release), a new conversation between Waters and filmmaker Jim Jarmusch (which is more entertaining than the film itself), a Waters-led tour of the film’s Baltimore locations, deleted scenes, alternate takes, on-set footage, a tabloid-style mini-newspaper featuring an essay by critic Howard Hampton and an excerpt from actor and author Cookie Mueller’s 1990 book Walking Through Clear Water in a Pool Painted Black, and a Pink Phlegm-Ingo Barf Bag.
Fifty years on, Pink Flamingos is still a stomach-churning watch guaranteed to offend almost everyone. Even in today’s cultural climate—where almost nothing shocks anymore—this is not recommended for most public libraries (regardless of the Library of Congress honor), although it could be appropriate for academic collections in universities offering cinema history courses.