I first saw Pink Flamingos in the mid 70's, back before VCRs. A college dorm had rented a print, and in a drunken state I've not achieved again this past quarter-century, I went to see it. Having finally seen it again only recently, this time sober, I'm here to tell you... it looks a hell of a lot better when you're drunk. Those who call it "great" or a "masterpiece" are plain wrong, they don't recognize what they are seeing. The camera work is a hair's breadth above home movies; the acting and story are... well, they are better than in porn flicks and even some straight-to-video movies, but, jeez, not by much. And then there is the primary purpose behind Pink Flamingos -- to make the most disgusting, revolting movie possible, perhaps even conceivable.
But... BUT... Pink Flamingos is distinctive. Even if you - yes YOU out there - the reader, wanted to make the most disgusting movie in the world and even if you had the money and the skills that John Waters lacked in 1972, you couldn't make a film as good as he did. Yes, GOOD! You couldn't because, first of all, I doubt you have the same quality of acquaintances that Waters had and put into into his early movies. And it's not just a matter of WHAT they will do, but HOW they do it. Waters' actors had a style, no matter how bizarre, that is rarer than most depravities. Could YOU recognize the virtues of, let alone even find, someone like Edith Massey? I doubt it. Which leads to the second point.
Pink Flamingos has panache! It has a free-wheeling sense of daring-do that borders on innocent fun. So, although the movie is so disgusting that I wish it had never been made, it is not a squalid film. And I don't think YOU, the reader, or anyone other than Waters could have pulled that off. It doesn't make Pink Flamingos a masterpiece. It does make it unlike any other film.
