Blood Capsule #2

CRY-BABY (1990)

I wish that John Waters was my grandfather. How could any self-respecting exponent of off-kilter cinema turn their nose up at the man who bedizened the art of exploitation? In my opinion, Pink Flamingos is the best underground movie of all time. Even the peaches-and-cream escapades that were spitballed out of John's "mainstream" era are leagues above the Hollywood botches that pass as crowd pleasers in 2011 (oh, Happy New Year...or whatever). Cry-Baby was the last film he dished out that could be considered fun for the whole family. Rival gangs butt heads over a fair-haired chick-a-dee who can't decide whether she's a Drape (Depp's clique of leather-bound heathens) or a Square (the jejune and the righteous, her grandmother's ilk).

This is basically Grease, only less annoying. It's not terribly unique, but it gets by on presentation and personality. The characters are memorable, the pace is lively and the girls are sweltering. When Traci Lords appears on screen, I don't see or hear anything else. My God. Shortcomings? There are too many musical numbers, but bear in mind, I'm not big on musicals. I'm too hep.

No comments:

Post a Comment