"Fascists Are Always There to Conquer": John Waters Discusses the Lasting Impact of His Movies and How He Never Faced Cancellation.

      In 1973, Variety referred to John Waters’ groundbreaking film Pink Flamingos as "one of the most vile, stupid and repulsive films ever made." Fast forward to 2022, and that very same film was released on Blu-ray by the renowned Criterion Collection, the custodians of formal film culture. Waters has transitioned from an underground provocateur to a national icon with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, making it difficult to find a cultural figure whose reputation has shifted so dramatically without a core compromise in his views or principles. Over five decades ago, a unique boy from the suburbs of Baltimore, Maryland, aimed to reshape culture in his likeness, and he achieved that goal.

      However, becoming a national treasure necessitates dedication, and in the 20 years following the release of his last feature film (2004’s A Dirty Shame), Waters has consistently engaged his audience through an unwavering array of multimedia endeavors: writing, speaking events, gallery shows, acting roles, appearances on talk shows (you may have recently seen him sharing a couch with Stavros Halkias on Everybody’s Live with John Mulaney), and an interview schedule reminiscent of a political campaign. Meanwhile, the twelve films that constitute the foundation of his acclaim remain immensely popular, particularly due to Criterion, which has cultivated a cottage industry from his past works, releasing titles such as Multiple Maniacs (1970), Pink Flamingos (1972), Female Trouble (1974), and Polyester (1981).

      Criterion has now included two additional Waters films in its collection, both with the director’s full involvement. Desperate Living (1977), the concluding film of his underground phase, is a bold “antifascist fairy tale” (as Criterion’s somewhat pretentious yet accurate description states) about a mentally ill housewife and her 400-pound housekeeper who escape from Baltimore’s suburbs to “Mortville,” a nightmarish thrift-store Oz governed by a malevolent queen. On the other hand, the PG-rated Hairspray (1988) represents a significant turning point in Waters’ accessibility to mainstream America: a lighthearted yet pointed comedy about the quest for integration on a TV dance show in Baltimore, told from the perspective of an overweight girl who rises to local fame. One of the few Waters films to receive a completely positive critical reception upon its release, Hairspray later inspired a hugely successful Broadway adaptation in 2002 and a subsequent 2007 feature-film remake that enhanced Waters’ status as an elder statesman and significantly enriched him financially.

      Like many others, I encountered Waters' work during a formative period of my life, and its influence on me is profound. I was fortunate to have a moment of the master’s time for this interview, conducted via Zoom in June 2026.

      The Film Stage: There’s a line in Cecil B. Demented that I often quote: “Technique is nothing more than failed style.”

      John Waters: I love that line. It’s a perfect reference for Desperate Living.

      In Desperate Living—and, to a greater extent, in Hairspray—I believe we witness a clear evolution in your technique compared to your earlier films. I would love to hear about your journey toward becoming a more technically refined filmmaker throughout your career.

      Every film I created was intended to resemble a Hollywood movie—I just didn’t know how to achieve that. The mistakes stemmed from my lack of knowledge. I never set out to have them appear that way. Some people appreciate it and describe it as “raw.” If they don’t like it, they term it “amateur,” which is essentially the same thing.

      With each film, I learned a bit more. In my very first film, Hag in a Black Leather Jacket, I was unaware of editing. I simply shot the scenes sequentially, and once I finished, the film was complete. Mondo Trasho had no dialogue—just extended shots—and Pink Flamingos featured extensive dialogue that we recorded in long takes without cutaways due to single-system sound limitations, preventing A and B rolls. Then with Female Trouble, we transitioned to double-system sound. The first time the camera was somewhat taken from my control was during Desperate Living, which was a positive change. Hairspray was the first movie made with full Hollywood standards, utilizing 35mm film, so with each project, it gradually improved. I consider Serial Mom my best film; I believe it looks the best, and I had the most budget to create it.

      If I’m not mistaken, Hairspray seems to be the first film with a multi-million dollar budget…

      What was the budget? Perhaps it was… two-point… one-point… I can’t recall. Yes, it was significantly higher. Prior to that, Polyester had a budget of $300,000, which was substantial for us. So yes, Hairspray marked the first film funded by a proper budget—it was produced in accordance with Hollywood conventions. I had