I’ve expressed my utter adoration and admiration for John Waters on so many occasions. I find his work so engaging and unconventionally charming, not to mention one is not likely to find someone so suave and endearing as him. Yet, every time I watch one of his films, I find myself wondering exactly why it is I still enjoy this man’s work, especially his earlier films, which are uncomfortable, to say the least. One of his more distinctive early-era works is Female Trouble, a film that was the follow-up to his earth-shatteringly grotesque Pink Flamingos, and the subject of this review. Right from the outset, I can openly admit that if Waters was trying to shock the audience and leave us in a psychotic state, then he certainly achieved just that, and then some. Putrid and mesmerizing, there are few films as effective as Female Trouble, and while most will point to the aforementioned Pink Flamingos as Waters’ most haunting work, I will stand steadfast in my conviction that Female Trouble is the pinnacle of his work. It is Waters at his peak, and as uncomfortable of an experience as it is, to deny the director’s subversive brilliance at his peak is misguided. There is a reason why Waters has achieved many honorific titles, such as The Pope of Trash, Prince of Puke and Sultan of Sleaze, and it can be seen in this film.

Female Trouble is presented as a chronicle of the life of Dawn Davenport (Divine), who has always been trouble. From her childhood years as a teenage delinquent, abusive to her well-meaning family because of her desire for cha-cha heels, to death row where she is convicted as a violent mass murderer, Dawn is not the most pleasant person. Over the course of a few years, Dawn attempts to rise to fame, and has to battle an abusive relationship with her hairdresser Gator Nelson (Mike Potter), deal with a delinquent daughter of her own, Taffy (Mink Stole), all the while being the muse for a sadistic couple Donald and Donna Dasher (David Lochary and Mary Vivian Pearce), who get their kicks from photographing criminal activity, and considering Dawn is a petty thief of her own (in addition to a coffee shop waitress, go-go girl and streetwalker), she is a natural for their twisted games, which only grow in violence as the film progresses. Dawn is focused on achieving one thing: worldwide recognition, and whether she gets it through becoming famous or infamous, having her face on the front page of a national newspaper is her ultimate goal. Engaging in sordid, malicious activity all for the purpose of making a name for herself is exactly what Dawn does, all to the melody of her mantra that “crime is beautiful”.

I find Divine to be an enigmatic figure – it is very easy to merely see him as a drag queen enamoured with playing debaucherous characters without any morals, but a close inspection of his career shows him being far more than just what the popular perception of him would have you believe. Underneath the gaudy wigs and tight-fitting skimpy outfits, there was a terrific character actor who had a fearless abandon for his art, being willing to do absolutely anything for the sake of the performance. Pink Flamingos had Divine doing some awfully macabre things, such as the infamous faecal ‘feast’ that has become folkloric in cult cinema, and this sense of reckless commitment doesn’t stop with Female Trouble, which sees Divine continuing his journey towards exceeding the limits of what he could do, performing his own stunts and engaging in even more of a grotesque performance that we’re used to.

However, Female Trouble is not limited to the actor wearing eccentric and ill-fitting outfits and screaming obscenities – in all honesty, it is probably his strongest performance in a film by Waters, exceeded perhaps only slightly by Polyester (but if you remember my review of that film, you’ll recall that as impressed as I was with Divine’s performance, I was not particularly enamoured with the film itself). His portrayal of Dawn, from youthful rebel to vicious psychopath is something to behold (and that isn’t even mentioning that he played a dual role, also portraying the disgusting Earl Peterson). I may have a tricky relationship with the films of John Waters (only the films, I adore the man), but I will go to any lengths to defend the assertion that Divine was a truly gifted performer and someone who could’ve developed into one of the great character actors of his generation if only given the opportunity.

Female Trouble belongs unequivocally to Divine, but like all of Waters’ films, he utilizes his repertory ensemble of regular collaborators, many of which are terrific here. David Lochary is wonderful as the sleazy Donald Dasher, as is Mary Vivian Pearce who plays his equally-despicable wife, both of which are deliriously hilarious and able to capture the twisted spirit of these characters. Edith Massey is as fabulous as ever and proves herself to be one of the great screen eccentrics, and someone whose presence makes every Waters film so much better, simply by virtue of her willingness to do absolutely anything for the sake of being a screen star.

Mink Stole is perhaps Waters’ secret weapon and considering she is the only person who has been in every one of his films, I would consider her his most significant collaborator. Playing the character of Divine’s rebellious daughter Taffy, Stole comes very close to making the film her own, especially in her climactic metamorphosis into a Hare Krishna practitioner, preaching love and tolerance over violence and debauchery. I’ve said it before, but I admire Waters the most for his ability to gather outcasts and social rejects and place them in the central roles in his films without exploiting them or looking upon them with a judgmental eye. Considering his contemporaries (does John Waters actually have any contemporaries?) of the time were intent on discovering the next young superstar, the fact Waters collaborated with an ensemble of truly unconventional but nevertheless wonderfully charming performers makes him one of the more significant filmmakers of his generation, and someone who could derive memorable performances out of the most unexpected stars.

I remember feeling one very strong emotion after seeing Female Trouble: confusion. There was something about this film that really shook me. I felt uncomfortable, bewildered and utterly mesmerized by what Waters had just put me through. To call Female Trouble a film seems wrong – it is much more of an ordeal, and trust me when I say I loved every moment of it. Film is supposed to make the audience feel something, and considering very few films are as striking as the ones made by Waters, I would say they achieve exactly that. I don’t watch a John Waters film for a pleasant, wholesome experience (except for Hairspray, which is in many ways his most defiant film, as the director has stated several times). I watch a John Waters film to feel horrified and distressed. I approach his films from the perspective of intentionally wanting to be offended (an odd sentiment, I know) – I want my morals and ethics to be challenged, and I want to see the depths of humanity represented on screen, because it is so refreshing: to see despicable people doing awful things reminds us of our own humanity.

Waters captures the raw, sickening nature of humanity in his films, and defies the traditional notions of looking at life through rose-tinted glasses. His films are unsettling and often traumatizing, but that’s the intention. To his credit, he’s never attempted to make these films for a wide audience – you simply cannot be a passive viewer of a John Waters film, and as Female Trouble shows, there’s nothing quite as powerful as having a nauseating cinematic experience. Obviously, there are some unspeakable films by filmmakers are morally questionable (A Serbian Film is perhaps the most famous example), and I would never refer to such a film as anything close to art. Waters understands the limits between fiction and reality, and through the heightened, artificial filmmaking, he is able to comment on society without condoning such actions.

In his own words, Waters set out to “make trouble”, and with the transgressive nature of Female Trouble, he does just that. There is a lot that can be said about this film – haunting, disgusting, upsetting and difficult to love. However, I don’t think anyone can call his film unmemorable or ineffective. Waters is a director what has a singular vision, and throughout his career, his dedication to that vision was unwavering and profound. As a filmmaker, Waters has received considerable backlash from those who find themselves offended by his films, without realizing their reactions are exactly what Waters thrives on. These are films that abandon decency and morality, and rather intend to show a different side of life that may be uncomfortable, but they’re stark and bold.

Those who despise Waters and express their utter disdain at his work are actually unintentionally giving him the support he seeks. He’s a filmmaker that has built his entire reputation on elegant trash, and to respond with exuberant, passionate disgust is exactly what this film wants you to do. I really did enjoy this film, perhaps not for the content, but because of what it represents. Waters is a genius, and his unhinged passion helped form the foundations for modern independent cinema, and his dedication to these shocking stories allowed experimental film a license to make audiences uncomfortable and unhappy, because in the end, what’s the point of cinema if all of it makes you feel good? Obscene, nasty and brilliant – there’s’ nothing like Female Trouble.