I recently revisited Serial Mom for the umpteenth time, and it remains one of the most brilliant films of the 1990s. I have often mentioned how I am an ardent admirer of John Waters – despite his earlier works being grotesque, vulgar and beyond transgressive, he has always had a renegade appeal that strikes me as both profoundly unique and extremely authentic. Serial Mom occurred in a time when Waters was establishing himself as a more respected filmmaker, creating works that attracted more stars to the director’s twisted and idiosyncratic artistic fray. Despite the cult value of Pink Flamingos and the longevity of Hairspray, there is something I believe more firmly now than I have ever: Serial Mom is Waters’ greatest film, the crowning achievement on a career that spawned a large portion of contemporary independent cinema – and despite this being a film I have watched and reviewed already, my most recent viewing evoked enough passion in me to revisit my perceptions on the Prince of Puke’s magnum opus, and put down some new thoughts as to the brilliance lurking behind this extraordinary gem of a film, one that has achieved cult status, and deserves even more adoration, because when films like Serial Mom are being made, who needs anything else?

Serial Mom looks at the Sutphin family, an ordinary suburban clan living in Baltimore. They’re led by patriarch Eugene (Sam Waterston), a dentist and committed father. His wife Beverly (Kathleen Turner) is a loving mother committed to doting on their two children (Ricki Lake and Matthew Lillard), and being an upstanding member of the community, colluding with other housewives to make their small suburb the picturesque image of contemporary normality. She is also a psychopath, with a penchant for violently murdering anyone who dares wrong her or her family or even commits some societal faux pas that goes against her ideal view of suburban life. Their small town begins to earn a reputation for having its first major serial killer – and while some absolutely abhor the fact that a psychopathic murderer is roaming the streets, others find it quite riveting, including our anti-hero’s own son, who adores gory and violent films so much, the idea of being complicit in one, in reality, is quite exciting for him. The community starts to suspect that there is more to the stern and decent Beverly than meets the eyes, and they soon start to realize that getting on her bad side will have some deadly consequences.

Kathleen Turner – what else do I need to say? There have been few actresses who have been able to command the screen quite like her – through her pulsating passion, her focused intensity and her iconic voice, she was a new breed of leading lady, and her work in the 1980s is some of the greatest for any performer, living or dead. Serial Mom stands as quite possibly her best work – and it certainly is Turner’s most fun performance. As Beverly, Turner is clearly having as much fun being in this film as we are watching it, with this kind of role being catnip for any performer looking to create something memorable. The role is exactly the kind that Waters thrives upon – over-the-top, almost otherworldly characters that require actors with larger-than-life personalities to bring them to life – there aren’t many performers who could play Beverly in such a way that we both despise and adore her simultaneously. Turner has had a handful of incredible performances, and she is just brilliant in all of them. Yet, this is her apex, a scenery-chewing, excessive and extremely bombastic performance that is seemingly insatiable, and whenever we think Turner cannot possibly find a new level of unhinged insanity, she surprises us, again and again. Somehow she pulls it off with finesse and authenticity – despite the excessive nature of the character, Turner remarkably doesn’t ever go too far, and plays Beverley not as a caricature, but as someone who could exist – we just sincerely hope she doesn’t.

John Waters has always been ahead of his time, mainly because he isn’t only a great artist, but also someone profoundly in touch with the current zeitgeist, oftentimes being ahead of the trends. Serial Mom was released a quarter of a century ago, but somehow the director managed to predict the meteoric rise of true-crime stories into perhaps the most popular genre of non-fiction storytelling. Arguably, society has always been morbidly fascinated with the gory and gruesome, mainly because it appeals to the dark side of our psyches, the part of us that would never commit these crimes, but are still secretly quite enthralled by these kinds of stories. Not a stranger to mingling with criminals, Waters uses his own inherent fascination with crime stories to develop a twisted, intricate view of the criminal mind, manipulating it into a sardonic and hilarious dark comedy that playfully mocks the public’s perception of these stories. It takes someone with a truly demented mind to make something that is as overtly odd and deeply unsettling, yet so undeniably entertaining. It is almost as if Waters is coercing us into laughing at ourselves. The courtroom scenes that occupy the third act of this film are amongst the most genius in Waters’ entire repertoire, as it allows him to combine two of his clear obsessions – true crime and the concept of celebrity – into one deranged but adorable package. He would go on to look at similar themes in his woefully misunderstood Cecil B. Demented, which tackled the same ideas, albeit in a far more gritty manner.

Serial Mom isn’t only a great subversion of true-crime stories, but also a remarkable suburban satire. This is the film that The ‘Burbs would’ve been with a bit more direction, as well as being the disturbed view alluded to but never realized in Blue Velvet. The suburban satire is a sub-genre that is tricky to pull off, but when done correctly, it results in something really entertaining and as biting as they come. These kinds of films blend the mundane and ordinary concepts of the white picket fences and green lawns with transgressive, malicious and often inappropriate thematic underpinnings – and when guided by a capable hand, it works out tremendously. Certainly, if there is one concept Waters is an expert on, its suburban ennui, and Serial Mom often feels like it is heavily inspired by his own middle-class suburban background – and in much the same way David Lynch uses his films to express his concealed rage, Waters imbues his films with the dastardly, twisted havoc he wishes he could have wrought as a younger man. Serial Mom is really far more than just a delightful dark comedy, but a potent and bleak manifesto on well-established traditions, and if there is anyone who we should trust to dismantle well-worn concepts, its the Pope of Trash.

Interestingly, Serial Mom is the quintessential John Waters film, mainly because it bridges the gap between viewers. For newcomers, it is perhaps his most accessible film insofar as it retains many of the same rebellious themes that defined his earlier works (as much as I love Pecker and Cry-Baby, they were much softer than Waters normally is), and while it often quite gory, it is never excessive, and the gruesomeness is quite muted in comparison to something Waters would’ve made earlier in his career. For dissenters of the director’s unique vision, it can certainly be an experience to convert the detractors, with its blend of anarchic energy and fascinating concepts showing that the filmmaker is capable of something coherent (if coherency is something you’re in search of). Then for admirers of Waters, it has more than enough grit in it to satisfy even the most ardent devotee. It is twisted, dark and idiosyncratic enough to quench one’s transgressive thirst, and unlike Pink Flamingos or Female Trouble, you won’t come out of this film wondering if what you experienced was morally wrong – it certainly was, but it was also extremely entertaining, and it is worth the inner conflict. There is a moment where all of us come to empathize with Beverly Sutphin, which is precisely why Serial Mom is Waters’ best films – who else can make us sympathize with a mass-murderer mother without any redeeming qualities, and who would probably turn the weapon on us given the chance, based entirely on her own insatiable desire for perfection.

Serial Mom is a great film and one that I revisit from time to time. Only recently, however, did I find it truly resonated with me, especially considering the massive amounts being made on serial killers, and how readily consumed they are. Waters frames this film as being based on a true story (when it is far from it), which shows his own playful nature, prodding at our inherent fascinations with the controversial and daring us to laugh at some very grim situations. It still shocks me that someone like John Waters can still be reviled, especially when something like Serial Mom has been made. He single-handedly crafts one of the finest comedies of the decade, extracts a career-defining performance from the astonishing Kathleen Turner (who is in dire need of a comeback) and manages to capture the bewildering interest society has on true crime, glamourizing the events and deifying the individuals involved. Its a tremendously entertaining film, but one that is also firmly rooted within darker societal recesses, and only someone with the gusto of John Waters could possibly make something so gruesome yet so endearing, and do so while excluding extraordinary confidence. Serial Mom is one of the most entertaining dark comedies of the 1990s, an endearing but often quite bleak manifesto on the twisted side of ordinary life. John Waters is an incredible filmmaker, and deserves recognition not only as a charismatic, rebellious filmmaker but as a profoundly gifted artist in his own right – and if this film doesn’t indicate there is something far deeper to Waters’ talents, then nothing else will.