When Tod Browning set out to make Freaks in 1932, he inadvertently started a grassroots movement that would rapidly grow amongst the underground filmmakers that dominated throughout most of the previous century since that revolutionary film started – finally, one didn’t need to fit into the confines of the studio system to be considered an artist, on either side of the camera, and anyone could make a film if they could scrape together the resources and times to do so. One of Browning’s most interesting disciples is John Waters, a filmmaker I have nothing but the complete admiration and devotion towards – and of his many films produced early in his career, the one that most resembles his cinematic forefather is Multiple Maniacs, his sophomore feature film and one that continues to bewilder and stun audiences who are foolish enough to venture into this terrifying world Waters and his motley crew of Dreamlanders relished in creating. This isn’t a film, but rather pure artistic anarchy, cinematic rebellion that can’t be compared to anything else, since it is so different and unique, and instead functions as a work that has inspired its own movement towards transgressive art. This isn’t just a film made in bad taste, but also one that seems to possess a genuinely malicious spirit, with the director and his collaborators enjoying the process of breaking every rule known to filmmakers at the time. Yet, like any grotesque situation, we can’t help but be morbidly curious – and once we’re drawn into this world, and start to see it from the perspective of the delightfully perverse and terminally charming Waters, who has such a unique stance on existence, we may not see anything else the same ever again, which is far more of a compliment than any muted praise or mildly positive sentiment asserted on it could convey.

Multiple Maniacs is a vitally important film for a number of reasons. It may not hold the same status as Pink Flamingos, which broke new boundaries for transgressive filmmaking, but in many ways is actually more essential, since this was produced at the peak of the burgeoning independent film movement. John Waters didn’t pioneer independent cinema, but rather put his own indelible mark on it through the quiet disruption of morals, which he did by means of subverting every iota of good taste that existed in the working class society he grew up in. It’s easy to dismiss his early work as merely the mischievous antics of a young man with a penchant for controversy and the resources to capture his sardonic, anti-societal musings. What many don’t realize is that a film like Multiple Maniacs isn’t just a darkly comical underground horror film, but a resounding indictment on everything sacred, a vitriolic attack on authority made by an artist who derived legitimate fun from challenging conventions and creating work that is reflective of his own curiosities as a filmmaker. This is essentially what kickstarted his career, and kept it in gear for his entire working life, right up until the present day, where Waters continues to fight against unnecessary morals in favour of individuality. Rules are meant to be broken – but when it comes to his brand of controversy, Waters feels much more comfortable entirely dismantling them and rebuilding through his own standard of what constitutes decency – after all, as the director is fond of saying, one needs to have good taste in order to understand bad taste.

As is the case with many filmmakers, one can divide their career into different stages. When looking at Waters’ work, we can delineate his films into two main eras – his early, low-budget period of transgressive, shocking cinema, and his later output that was far more palatable, but still allowed him to explore his bizarre curiosities through stoking the fires of a brand of peculiar perversions. Multiple Maniacs obviously fits with the former, and is in many ways definitive of it. As iconic as Pink Flamingos may be, this film is the epitome of Waters’ passion for shocking viewers – other than a few notable gags in the latter film, every bit of deranged humour and perverted horror that we associate with Waters’ films can be found embedded in this one, from the blase approach to sexuality, to the boundary-pushing of attacking everything from politics to religion, and the general sense of despair that comes about as a result of a filmmaker with a total disregard for everything. We are led into a world that feels genuinely quite terrifying – as cheaply-made as it may have been, Multiple Maniacs still holds extraordinary value as an immersive experience, with the director’s camera capturing every beautifully hideous detail of the world he grew up in. The term “trash cinema” is often used to refer to poorly-made films that pander to audiences who aren’t looking for anything to mentally stimulate them – but Waters’ peddles a very different kind of trash, one that is both profoundly grotesque and undeniable in artistic resonance. These films only age better the further we look at them as more than just transgressive comedies handcrafted by an angst-ridden young filmmaker with an authority complex. There is so much to discover when looking at Multiple Maniacs, which only becomes more impactful the deeper we are willing to look.

Strangely enough, it seems like Waters respects only three elements – his hometown of Baltimore, the people who populate it (particularly his regular crew of actors such as Divine, Mink Stole, David Lochary and Mary Vivian Pierce, all of whom are prominently featured in this film), and the creative process overall, and Multiple Maniacs, for all its demented madness, shows the director’s passion for these components, which are beautifully captured throughout the film. In spite of the low-budget aesthetic and clear refusal to abide by any filmmaking standard, there’s no denying that Multiple Maniacs is the work of a stunningly talented artist in the purest sense of the word. Art isn’t always about entertaining – as much as we’d like to imagine a piece of art exists for the sole reason of pleasing us by playing to our innate senses and bringing us joy, there is a case to be made for the alternative, the works of art that play on our senses, but rather than putting us at ease, they provoke us and cause the viewer to be startled by the madness surrounding them. This is where Multiple Maniacs (and essentially all of Waters’ films, but particularly his earlier work) proudly reside. This is a film that doesn’t strive to fit in when its main intention was to gloriously stand out, and it never fails to remind you of the value that comes with going in a singular direction. Perhaps its an indication of a vaguely sadistic desire to be disturbed, or just a morbid curiosity in seeing how the other side lives (Waters’ portrayal of Baltimore’s natives has always been so fascinating – his method is to show them as grotesque as possible without being mean-spirited or hateful, since these are the people he grew up around), but there is a fascinating quality to this film that keeps us invested, even when the content is questionable, to say the least.

Multiple Maniacs is certainly not a film for the faint of heart – it features perhaps the most blasphemous scene ever committed to celluloid (and one that would be beyond shocking even by today’s more desensitize standards), and every moment is punctuated by a sinister sense of humour that is more unsettling than it is entertaining. It takes some time to get acclimated to this story, and it can even be an ordeal, since Waters doesn’t waste any time in thrusting forward some of the most putrid concepts imaginable – but once we’re invested in this story, and have an idea of what tone and atmosphere the director was aiming to achieve, it’s unlike anything you’re likely to see anywhere else, in the best way possible. Ultimately, Multiple Maniacs is a historically important film, especially looking at the history of independent storytelling. The question that still needs to be asked is, besides the importance, if this is a good film – the answer isn’t quite as clear, and like any work of art, it really is subjective. However, there is a tenacity shown throughout this film that is absolutely admirable, and warrants attention, since there was really no one else that can be considered to have struck the perfect balance between genuine artistic brilliance and forthright, bold transgression. If you seek them out, there are certainly films in existence that are more despicable and hateful than this – but their purpose is to disturb, rather than to shock and unsettle, which is what Multiple Maniacs aimed to do, leaving us disgusted but not traumatized. It certainly does straddle the razor-thin boundary, but ultimately there is an immense amount of value in what Waters and his cohorts were doing here, more than enough to justify calling this perhaps Waters’ most experimental and artistically profound achievement, not only for what it contains, but also the fascinating, off-kilter creative integrity it demonstrates without any hesitation.