Set in Baltimore, Maryland in the early ‘60s, John Waters’
musical comedy Hairspray might be tame by the director’s standards, but
it loses none of its subversive energy in its quest for a PG-rating. It takes
place in a skewed world where an edgy hairdo can get you sent to special-ed
classes and people take pictures of their televisions to preserve a moment, but,
like most of Waters’ films, it still manages to have goodwill toward its cast
of freaks. The movie features awesomely exaggerated period detail in every
element of its design, from its towering hairdos to its comically run down slum,
and in many ways it represents a considerable step forward in the quality of
Waters’ filmmaking. He builds excitement and rhythm between his scenes in a
way that he had rarely done before (though, I’m sure the nonstop, irresistible
score, which is dominated by pop songs from the era doesn’t hurt), and even
when he’s introducing serious themes, he never loses his irreverence. It’s
amazing that the movie’s politics never get in the way of the fun, and
Waters’ ability to turn important issues into cartoons is refreshing. The
black characters aren’t necessarily hipper than the white characters, and
that’s refreshing, because it’s not as simplified as you might expect. There
are a variety of viewpoints regarding race, here, and if the villains’
viewpoints are grotesquely drawn, it might be more out of historical accuracy
than narrative simplicity. Hairspray does sag in its last twenty minutes
or so, as Waters begins to tie up the many narratives that he used throughout to
give the movie its surprising variety, but it's a small price to pay for the
pleasures that the movie has to offer.
The cast deserves much of the credit for making Hairspray
work, though much of their charm surely comes from the environment that Waters
creates for them. Ricki Lake is delightful as the freedom-fighting dancing
queen; her added weight only seems to give her extra bounce in her step.
Inspired casting turns some of the film’s smaller parts into comic in-jokes
that get more laughs than the scripted dialogue might suggest. Sonny Bono and
Debbie Harry are great as Amber’s (Colleen Fitzpatrick) overbearing parents,
who threaten her with Catholic school if she doesn’t comply with their plot to
make her Queen of the Auto Show, so she can use her platform to fight to retain
integration for some sketchy financial reasons. Waters himself has a hilarious
cameo in which he casts himself as a shrink, of all things, but clearly the most
brilliant casting in the film is the decision to give drag queen Divine the role
of Edna, Tracy’s mother. Given winning lines like, “My diet pill is wearing
out,” the actor knocks every one of them out of the ballpark with an apathetic
drollness. The performance gives the movie such a freewheeling lunatic feel that
we’re willing to accept anything in comparison to his walking anachronism.