How ‘The Wizard of Oz’ shaped John Waters
Bizarre sex, the consumption of dog faeces, incest, castration, vomit, violence and murder are just some of the things you can expect to find in a film by John Waters, who has been making shocking, nausea-inducing movies since the 1960s. Beginning his filmmaking career as a college student, Waters began making divisive movies from the get-go. His early shorts are low-budget tasters of his future oeuvre, although it wasn’t until his 1972 movie, Pink Flamingos, that he truly began to earn notoriety.
The movie crammed in as much grossness as possible, and it remains banned in several countries. Pink Flamingos is infamous, cementing Waters as one of the most controversial directors of his generation. He continued to create movies of a similar ilk throughout the ‘70s before making much more accessible -albeit still campy – films in the following decades.
Known for helming the original Hairspray, the Johnny Depp classic Cry-Baby, and giving Kathleen Turner one of her greatest roles in the form of Serial Mom, Waters is a master of his craft. He never fails to produce ripples of laughter among his audiences, all while making an effort to subvert the mainstream and force viewers to confront transgression and question the status quo.
The filmmaker has often cited B-movies, exploitation flicks and experimental, underground movies by the likes of Andy Warhol and Kenneth Anger as some of his biggest inspirations. However, there is one classic, family-friendly movie that has shaped his approach to cinema – The Wizard of Oz. The movie, which is near-unavoidable at Christmas time, is an American classic, blending over-the-top costumes and set design with musical numbers and potent thematic explorations of good versus evil, friendship, dreams versus reality, and perseverance.
While the beloved cinematic staple seems miles away from the stomach-turning, shamelessly outrageous movies made by Waters, the director has often discussed its lasting impact on him. In The Film That Changed My Life by Robert K. Elder, Waters revealed why he loves Victor Fleming’s 1939 movie so much. He explained, “I was always drawn to forbidden subject matter in the very, very beginning. The Wizard of Oz opened me up because it was one of the first movies I ever saw. It opened me up to villainy, to screenwriting, to costumes. And great dialogue. I think the witch has great, great dialogue.”
For Waters, watching The Wizard of Oz and becoming completely captivated by the Wicked Witch of the West was a life-changing moment. Discussing Margaret Hamilton’s green-skinned character, Waters said, “She led to my whole belief, in all my movies that I made, that basically my heroes and heroines are sometimes the villains in other people’s movies. Everything was backwards: The fat girl gets the guy; the good killer is Serial Mom. It’s always the reverse character in other people’s movies that are heroes.”
In Waters’ movies, there are rarely characters that can be classed as morally good. Instead, he allows his actors to play parts that are corrupt, vile, unhinged and strange, particularly his leads. For example, in Female Trouble and Pink Flamingos, Divine leads each film by embodying characters that encapsulate pure filth and immorality. Yet, this is what makes his movies so outrageously fun to watch – we utterly root for his repulsive characters.
“I realised that I was never going to be like the other kids, that I wasn’t going to fit in, but it didn’t bother me. It was a secret society to know that the villains were just much more fun,” Wates added. Villains are often portrayed as outcasts; thus, it makes sense that Waters – a queer filmmaker interested in subverting the mainstream – would find these kinds of characters more interesting.
Moreover, the over-the-top nature of The Wizard of Oz, which is often considered slightly camp, inspired Waters’ approach to creating movies that, to many, would be considered “too much.” But nothing is “too much” in Fleming’s film; instead, it sweeps the audience up in its all-enveloping world, and in their own idiosyncratic way, Waters’ films do just that, too.
