John Waters

LA JOLLA, CALIF. -- As Ricki Lake can testify, once you join John Waters' wonderfully warped artistic family, you're part of it forever. And so - 19 years after she starred as tubby teen Tracy Turnblad in the movie Hairspray, and 17 years after portraying the pregnant, potty-mouthed Pepper in the movie Cry-Baby - Lake was an honored guest as the world premiere of Cry-Baby's stage adaptation was held here Sunday night. You can get a daytime talk show and become a TV staple. But then, one day, inevitably, you will find yourself hanging out with Waters in Southern California, noshing on grilled veggies and baklava, and telling secrets to an easily startled stranger.

Imagine some alternate, pseudo-glamorous universe where you rub shoulders and sip cosmos with the stars. In it, you and legendary Baltimore cult filmmaker John Waters have become casual friends. Sure, he's kooky, perhaps even a little creepy, and he has a penchant for sporting funereal-if-natty outfits. But Waters makes you laugh. And you two always seem to have a blast together. Lately, though, you've begun to think that your 60-year-old friend with the pencil-line mustache really likes you. For Valentine's Day, he sent you a dozen blood-red roses, a box of chocolates and a copy of his just-released compilation CD, A Date With John Waters.

Shooting on yet another John Waters film was coming to an end last week, so it was essential that Bob Adams make it to the set of "Cecil B. Demented" before the final wrap. He had presents to deliver.Adams is a card-carrying member of the original Dreamland Players, the group of eccentrics who helped Waters create his first guerrilla films more than a quarter century ago and who have remained fiercely connected ever since. Every Waters film doubles as a reunion for the Dreamlanders, who often marvel over how seminal has been their association with the filmmaker.

Here's Ricki Lake's take on her fellow mike-grasping milkers of daytime dysfunction: Jerry is "a perfect gentleman"; Leeza is "so articulate and so smart"; and Oprah, of course, is "the queen."Lake, sitting in a sunny spot in the Garden Terrace Lounge in the Four Seasons Hotel in Washington, has nothing negative to say about anyone or anything, except herself."I'm very neurotic about what people say about me, what I look like. It feels like a bigger deal now than it did back then," says Lake, 30."

It is not supposed to be this way. Part two is never supposed to be as good as part one, especially when part one is a lifetime's labor of love that wins the 1998 Filmmaker's Trophy at the Sundance Film Festival for Best Documentary.But Baltimore filmmaker Steve Yeager has made a sequel to "Divine Trash," his award-winning documentary on the early career of John Waters, that is every bit its equal. "In Bad Taste," which covers Waters' career from "Female Trouble" to "Pecker," premieres tonight on cable's Independent Film Channel as part of an IFC salute to Waters that includes a showing of his classic "Polyester."

"A pointless, pompous nightmare.""An ordeal in tedium.""Outright junk."That's what the critics were saying about "Boom!" when it was released in 1968. But not John Waters. "I saw it, I think, probably at the New Theater, or somewhere in downtown Baltimore," Waters recalled last week. "It was a big flop. There were, like, three people in the audience, and it vanished in one week."But that wasn't the end of "Boom!," Joseph Losey's adaptation of the Tennessee Williams play "The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore."

Christine Mason didn't just do hairdos. She created "characters" on actors' and actresses' heads.Ms. Mason, whose behemoth beehives and other outrageous coiffeurs were comic highlights in five of Baltimore director John Waters' most popular films, died Monday of cervical cancer at home in Oliver Beach in eastern Baltimore County. She was 49.Friends recalled Ms. Mason as a woman of multiple talents whose varied career included stints as a French-style chef, performance artist, costume designer and concert promoter.

Melanie Griffith, stick thin, all in black, a dazzling diamond crucifix against her throat, is right here in front of Planet Hollywood at the Inner Harbor.You'd think this would be the ultimate glam fix for the nearly 400 stargazers clustered by the stage and gawking from store windows and staircases.So, why is a mouthy band of fans asking for her hot Latin husband, Antonio Banderas?"You want Antonio?" the movie star asks in her baby bird voice. Yes, it is her real voice."I want Antonio too, believe me," she says with a smile almost as bright as the mango-sized diamonds in her ears.

The Senator Theatre was overcome by a merciless attack of bad taste last night. Mismatched patterns, truckloads of mascara, beehive hairdos and sequins of every imaginable unnatural color. It was all there, and it was all awful.Of course, suspicion immediately fell upon John Waters, but this time out, the master of trash was only an accessory before the fact. The Senator wasn't premiering a film by John Waters but a film about John Waters. Turns out, the dress ensemble for one works just as well for the other.

"I wish I had a pencil-thinmustache"The 'Boston Blackie' kind ..."- Jimmy BuffettYou could say it's nothing more than a cluster of hair about the length of a pinky. A line apparently drawn with a blunt felt-tip. But as they say in real estate: location, location, location.Above the eyes it's an eyebrow, a thing occurring in nature. Between the nose and the upper lip, however, it's something else. A statement, a cartoon commentary, an amused conspiracy of cosmetology and graffiti.A pencil-thin mustache.

John Waters, Barry Levinson and David Simon aren't just appearing on stage for the first time together for the Maryland Film Festival benefit on Nov. 14. They're also throwing their support behind the event in advance. "I think we'll be good!" says Waters. "We won't be the Three Stooges, but we will be the Three Musketeers of extreme Baltimore behavior. ... I can make a movie about a Towson soccer mom who is a serial killer ["Serial Mom"], Barry can make a really moving movie about anti-Semitism in the Baltimore of his youth ["Liberty Heights"]

John Waters, provocateur of screen, stage, print and gallery, has rarely been as brave as he is in his new essay, "Leslie Van Houten: A Friendship." This chapter from his forthcoming collection, "Role Models" (due out from Farrar, Straus and Giroux next May), depicts the rehabilitation of a member of the Charles Manson cult. It's also a candid rumination on Waters' own extremist sensibility in the 40th anniversary year, not just of Woodstock and Altamont and "John Waters' Mondo Trasho," but also of the Manson family's apocalyptic killing sprees at the homes of Sharon Tate and Leno and Rosemary LaBianca.

Ever since stumbling across chef/author Anthony Bourdain's hedonistic food/travel show No Reservations on cable a couple of years ago, I've imagined him taking on Baltimore. Clearly we'd see him elbow deep in crabs, Old Bay and Natty Boh; talking shop with the young owner of any of the myriad hip new restaurants that have sprouted up in town in the last few years and maybe visiting the bakery where they make the world's most calorie-dense food, the Berger cookie. In retrospect, though, I'm not sure why I was surprised to learn that Mr. Bourdain went on a Wire-tastic tour of some of Baltimore's most depressed neighborhoods, feasted on lake trout and paired the city with Buffalo and Detroit in a Rust Belt-themed episode.

Laura Lippman was just on The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, promoting her new book, Life Sentences. Ferguson asked if she sees much of another famous Baltimorean, John Waters. "Yeah, well, I'll tell the story because it was outed in the newspaper," she said. "We tried to keep it secret. John Waters was my minister. He married us." "Us" being Lippman and Wire creator David Simon. Ferguson needed a moment to get over his shock, but it's true: The Pope of Trash is a man of the cloth, ordained by the Universal Life Church, an outfit that sells minister's licenses by mail order.

This week, when the Broadway cast of Cry-Baby launches into its second-act number "Misery, Agony, Helplessness, Hopelessness, Heartache and Woe," the rendition may be particularly heartfelt. It was announced yesterday that the $12.5 million production will close after Sunday's matinee. But that doesn't necessarily mean you won't be seeing Cry-Baby on a stage near you. And you'll certainly be hearing from John Waters, whose 1990 cult film inspired the Broadway musical. "I don't think this means the death of John Waters the musical," says Chris Caggiano, a musical theater professor at the Boston Conservatory and a lifelong Waters fan. "I think there are other possibilities, though they may be off Broadway."

Honfest honors city's heritage Give me a break, hon. I cannot believe that with all that we have to worry about (war, energy costs, etc.) there are those who want to do away with Hampden's Honfest ("Hon-estly, hon, it's just fun," June 13). Why? It is only one weekend a year, and many of us enjoy the fun and laughter it offers. People cannot seem to laugh at themselves or with others these days. Perhaps that is what is wrong with the world today. But life is too short to be taken too seriously.

Adorned in an Amy Winehouse-inspired black wig and dressed in a neon pink mermaid skirt, a matching feather boa, a pink-sequinedT-shirt and dusty pink house slippers, Robert Glick stood out yesterday among the thousands of people crowding The Avenue for the 15th annual Honfest in Hampden. Glick, a 43-year-old nurse from Pikesville, ditched his usual hospital garb for the over-the-top outfit in an attempt to be crowned Baltimore's Best Hon, a main staple of the festival where contestants dress in authentic "Hon" attire.

Suddenly, it's hard out there to be a Hon. Honfest, this weekend's kitschy celebration of beehive hairdos, cat's-eye glasses and pearls, may be the city's biggest neighborhood festival. But as Honfest grows, so does the backlash against it. Some Hampden dwellers, local fashionistas and even John Waters - who helped perpetuate the image of the Hon as a Baltimore icon - are fed up with the 50,000-strong festival that began as a simple beauty pageant. Waters frowns on all the Hon hype. He said he won't use the word or the image in any of his scripts these days, and he doesn't think the city should get behind it either.

Hand that man a crown. John Waters, Baltimore's venerable Filth Elder, is extending his reign over Broadway. On Thursday, Waters will be represented by not one, but two Broadway musicals based on his movies. Cry-Baby will make its official debut; the musical is a romp set in 1950s Baltimore about love, class and the Rosenbergs. Nearby, Hairspray's Tracy Turnblad has been dancing her way to racial equality for five years. But, why stop at two shows? Waters has made 16 films. For instance, Hag In A Black Leather Jacket begs to be a ballet.

John Waters and New Line Cinema go way back, almost to the beginning. In 1972, New Line and its founder, Robert Shaye, took a chance on a proudly perverse Baltimore director and his film about a dog-poop-eating transvestite. The gamble paid off and Pink Flamingos put both John Waters and New Line on the map. Since then, Waters has cemented his distinction as the twisted bad boy of cinema, releasing more than a dozen films (eight of them through New Line) and becoming the darling of the indie-film world.