Desperate Living (1977) The darkest, cruellest, and most shocking entry in Waters’ Trash Trilogy

John Waters’ filmography is proof that you don’t need to be classy to be canonical, but that being said, the man dubbed as the “Pope of Trash” is by all accounts a witty, intelligent, and stylish individual. It’s delightful to see Waters’ work – not least his more vulgar and schlocky early productions – get gorgeous new restorations and definitive home media editions from The Criterion Collection. It delights me even more that following the UK Blu-Ray debut (if not their first official uncut UK home media releases), of Multiple Maniacs (1970), Pink Flamingos (1972), Female Trouble (1974), and Polyester (1981), Criterion have released what may be the darkest, cruellest, and perhaps most shocking entry in Waters’ “Trash Trilogy”. Now the claim I’m making here is a big one given Pink Flamingos and Female Trouble were released before 1977’s Desperate Living, and while the tagline on the film’s poster promises that “…it isn’t pretty!”, with Criterion’s gorgeous new 4K restoration job you might well think otherwise.

The first Dreamlanders production made without the involvement of the iconic Divine (who was doing a play in London at the time of filming), Desperate Living tells the bizarre and histrionic tale of Peggy Gravel (played brilliantly by Mink Stole). A wealthy-yet-neurotic housewife, Peggy becomes a fugitive after she “accidentally” kills her husband (George Stover), with the help of her nurse, Grizelda (Jean Hill in her first Waters production), and after an unfortunate encounter with a sexually deviant police officer (the amazingly-named Turkey Joe), the two seek sanctuary in Mortville. This shanty-town for degenerates, scumbags, nudists, and a large quantity of lesbians who may fall into one or more of those categories is ruled over by the despotic and fascist Queen Carlotta (a game-as-ever Edith Massey), who delights in the exploitation and degradation of her subjects. In typical Waters fashion, antics ensue which may or may not involve cannibalism, necrophilia, rabies, professional wrestling, a short-notice sex change, and someone getting shot up the bum. There’s no polite or serious way of describing the events that take place in Desperate Living, and even if there was, what good would there be in doing it?

If Multiple Maniacs is a grimy H.G. Lewis pastiche, Pink Flamingos is a proto-Jackass trailer-park hangout film, and Female Trouble is a ‘60s-style juvenile delinquent picture, then Desperate Living is a Boschian nightmare in the slums – a fairy-tale set in hell and populated by perverts of all shapes and sizes. Although it might not be as graphic and vulgar as Pink Flamingos, it’s certainly grimmer and more vicious because Babs Johnson and her criminal family were a band of lovably immoral scoundrels, while the inhabitants of Mortville give Desperate Living a far more misanthropic and malignant energy through their constant cruelty and hateful nature. That isn’t necessarily a criticism of the film as the spitefulness of Desperate Living is a feature in a similar fashion to the works of Waters’ fellow gay cinematic enfant terrible, Andy Milligan. It may also be a large part of the reason why even in recent years, this entry in Waters’ filmography has proven more critically divisive than some of his more popular features.

As is to be expected from a Waters production there are some brilliantly fever-pitch performances, Stole being on top form as the film’s screeching lead who’s introduced in a phenomenal sequence where, in a fit of manic rage, she smashes up furniture and yells at children about her hatred for the U.S. supreme court. There’s also a very funny and memorable performance from Liz Renay (whose life story could plausibly have been written by Waters himself), as the gorgeous Muffy St. Jacques, a.k.a. “The Dog Food Murderess” (it makes sense in context, I promise). The most interesting character though, is Muffy’s partner Mole McHenry – played brilliantly by Waters regular Susan Lowe and ostensibly envisioned as a satire on “butch and femme” gender roles in lesbian relationships. Mole is fascinating as one of the earliest genuine attempts to portray a transgender man on screen, and I’ve got a fair few transmasculine friends who would love to steal an outfit or two from their wardrobe.

Mole is a highlight of Desperate Living, but also one of its most difficult and problematic aspects as, on the one hand Lowe plays Mole delightfully. It’s great to see an exploitation movie from the ‘70s where a slick-talking, pro-wrestling transmasc greaser demands a gender reassignment operation at knifepoint, and it’d be criminal not to recognise that for the milestone in queer screen representation that it is. Yet Mole is also subject to what might be one of the most mean-spirited bad-taste jokes in all of Waters’ filmography, and even though they get a “happy ending”, in a modern age where understanding of transgender identity is more widespread it’s hard to entirely get behind the direction their story takes.

That doesn’t mean that Desperate Living fails because of its tastelessness because, as with everything Waters, that and the problematic nature of the characters is half the point. Because of how dark and mean-spirited it is though, particularly in comparison to the balance of humanity and comic cruelty in Pink Flamingos or Female Trouble, I do find myself liking it far less overall. There’s a reason why I find the horrific views and character behaviours in Pink Flamingos to be funnier than those in Desperate Living, and why I find the Elizabeth Coffey transgender flasher scene to be hilarious and endearing, but Mole’s fate to be sad. It’s all in the tone, and judging by what Waters has to say about the film in behind-the-scenes interviews, a lot of that might lie in his mood at the time of filming, which is thoroughly understandable.

For a movie that revels in ugliness, this 4K remaster of Desperate Living is nothing short of beautiful, but not to the point where it detracts from the grot and grime that gives Waters’ early work so much of its character. The sound mix is particularly clear and high-quality for a “dirty” exploitation picture from 1977, and I never struggled to make out any of the dialogue – even if almost every line of it’s screeched to the high heavens. This release also includes the option to watch with archival commentary by Waters and star Liz Renay, and fascinatingly a version of the film dubbed with Italian audio (and released under the somewhat misleading title of Punk Story).

Featurettes-wise, and to nobody’s surprise, the highlight of the package is the new interview with John Waters in which he discusses the film and how it’s aged, shares intriguing and entertaining anecdotes from the production, and provides a little of his usual wise and witty insights on art, queerness, and everything in-between. Return to Mortville is another brand-new featurette that covers a lot of the same ground as the interview, but it’s nice to learn more about the filming locations and see what they look like today – Waters’ conversations with the current owners of the property being nothing short of delightful. The third and final new featurette, a conversation between actresses Mink Stole, Susan Lowe, and Mary Vivian Pearce, offers more wit and insight into each of their respective characters, as well as an alternate perspective on the production of Desperate Living with some key details that Waters didn’t mention, which makes it a brilliant and unmissable addition to the package. Also included is an archival interview in which Waters’ regular production designer Vincent Peranio shares his collection of valuable production materials from the film, and reveals what became of some of the set dressing he created for both Desperate Living and Female Trouble.

ROBYN’S ARCHIVE – DESPERATE LIVING