It may seem like a stretch to call a film that features scenes of rape, murder, incest, castration, cannibalism, bestiality and, most famously, shit-eating, a “feelgood” movie, but I can’t think of a film more worthy of the title than Pink Flamingos. To me, it’s like Singin’ in the Rain, but with scat, a thing of pure beauty and joy disguised as the most disgusting thing ever filmed.
The will to create a movie for the specific purpose of appalling anyone unaware of its true meaning turned Pink Flamingos into the ultimate litmus test. You either got its sick jokes or you didn’t. But those who did got something far more lasting than a laugh. We got a one-way ticket to an underground populated by parallel dissidents, an entire community of the unruly and free. That’s a lot to gain, which is why, even decades after I first saw Pink Flamingos, I return to it whenever I need to be reminded there’s a universe of possibilities out there not reflected in the world we know now.
