John Waters has packed Cry-Baby with so many agreeable kitsch moments and high-trash casting turns (Patty Hearst, Iggy Pop, Traci Lords, Princess Di… nah, just kiddin’!!) that it takes a while to admit to yourself what a disappointment the film is. Waters is rehashing the same happily plastic, early rock & roll terrain he mined in Hairspray — only here the satire is muted and scattershot, and served up with an earnestness he hasn’t shown before. This isn’t the only Waters movie that has seemed a little tiresome; the psychotic fairy tale Desperate Living always struck me as a lot more fun to think about than it was to sit through.
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