Mehrnoush Alia’s 1001 Frames makes its NYC premiere at the Brooklyn Film Festival
1001 FRAMES (Mehrnoush Alia, 2025)
Brooklyn Film Festival
Sunday, May 31, Wythe Hotel, 80 Wythe Ave., Williamsburg, $25, 4:00
Monday, June 1, BRIC, 647 Fulton St., $28.37, 4:00
Festival runs May 29 – June 7 www.brooklynfilmfestival.org www.loco-films.com
In the Middle Eastern fairy-tale collection One Thousand and One Nights, also known as The Arabian Nights, a woman named Scheherazade marries an evil king and tells him a different bedtime story every evening in order to stay alive. Brooklyn-based Iranian-American filmmaker Mehrnoush Alia uses that as her jumping-off point in her chilling feature debut, 1001 Frames, making its New York premiere at the Brooklyn Film Festival on May 31 and June 1.
Expanded from her 2015 short Scheherazade, the intense 1001 Frames brilliantly blurs the lines between fiction and reality, photographed by Hamed Hosseini Sangari in a cinéma vérité style. The film is set in a vast, empty warehouse studio where a famous Iranian director (Mohammad Aghebati) is holding auditions for the role of Scheherazade in his new horror film. Over the course of one day, he meets with more than a dozen women, ostensibly to audition them, but it becomes clear early on that something else is going on.
In the first shot, a woman is on the floor on all fours, grunting like an animal until she rolls over and lays still. Writer, director, editor, and producer Alia then cuts to a series of interviews as the unseen director asks the women ever-more-invasive questions. The actresses sit in a plain wooden folding chair, trying to balance confidence with their growing sense of discomfort as the director asserts his power and control over them in both subtle and overt ways, mirroring the treatment of women not only in the film industry but in the world as a whole.
“Tell me. It stays right here between us. It’s only you and the camera here,” he says to one auditioner, as if his presence is not central to their relationship.
Alia switches between a stationary camera focused on the woman in full and in closeup and a handheld camera as the director physically approaches them, often in a threatening manner. The effect forces the viewer to be the perpetrator, to be the one with the male gaze, a phrase coined by Laura Mulvey, who wrote in Visual and Other Pleasures, “Woman, then, stands in patriarchal culture as a signifier for the male other, bound by a symbolic order in which man can live out his fantasies and obsessions through linguistic command by imposing them on the silent image of a woman still tied to her place as the bearer of meaning, not maker of meaning.”
As the interactions become more personal and intimate, some of the women squirm, some consider leaving, while others start challenging the director.
“You think you can edit everything, even your life!” his ex-wife, Firoozeh (Iranian multidisciplinary artist Mahin Sadri), boldly argues. A model states, “I’m not supposed to do whatever I’m told.” Another actress, looking frightened, says, “I’m afraid of that moment that you cross a line that things become ok that shouldn’t be.”
Meanwhile, the director refuses to back down, asking one auditioner about the role, “What are you willing to do to get it?” He scolds another, “This is my workplace. You can’t show up and say whatever you want.”
The dynamic of men’s insistent domination over women, in all areas of life, turns 1001 Frames into its own horror film, going beyond the mere psychological as the ending approaches.
“Are you scared of me?” the director asks one actress, who answers, “Do you want me to be scared?”
Previously known as Mehrnoush Aliaghaei, Alia based many of the incidents in 1001 Frames on real stories; she also worked closely with the actresses in developing their characters, allowing improvisation and giving the full script to only some of the women, depending on their preference. The result is a terrifying finale that morphs into a spectacularly effective coda.
The ensemble cast is remarkable, representing a wide range of ages and experience, each worthy of note: Sadri, Leili Rashidi, Mahsa Rezaei, Behafarid Ghaffarian, Fereshteh Aliyari, Maryam Arabzadeh, Aisan Ghanbari, Parastoo Ghorbani, Mahdieh Mohammadi, Dorsa Panjehband, Shayesteh Sajadi, Fatemeh Salehian, Helia Shadifar, and Avin Taffakori. They spend most of the film sitting in the chair, the camera zooming in on their face, capturing their changing, conflicted emotions as they reach difficult realizations and have impossible decisions to make. Aghebati, who is also the casting director and one of the film’s producers, is menacing as the director, his face never seen, as if he could be any man; he is a persuasive and controlling figure who completely understands his power and flaunts it, and perhaps not only to find the right actress for the part.
The most potent film about auditions since Takashi Miike’s 1999 ultraviolent cult classic Ôdishon, in which two men hold a fake audition in order to find a romantic partner for one of them, a tryout that doesn’t go particularly well, 1001 Nights is a haunting tale of all-too-real psychological horror, a beautifully rendered parable about misogyny with an unforgettable conclusion.
The eighteenth-century version of One Thousand and One Nights consists of such beloved, familiar tales as “Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp,” “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,” and “The Seven Voyages of Sinbad the Sailor.” 1001 Frames is never so benign but all too familiar and scary, a story that Scheherazade has to keep on telling, over and over again, one frame at a time.
The May 31 and June 1 screenings will be followed by a Q&A with Alia and Aghebati. The Brooklyn Film Festival runs May 29 to June 7 at multiple venues and online; among the other films to watch out for are Walter Thompson-Hernández’s If I Go Will They Miss Me, Carlye Rubin, Katie Green, and Tina Grapenthin’s Blood & Guts, and Thales Banzai’s Tony Odyssey.
[ Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer; you can follow him on Substack here.]
Who: Abdel R. Salaam, Ndere Troupe, Asase Yaa African American Dance Theater, the Billie’s Youth Arts Academy Dance Ensemble, DanceAfrica Spirit Walkers, DJ YB, more What:DanceAfrica Festival 2026 Where:BAM Howard Gilman Opera House, BAM Rose Cinemas, 30 Lafayette Ave. When: May 22-28, many events free, Gilman dances $21-$86, film screenings $17 Why: The coming of the summer season means the arrival of one of the best festivals of every year, BAM’s DanceAfrica. The forty-ninth annual iteration focuses on Uganda, with four companies performing “Umoja/Mirembe/Obulungi (Unity/Peace/Beauty)!” in BAM’s Howard Gilman Opera House: DanceAfrica Spirit Walkers, Asase Yaa African American Dance Theater, the Billie’s Youth Arts Academy Dance Ensemble, and Ndere Troupe, highlighting movement and music from the Pearl of Africa. Curated by artistic director Abdel R. Salaam, the festival also includes the DanceAfrica Bazaar with more than 150 vendors, dance workshops and master classes at the Mark Morris Dance Center, Sanaa Gateja’s “Voices of Peace” art installation, the Council of Elders Roundtable: Legacy & Preservation moderated by Dyane Harvey-Salaam, the Memorial Room, which offers a place to honor festival ancestors, and a late night dance party with DJ YB.
This year’s FilmAfrica screenings and cinema conversations, held in conjunction with the New York African Film Festival, are highlighted by Mohamed Ahmed’s A Tribe Called Love (2025), Maia Lekow and Chris King’s How to Build a Library (2025), Ossie Davis’s Black Girl (1972), Olive Nwosu’s Lady (2026), and Awam Amkpa’s The Man Died (2024) all followed by Q&As with the directors and/or others.
“Thousands of years of African cultural development were interrupted by centuries of colonialism, which gave rise to a sociopolitical movement that led to Uganda’s independence on October 9, 1962, and its formal nationhood in 1963. In the decades since, a powerful artistic movement has emerged to reclaim and celebrate Ugandan identity and intelligence through cultural expression, a force that continues to this day,” Salaam said in his mission statement. “Today, ancient Uganda is considered a cradle of human evolution and early civilization in the East African region of Lake Nalu Baale, the traditional name of what became Lake Victoria. In Luganda, a Bantu language, ‘Nalu Baale,’ translates to ‘Mother of the Ancestral/ Guardian Spirits.’ I am honored to share more of these ancient dances and songs, mixed with shades of contemporary visions of East Africa.”
[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]
WALLACE SHAWN: THE MASTER BUILDER
Metrograph
7 Ludlow St. between Canal & Hester Sts.
May 8-22 metrograph.com
It’s inconceivable that there can ever be too much Wallace Shawn.
The eighty-two-year-old native New Yorker has written nine full-length plays, appeared in more than two hundred movies and TV series, published three books of essays, and cowritten several screenplays. Among my favorite acting roles of his are in 1981’s My Dinner with André, 1985’s Heaven Help Us, 1987’s Radio Days and The Princess Bride, and, for obvious reasons, 2020’s Rifkin’s Festival. In addition, I thoroughly enjoyed him in his 2017 play Evening at the Talk House; his current show, the terrific three-hour What We Did Before Our Moth Days, directed by André Gregory, continues through May 24 at Greenwich House Theater, where he and his longtime partner, Deborah Eisenberg, recently substituted for two ill actors and where, on Monday nights through May 18, he performs his 1991 Obie-winning monologue The Fever; and I’ve had the pleasure of bumping into him a handful of times around the city, and he has been nothing less than charming and adorable at each encounter.
Next he will be at Metrograph for “Wallace Shawn: The Master Builder,” an eight-film retrospective curated by actor and comedian John Early, who portrays Tim in Moth Days, and Lucas Kane, the play’s stage manager and assistant director; the selections are a mix of Shawn in major and minor roles or works based on his plays, in which he does not appear.
“The two of us have been lucky enough to spend the last two years steeping in this side of Wally’s practice, working on his most recent theatrical masterpiece, What We Did Before Our Moth Days,” Early and Kane said in a statement. “In awe of his particular blend of poetry and politics, we put together a program that centers around his writing — featuring two rarely seen filmic adaptations of his plays — while also celebrating his sometimes overlooked roles as a leading man, typified in his collaborations with Gregory and the late Tom Noonan. And yet! Lest we neglect his unforgettable ability to breathe life into pop films and cult classics, we’ve included a couple of films that highlight his character acting, in part, because it’s also roles like these which have helped fund his brilliant playwriting. We are proud to present these films and we hope it reveals a new side of our beloved Wally Shawn.”
The program kicks off May 8 with Amy Heckerling’s 1995 Clueless (“lt’s time for your oral.”), followed by a Q&A with Shawn, Heckerling, Early, and Kane, and Richard Kelly’s 2006 Southland Tales, introduced by Shawn and the curators. Shawn will talk with filmmaker and podcaster Theda Hammel after the May 9 screening of Tom Cairns’s 2004 Marie and Bruce, join Gregory for a Q&A after the May 15 screening of Louis Malle’s Vanya on 42nd Street, speak with Hammel and Early after the May 15 screening of David Hare’s 1997 The Designated Mourner, and, on May 22, introduce Woody Allen’s Radio Days (“Beware, evildoers, wherever you are!”) and Jonathan Demme’s 2014 A Master Builder and participate in a Q&A following a screening of Noonan’s 1995 The Wife.
“I have more free time than a lot of individuals, so, instead of talking, I sometimes write,” Shawn has said.
He clearly does a whole lot more than that.
[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer; you can follow him on Substack here.]
A wealthy woman (María Onetto) looks the other way after she might have run over someone in The Headless Woman
THE HEADLESS WOMAN (LA MUJER SIN CABEZA) (Lucrecia Martel, 2008)
Metrograph
7 Ludlow St. between Canal & Hester Sts.
Friday, May 8, 11:30 am; Monday, May 11, 8:25; Tuesday, May 12, 7:15; Sunday, May 17, 8:10 metrograph.com
Inspired by nightmares she has in which she commits murder, Lucrecia Martel’s The Headless Woman details a woman’s emotional and psychological reaction after having possibly killed someone. María Onetto gives a mesmerizingly cool, distant performance as Veronica, a middle-aged, upper-class wife and mother whose biggest worry appears to be the turtles that have infested the new pool built behind a veterinary office. But one afternoon, while out driving carelessly in her Mercedes along a twisting, barren road, she hits something. Not sure if it was a child, an adult, or an animal, she decides to continue on, telling no one what she has done. But when a poor, local boy goes missing, she begins to suspect that she might have killed him.
An intriguing mix of Luis Buñuel’s class-consciousness and Edgar Allan Poe’s flair for suspense, The Headless Woman is an unusual kind of murder mystery. In Veronica, Argentine writer-director Martel (La Cienaga,The Holy Girl) has created a compelling protagonist/villain, played with expert calm and faraway eyes by Onetto (Montecristo,The Heavy Hand of the Law), who passed away in 2023 at the age of fifty-six.
A 4K digital restoration of The Headless Woman is screening at Metrograph on May 8, 11, 12, and 17, with Martel, whose first feature-length documentary, Our Land (Landmarks), came out last year, will be on hand for Q&As.
[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer; you can follow him on Substack here.]
“Evidence does not forget. It is not confused by the excitement of the moment. Am I?” Lynne Sachs asks at the beginning of her latest documentary, Every Contact Leaves a Trace, which is making its New York City premiere at Anthology Film Archives on May 3 as part of the sixth Prismatic Ground festival.
The film has a fascinating premise: Sachs goes through approximately six hundred business cards, or what she calls “memory devices,” she has saved over four decades and decides to reach out to a handful of the people who gave them to her. She calls in forensics experts who confirm that it is still possible to dust the cards for traces of DNA and fingerprints, but Sachs wants to take that to the next level and actually reconnect with seven individuals, remembering how they met in the first place and what they have been doing since.
Among the card givers were professors, filmmakers, doctors, publishers, restaurateurs, contractors, hair salons, a fitness center, a lawyer, museums, her brother Ira Sachs, and even my cinematic mentor, Amos Vogel. She ends up taking a look back with Angela Haardt, a dancer, professor, and filmmaker who cofounded the International Forum of the Film Avant-Garde in Germany; experimental multidisciplinary artist and curator Bradley Eros; textile and mixed media fiber artist Betty Leacraft; educator and former chair of the China Women’s Film Festival Jiang Juan; hair stylist Irina Yekimova; and the late experimental filmmaker and photographer Lawrence Brose, who shares a frightening situation he faced that makes Sachs reconsider whether to keep in the film.
Also participating are Obie winner Rae C. Wright as a therapist, and Sachs’s young twin niece and nephew Felix and Viva Johnson Sachs Torres, who help her pick through the cards and share their thoughts. In addition, Sachs features strikingly poetic visuals in black-and-white and color, card shuffling, geometric drawings, fabulous music by Morton Feldman and Stephen Vitiello, a discussion of German writer Heinrich Heine, and the creation of new artworks.
“It’s rare to take note how an encounter with someone seeps into your way of thinking,” Sachs says as she recalls her initial interactions with these people and investigates the trace elements that they left with each other.
It’s the kind of documentary that is its own time capsule; fewer and fewer business cards are traded today, and an increasing number of meetings are being held online instead of in person, except for, of course, something such as getting one’s hair done.
“Even like for a split second they left something of themselves in me,” Sachs posits. The same can be said for Sachs’s film, which will leave something of her in you, as she has done with such previous works as Tip of My Tongue,Film About a Father Who, and Investigation of a Flame.
Every Contact Leaves a Trace is screening on May 3 at 1:30 at Anthology, preceded by sixth annual Ground Glass Award winner Kohei Ando’s three-minute My Friends in My Address Book and followed by a Q&A.
Chad “Shorty” McDaniel displays his lust for life — and pool — in ReelAbilities documentary
Who: Chad “Shorty” McDaniel, Loren Goldfarb What: East Coast premiere of 96 Pounds of Dynamite at 2026 ReelAbilities Film Festival Where:Fashion Institute of Technology, Pomerantz Center, 300 Seventh Ave. at West Twenty-Seventh St., room D207, and Marlene Meyerson Jewish Community Center Manhattan, 334 Amsterdam Ave. When: Wednesday, April 28, free with advance RSVP, 6:30, and Thursday, April 29, $19.95, 5:30 Why: “I really want to get the message out there that regardless of the circumstances, you can do it in life. You can succeed in life, you can make something of yourself,” Chad “Shorty” McDaniel says at the beginning of 96 Pounds of Dynamite. “But I don’t think any human should have to put up with what I put up with.”
Making its East Coast premiere at the ReelAbilities Film Festival, Loren Goldfarb’s documentary follows McDaniel’s inspiring story. He first met McDaniel in a Florida pool hall, where he plays in a motorized wheelchair because of Osteogenesis Imperfecta, a genetic brittle bone disease that has resulted in his having extremely short arms and legs. But that hasn’t stopped him from becoming an amateur champion — or to enjoy every part of life he possibly can.
“People, they naturally go, ‘Oh the poor little handicap guy,’ you know what I mean?” he says. “Once I open my mouth, I shut that shit down quick. Mm, no. No Napoleon complex here,” he says wryly.
Goldfarb speaks with McDaniel’s friends and relatives, doctors, fellow pool players, his wife, Allison, and others with his disease. Through it all, McDaniel is upbeat and ready to take on anything, determined to win an upcoming tournament.
“I love when people underestimate me. I will eat them alive,” he declares defiantly.
Codirected by Ed Coughlin and featuring pool champion Jeanette “the Black Widow” Lee as one of the executive producers, 96 Pounds of Dynamite is screening April 28 at 6:30 at FIT and April 29 at 5:30 at the Marlene Meyerson JCC; both showings will be followed by a Q&A with McDaniel and Goldfarb. You can also stream the film through May 3 here.
ReelAbilites continues through April 30 with such other screenings as Heavy Healing at Nitehawk, No One Cares About Crazy People at the Joan and Alan Bernikow JCC Staten Island, and Espina at the JCC Manhattan.
John Waters loosens up in preparation for his eightieth-birthday shows, coming to the Society for Ethical Culture on April 19
GOING TO EXTREMES: A JOHN WATERS 80th BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION
Adler Hall at the New York Society for Ethical Culture
2 West Sixty-Fourth St. & Central Park West
Sunday, April 19, $87.97 – $130.69, 7:30 ethical.nyc www.dreamlandnews.com
“Secretly I think that all my films are politically correct, though they appear not to be. That’s because they’re made with a sense of joy,” filmmaker, actor, writer, visual artist, and monologist John Waters has said.
After having spoken with him, I now feel that John Waters himself is made with a sense of joy.
Over a career lasting more than sixty years, the Baltimore native, who turns eighty on April 22, has brought joy to a ravenous public that devours his eclectic movies, books, talk-show appearances, and solo performances. He broke through in the early 1970s with the counterculture trio of Multiple Maniacs,Pink Flamingos, and Female Trouble, all starring the drag queen Divine, and scored more mainstream success later with Polyester,Hairspray,Cry-Baby, and Serial Mom.
His writings include 1981’s Shock Value: A Tasteful Book About Bad Taste, in which he explains, “To me, bad taste is what entertainment is all about. If someone vomits watching one of my films, it’s like getting a standing ovation.”; the 2014 nonfiction Carsick, which details his 2012 cross-country hitchhiking trip; and his first novel, 2022’s Liarmouth . . . A Feel-Bad Romance, about a pair of con artists, luggage, and a chatty penis. Among his numerous acting jobs, he portrayed the Groom Reaper on the based-on-fact legal drama ’Til Death Do Us Part and made a cameo as Jesus in Ash Christian’s Mangus!
A master of the spoken-word lecture, he has performed such solo shows as This Filthy World,Naked Truth,Make Trouble, and A John Waters Christmas. His latest, Going to Extremes: A John Waters 80th Birthday Celebration, comes to the Society for Ethical Culture on April 19.
Waters, who is always impeccably dressed and styled, usually in a sports jacket and tie, highlighted by his famous pencil-thin mustache, is utterly charming on the phone, laughing often as we discuss the ins and outs of showbiz, holiday-themed monologues, Howdy Doody, airplane etiquette, and ethical culture.
twi-ny: Hello, John.
john waters: Hey, Mark.
twi-ny: I met you many, many years ago. You would never, ever remember it, but it was at “Outsider Porn,” a marvelous show you curated with Dian Hanson in Chelsea of photos of erect penises by David Hurles.
jw: Yeah, I did that at the Marianne Boesky Gallery. Yes.
twi-ny: I had never seen anything like that kind of show and I just loved it.
jw: It was pretty brave of my gallery to do it.
twi-ny: Yes, but you know what, it was like all of your work, all the things you’re involved in: It makes people experience a different part of the world or a different kind of beauty that they’re not used to seeing.
jw: I’m coming to New York for my eightieth.
twi-ny: How great is that? So when you were a boy and you started doing puppet shows at children’s birthday parties, did you ever think that you would be working harder than ever in the entertainment business when you were eighty?
jw: I didn’t ever think that, but I never thought I wouldn’t do that either. I always was ambitious. My parents taught me I could be anything I wanted, even when what I wanted to be is not what they wanted me to be. So I would say, no. When you’re twelve years old, it seems like it takes a hundred years to be thirteen. When you’re seventy-nine, it takes one second until you’re eighty. So that’s the difference.
twi-ny: I wrote a piece last month about three artists who were all in their nineties, two painters and an actress. They’re doing some of their best work now.
jw: I always say, I’m afraid if I stop, I drop dead. I’m busier than I’ve ever been in my whole life. And I say in my show, I’m not going to give it all away, but I do say if I do drop dead, you can do selfies. I don’t do selfies in real life because I got Covid from doing it.
twi-ny: I read that at some show you were throwing masks around.
jw: I don’t think that’s true. It was before Covid even started; I wouldn’t have ever done that. I read that somewhere online too. It might have been in the very beginning, but I’m not so sure I did do that. Well, if it was ever, it would have been just once. I’ve thrown poppers into the audience. I’ve thrown anal bleach packets into the audience. I’m fine admitting the things I throw. Ground beef I’ve thrown, but I don’t think I ever threw that.
John Waters refers to his solo shows as “sermons” (photo by Greg Gorman)
twi-ny: In Carsick, you wrote that Brigid Berlin said to you, “How can I be bad at seventy? She’s got a point. I’m sixty-six years old, for Christ’s sake.” Now that you’re turning eighty — and, unfortunately, we lost Ms. Berlin in 2020 when she was eighty — can you still be bad at eighty? I’m thinking that you can still be bad at eighty.
jw: I guess, but what do you mean by bad? If anything, trying to be bad may never be good. What she meant by bad was . . . Brigid Berlin changed so much in movies and the conception of a rich girl, of a fag hag, of a junkie, of all the different bad labels. She ended up being a Republican, which is kind of funny.
twi-ny: Right?
jw: Yeah. I think she did find out how to be bad at eighty. She became a Trump supporter.
I hitchhiked across the country by myself at sixty-six. I took LSD with Mink [Stole] at seventy, and I always joked I was gonna turn heterosexual at eighty.
twi-ny: Well, now you’ve got something to look forward to — or not. When you were a kid, your parents took you to see Howdy Doody in New York City.
jw: Yep, I was in the Peanut Gallery at NBC Studios, where later I did David Letterman.
twi-ny: How would you describe that experience? Was that your first trip to New York City?
jw: No, not my first trip, but it was an earth-shattering one that changed my life because I was obsessed by Howdy Doody, as everybody was. It was the first television show in America, practically. My uncle knew someone at NBC Studios; it was not easy to get on that show. There were only, I forget, like twenty kids in the audience, but I remember walking into the studio. It was this giant studio with this tiny little puppet stage surrounded by fifty cameras. There were five Howdy Doody puppets, five of each character.
There was Buffalo Bob, who was mean to us and told us to shut up or we wouldn’t get anything when it was over. I looked around and realized this was all a big lie. And rather than be disillusioned, I knew this was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
twi-ny: You got a taste of what was going on behind the scenes, how it’s done.
jw: I saw the illusion, I saw the whole thing, and I knew this would be the only thing I could ever really do.
twi-ny: And it really set in motion everything that you’ve done afterward. Staying in New York for a bit, you live here and in Baltimore and San Francisco?
jw: And Provincetown. And, more than any of them, airports. I did fifty-nine shows last year.
twi-ny: And you have a whole lot more coming up this year. One of my favorite things you’ve said was, “It’s hard to imagine how great and scary Times Square was.” Now, over the years, starting with Giuliani specifically, it’s gone through so many changes.
jw: No, it’s scary now because it’s suburbia.
twi-ny: They sort of Disney-fied it, right?
jw: Not even Disney-fied; it’s not even that good. It’s just people sitting in lawn chairs. I like Times Square, but I miss the . . . no, Times Square got so terrible at the end it had to change. But still, it’s amazing to walk by and think, Oh my God, I had sex in a movie theater in there. That place used to be the most insane place where both homeless and gay people went.
People would be trying to sleep and they’d accidentally put their arm through a glory hole. You think back on these memories and they’re long gone. Even the ghosts are in hell.
twi-ny: You’ll be at the Society for Ethical Culture on April 19. How has the concept of ethical culture changed from from the beginning of your career?
jw: I played there before; it’s an amazing place. Well, ethical culture — what ethnic am I? The filth world. I guess I am filth culture, which is a subculture of radical entertainment. Yes, basically, I’m a carny. That’s what I am.
twi-ny: Many of your shows are built around holidays. You’ve done, in addition to the birthday shows, Valentine’s Day, Christmas, Halloween shows. Is that just a coincidence or are you drawn to holidays?
jw: I’ve done July 4 shows, I’ve done Valentine’s Day, I’ve done all of them. I tell you, I’m going to do Groundhog Day and do my old material.
I rewrite the show completely once a year, which is like writing a short book, because it’s a seventy-minute monologue.
twi-ny: Everybody loves holidays, but do you feel a special connection to holidays, or is it just a good way to give you an idea of how to change the show?
jw: It’s exploitation, that’s all. People always say, What are you doing on Halloween? I say, I’m like a common drag queen; I gotta work. I mean, on the holidays, even at Christmas, when I’m touring around, I think, Where am I supposed to do Christmas shopping, in airports? I try to get people gift certificates for Hudson News but they don’t have them; they looked at me like I was crazy when I asked.
twi-ny: Only certain people would understand that.
jw: I think it’s funny. Of course, now a $50 gift certificate for Hudson News wouldn’t buy you a package of Kleenex. How much is a coffee? Eleven dollars for a small coffee to go?
twi-ny: Is there anything on your birthday that you specifically love to do?
jw: That’s something in my private life that I never share. I’m going to a foreign country and have a vacation. So much of my life is shared with the public, if you don’t keep some things private, you’re oversharing.
twi-ny: That’s a great point, because the films you’ve made, the books you’ve written, your shows, they’re very, very open. They’re not necessarily confessional, but you’re not hiding a lot as far as we can tell. So I would imagine that means people think they can tell you anything or ask you anything.
jw: It doesn’t mean I have to tell you everything.
twi-ny: Definitely not!
jw: They do tell me everything. I’ll sit on an airplane and a stranger next to me will tell me, You know, my parents fucked me in an Easter basket when I was five years old. Please don’t share that with me. I’m sorry for that, but I don’t know what I can do about it.
twi-ny: We’re going put the headphones on and watch that movie, I think.
jw: I read; that’s better. Anne Tyler said she used to always take the longest book on a plane so that she’d never be finished. I used to read a book called Lesbian Nuns and that would stop conversation usually. Now that would make people talk more. People would say, Oh, my sister’s one of them.
John Waters makes a key cameo in his 1988 hit Hairspray
twi-ny: Now that you’re reaching a certain age, does the number mean anything?
jw: How could I be eighty years old? It’s impossible to even imagine, yet here I am. I’m glad, I’m lucky, alive, to see and be able to be the busiest I’ve ever been in my life.
twi-ny: You’ve made a dozen feature films and many shorts, published ten books, you’re a photographer, you do voiceovers, you do your tours. Are there things in your professional life that you haven’t done yet that you’re itching to try?
jw: And my first poem is being published in The Atlantic this month.
twi-ny: Congratulations!
jw: So there’s one; the only thing left is to write a play. I’ve never done that.
twi-ny: I would love for you to challenge Broadway.
jw: I think I’d have a better chance off Broadway.
twi-ny: What might it be about?
jw: I wouldn’t tell. You never talk about something before you do it. After you do it you have to talk about it for the rest of your life.
twi-ny: You do a lot of interviews. I’m thrilled that you agreed to do this. Does it ever get tiring? Or, like you said before, is it all part of the exploitation?
jw: For every show I do, I’m contracted to do at least two interviews to promote it. It’s part of my job to do the press. I get ten newspapers a day and read about eight more. I like the press. I feel bad what they’re going through right now. So to me, why would you ever be in show business and say you hate the press? I use you to sell tickets and you use me to get people to read you and so that’s fair.
twi-ny: It’s a fair deal. I will say that in my case, I do this so people will know that John Waters is coming to New York City.
jw: You’re a social worker.
twi-ny: You’re most associated with Baltimore, where you filmed all your movies. One of my favorite movies last year was The Baltimorons.
jw: Yes, I liked it. I thought it was a very good religious romantic comedy. Not my favorite genre. They did it really well. The acting was really good in it. It was well shot. I liked it very much.
twi-ny: I imagine you might have been to that holiday Christmas market in the film.
jw: I avoid gatherings of Christmas glee, except my own — I have to be in a show every night. But certainly it fit in very well with films that are made in Baltimore, and I was very glad it’s a success.
twi-ny: I love the title.
jw: That’s a thing people always say here; it’s not negative.
John Waters is ready to scream at New York City show (photo by Greg Gorman)
twi-ny: Getting back to the show. In all the cities you go to, do audiences in different places react differently to John Waters? I’m sorry for talking about you in the third person.
jw: The same. They’re smart. They get dressed up for me. If they don’t get the jokes, they have homework to look it up. They’re very cool, all ages and all sexuality. I did a show this week in Phoenix. I did one in Santa Fe. In El Paso. And in New York. The audiences, I couldn’t tell the difference. And I mean that in a good way.
It was probably elitist of me to think that New York and LA get you but Phoenix and El Paso don’t.
jw: It’s a worldwide infected religion. I’m thankful. I even call my show sermons now.
twi-ny: So for New York, would you want people to come dressed any specific way?
jw: Don’t come dressed like you might on an airplane.
I see people on airplanes in an old filthy T-shirt and shorts in the middle of winter. Get dressed, pig! Really disgusting. So yes, people get dressed for me. I don’t have to tell them. No one wears a dirty sloppy T-shirt and baggy shorts to see me ever; it’s never happened.
twi-ny: I’ve seen that on Broadway.
jw: They know better.
twi-ny: You’re laughing through this entire interview. Every time I see you on talk shows or other programs, you just seem like a happy guy.
jw: Well, I’m not walking around like a lunatic. If you want to know the truth, I’m sick today. I have a really bad cold.
I am an actor. But I am who I say I am in interviews. That is the real me completely. But I’m not always like that all day.
twi-ny: I want to thank you for taking the time to speak with me despite you’re not feeling well.
jw: Thank you for your support. I couldn’t get away with it without people like you.
twi-ny: I’m looking forward to the show.
jw: Thank you. And laugh loudly when you’re there.
[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer; you can follow him on Substack here.]
