One minute into the interview and John Waters is already talking about sex. I've thrown out a general question about the perils of fame. He is David-Niven-dapper; he has a shiny briefcase by his side. It doesn't work! Blimey, I think, this interview's going to be easy. Waters: the year- old ex-Catholic homosexual who put the corn into porn and never used a woman where a transvestite would do.
He's floated effortlessly into the mainstream with films such as Hairspray, Cry Baby and Serial Mom, but never lived down or up a leading lady gobbling dog poo 's Pink Flamingos , or a rape by rosary beads 's Multiple Maniacs. All the "bad" stuff you see in his movies is probably all based on his life! This man has no inhibitions! And yet the point of his story is that privacy matters. Water's latest film, Pecker, is also about privacy.
Its central character Edward Furlong takes photographs that capture the spontaneous truth, but when he becomes famous, it has consequences for his subjects - suddenly they've got nowhere to hide. Waters thinks that's a horrible place to be. My movies are about people who wouldn't go on Jerry Springer. My subjects," he says with a proud smile Waters, by the way, has sweet, yellowing teeth , "have always been Baltimore people, and they don't want people looking into their lives.
And yet Waters, as he admits, loves gossip his nephew recently admitted taking ecstacy - "I didn't tell his mother! In the past, he's said: "I like movie stars who like to have their picture taken, not the ones who hide from the press. Clearly, Waters is in two minds about the value of closeting oneself away. The question is, why? I remind him that, in , I sent him a questionnaire on behalf of another newspaper asking what three things he'd like for Christmas. Top of the list was Mary Bell's address, "so I can send her a Christmas card".
Waters has long been obsessed with killers, from Manson to John Wayne Gacy, but Bell - who at this point was very much out of the public eye - clearly stood out for him. No need to ask whether he bought the Gitta Sereny book. Of course he did. His lip grows wet before my eyes. Now I'll never get a boyfriend! I can hear her," he says dreamily.
