Polyester (1981)

Polyester is John Waters at his most wickedly accessible, turning a picture-perfect suburban nightmare into a gleefully trashy soap opera with the polish of a melodrama and the bite of a punk-rock prank. Divine gives a fearless, surprisingly touching performance as Francine Fishpaw, anchoring the film’s outrageousness with real, bruised humanity while the world around her spirals into scandal, hypocrisy, and hilariously bad taste. The vibe is candy-colored and cruel, a high-energy satire that dares you to laugh at things you’re not “supposed” to—and then tops it off with the legendary Odorama gimmick, which makes the whole experience feel like cinema reaching out and grabbing you by the senses. It’s not for the squeamish or the easily offended, but if you want a comedy-drama that’s both a cult spectacle and a sharp little jab at American respectability, this one earns its stink.

Polyester is John Waters trying to bottle his trashy, suburban-melodrama satire and make it just polished enough to flirt with the mainstream, complete with the Odorama gimmick and Divine going all-in as a woman whose life is a nonstop humiliation parade. When it works, it’s gloriously tacky and committed, with a few genuinely sharp jabs at hypocrisy and a surprisingly sweet, oddball charm thanks to Tab Hunter’s deadpan sincerity. The problem is it can feel uneven and sometimes reliant on broad clichés rather than the more dangerous, inventive bite Waters is known for, so the shock and the jokes don’t always land with equal force. If you’re not already on board with Waters’s particular brand of gross-out camp and mean-spirited soap-opera exaggeration—or you’re sensitive to themes like sexual sleaze, drug use, and self-harm played for uncomfortable laughs—this will likely feel more like endurance than fun.