Cry-Baby (1990)

Cry-Baby is special because it doesn’t just dress up in 1950s nostalgia—it joyfully pokes holes in it, turning teen rebellion and squeaky-clean conformity into a giddy, candy-colored musical showdown. The vibe is gleefully camp and infectious, the kind of movie that commits so hard to its heightened reality that you stop resisting and start grinning along, especially as the romance sparks between prim propriety and motorcycle swagger. It’s genuinely charming, too, with humor that’s both broad and surprisingly sharp, letting the satire land without ever feeling mean-spirited. If you don’t like stylized, tongue-in-cheek musicals, it may not convert you—but if you’re even slightly tempted, it’s the rare parody that’s also a great time on its own terms.

Cry-Baby is trying to be a candy-colored, rockabilly spoof of teen romance, leaning hard into John Waters’ love of camp and cartoonish rebellion. When it’s firing, the songs and exaggerated characters have a cheeky, high-energy charm that can be genuinely fun if you’re in on the joke. But the novelty can wear thin: the story is pretty predictable, the humor can turn cloying, and the whole thing can feel a bit brittle and self-satisfied rather than inventive. If you don’t enjoy deliberately over-the-top camp that borders on pointless for long stretches, this one may test your patience more than your funny bone.