CRY-BABY (1990) *1/2 It opens strong, evoking thoughts like...why is it that in America, of all places, the upper class has never generated any decent art? Think about it-blues, country, jazz, funk, they certainly can't write or paint...why does all of the art come from the underbelly of the huddled masses who should reasonably be exercising their right to social mobility? The answer probably lies in the question: they're rejected the inherent values in their full allegedity. Then the film quickly degenerates into "John Waters savages Grease, Jailhouse Rock, and Rebel Without a Cause." Well, that's fine, too, I never thought all that much of any of those movies anyway. The problem is that while Waters maintains his signature standard of far more nauseous jokes than funny ones, it's all fluff anyway. He's mainly shooting for sight and situation gags, and they're just too stupid to even try to get into. That having been said, there is one supremely sublime sequence involving Kim McGuire and about thirty inmates. Johnny Depp has all kinds of lines that demand to be delivered with the indignation of a frozen cat on amphetamines in a car wash, and he pulls it off with due panache when he's not busy looking like an utter idiot. It's one of those films that quickly degenerates into trying to figure out who that actor is: wallowing amongst the "action" can be found the eclectically non-detergent likes of Iggy Pop, Traci Lords, Willem Dafoe, Ricki Lake, Amy Locane and Joey Heatherton. Patti Hearst appears in a court scene and manages not to start ratting on her friends, which is probably the most impressive thing about the entire film.
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