Sultan of Sleeze takes New York's Broadway by storm - State of the Arts

The radical sensibility that gave us Pink Flamingos, the screen gimmick odorama, and the immortal Divine has finally broken into the mainstream. On August 15, the self-affirmed Pope of Trash, John Waters, saw the Broadway debut of his 1988 cult film, Hairspray, at the Neil Simon Theatre. What's more, the $10.5 million adaptation is being hailed as the new Producers, the Mel Brooks musical that revolutionized New York's theater scene last year and made a killing at the Tonys.

I suppose, as Broadway increasingly features brash musicals about hookers (The Life), strippers (The Full Monty), and good-natured kitsch (The Producers), I should not be surprised to see Waters' name appearing on a Playbill. After all, Hairspray was only rated PG and is undoubtedly one of his tamer productions. Somehow, though, I had always believed that the Prince of Puke would be relegated to off-off-off Broadway features and independent movie houses. I guess America finally came to its senses.

The delightfully campy original movie is set in 1960s Baltimore, the "hairdo capital of the world." Ricki Lake stars in her first movie appearance as Tracy Turnblad, a big girl with big hair who dreams of dancing on the Corny Collins Show, an American Bandstand-esque television show. Her mother, Edna, is the late, great Divine, making his last movie appearance. (He would die from a massive heart attack after completing the film.) Other stars include Sonny Bono, Jerry Stiller, Mink Stole and a Waters cameo.

Tracy's talented dancing and sparkling personality earn her a spot on the show, unexpected popularity, and the ire of a fellow dancer, the rich bitch Amber Von Tussle (Colleen Fitzpatrick). When Tracy witnesses firsthand the terrible state of race relations in Baltimore -- the show boasts of its monthly "Negro Day" --she becomes an outspoken advocate for the desegregation of the Corny Collins Show.

The live show, which Clive Barnes of the New York Post describes as "a great big fat gorgeous hit," was written by Mark O'Donnell and Thomas Meehan, the latter of whom, incidentally, co-wrote the book for The Producers. The movie's real-life '60s soundtrack is augmented with faux rock-and-roll and rhythm and blues numbers by Marc Shaiman. The director is Jack O'Brien, who brought us the Broadway rendition of The Full Monty, a similarly campy and entertaining romp.

While I have not yet been able to see the Broadway production, I did sample some of Shaiman's new music. "Good Morning Baltimore," one of the opening numbers, has the perfect dose of camp and kitsch to capture the tone of Waters' movie. Another number, "Welcome to the 60s," features the black rhythm and blues, with a gravelly solo by Fierstein. "Run and Tell That!" is also an entertaining number.

Though the music may have changed, O'Brien's Broadway rendition maintains the same big-hearted message disguised in a campy spoof, depicting the triumph of black people, fat people, and, by extension, outsiders from all walks of life. Marissa Jaret Winokur, a virtual novice to the stage, is receiving fantastic reviews as the spunky Tracy. Harvy Fierstein, who won a Tony for his book of La Cage aux Folles, steps into Divine's big shoes for an expanded role as Edna. Other performers include Matthew Morrison, Corey Reynolds, Kerry Butler and Laura Bell Bundy.

The cast and crew is already generating Tony buzz and attracting celebrity attention, including Matthew Broderick and Rosie O'Donnell. Who knew that Waters would be the catalyst of watercooler conversations and kid-friendly matinees?

Despite this recent conventional popularity boost, John Waters continues to be, first and foremost, America's ultimate independent filmmaker, social critic and provocateur. This new musical is only one of many ways that he has helped to put Baltimore's name on the map. With this story, he proves that sometimes great things come in BIG packages. Kudos to Waters for achieving mainstream success as the brains behind a sold-out production; without selling out, the Sultan of Sleaze maintains his quirky empathies and unique genius.