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When prissy, prickly Sylvia Stickles (Tracey Ullman) suffers a head injury during a traffic altercation, she's, er, revived by self-appointed sexual missionary Ray-Ray Perkins (Johnny Knoxville) and is transformed into an insatiable, take-no-prisoners sex maniac. Yes, it's a John Waters film. Yes, it's filthy. No, it's not as hilarious and sustained as you'd like it to be. It works for a while, though: Ullman, never a stingy comedienne, does everything Waters dares her to do without hesitation; words cannot describe the perversely sporting delight with which she mounts a water bottle during a round of "The Hokey Pokey" at an old folks' home. And there's some fun to be had when Sylvia's emancipation leads her Baltimore 'burb to new heights of ecstasy, freeing her large-breasted daughter Caprice (Selma Blair) while horrifying husband Vaughn (Chris Isaak) and her hardline mother Big Ethel (Suzanne Shepherd, hysterical) in the process. It's also packed with the standard cameos, the most satisfying of which is good old Patty Hearst at a Sex Addicts Anonymous encounter. But, for all the nasty, necessary glee, the movie feels inescapably been-there-done-that, and you can't help but wish this was 1972 and Divine was on hand to prowl for dog droppings. The most shocking thing about
A Dirty Shame is how desperate and tiresome its anarchy becomes.
--Steve Wiecking
In John Waters's latest Baltimore raunchfest, the always welcome Johnny Knoxville stars as Ray-Ray, a tow-truck driver who saves concussion victims by liberating their libidos. Tracey Ullman is the repressed housewife who becomes his disciple. As the awakened townsfolk speak of carnal Rapture and search for the last untried sex act, Waters delivers a full-out burlesque. The film is winningly nostalgic in the way it harkens back to a time when sexual provocations could be truly transgressive, but the broad lampooning of the Christian community seems dated. Still, Waters's anarchic energy never flags, and he hasn't become cynical. With Selma Blair and Chris Isaak. -Bruce Diones
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker