Divine memories
A newbie reporter meets a famous old queen

In his new book The View from Here: Conversations with Gay and Lesbian Filmmakers (Arsenal Pulp Press,$26.95), Montreal writer Matthew Hays grills Pedro Almodóvar, Gregg Araki, John Greyson, Bruce LaBruce, Patricia Rozema, Gus Van Sant and John Waters. But he saves his most tantalizing subject for last, devoting the postscript to his 1986 interview with the late Divine, star of Waters’ movies Female Trouble (1974), Polyester (1981), Hairspray (1988) and Pink Flamingos (1972) where he infamously ate dog shit for the camera.

In this excerpt from the book, Hays celebrates Divine like only an enthralled queer fan could. The actor/singer/drag artist/troublemaker died two years after they spoke.

In 1986, at the age of 21, I managed to land an interview with Divine, John Waters’ leading lady in a number of his nowlegendary films, for The Gateway, the student paper at the University of Alberta in my hometown of Edmonton. What follows is the first interview I ever conducted. Divine was in town for two nights, playing at a club called Goose Loonies. (No, I’m not making that up.) After the show on the first night, I left a note for his manager at the adjoining hotel asking if I could interview Divine the next day. It worked—I got a call, and my heart pounded rapidly as I realized I’d landed an interview with one of my idols.

The only recording device I had was a ghetto blaster—and an ugly yellow one at that. But damn, was Divine ever sweet. He was just the best: warm, funny, and full of star power. It was precisely the kind of experience a starstruck student journalist like me had been dreaming of.

Will a sequel to Pink Flamingos ever be made? I read John Waters’ article in American Film magazine about his attempts to get someone to financially back the sequel.

I think it was scrapped after Edith Massey died. John said he would never try to find a replacement for her or me or for anyone. As far as he’s concerned, there aren’t any.

Certainly not for Edith Massey.

Or me [Laughs]. You’re talking to me! No, that’s true. There aren’t any other Ediths around. But really, it wasn’t my favourite script. We did enough with dog shit.

You’ve had a lot of press about the shit.

Yes. Whether it was real or not, I’m not going to say, but the scene stuck in people’s minds… stuck in my throat.

I’ve heard that scene estranged you from your parents.

For about nine years, we didn’t speak. We’re great now, though.

How did you and John Waters meet and how was it that you established a professional relationship?

We were neighbours. We grew up in Lutherville, Maryland. John was quite a movie buff, as I was too. John just always wanted to make movies. John went on to make a film for $250 that was shown at the University of Maryland and we were invited to introduce a screening. I went all done up, and John came onstage first and gave a long speech about movie-making, and then he introduced me as the “most beautiful woman in the world almost”—almost because I’m a man—and I came out having a modeling fit and then answered questions about acting, which I thought took a lot of balls. That was our routine. John also helped me with my first club act in San Francisco. I would push out a shopping cart onstage, and there was ground beef and fish and a telephone book. I would spin the fish around and rub them all over my body and then throw them into the audience, which would splatter all over people. It was a horrible mess. Then I’d throw ground beef at the people, and rip the telephone book in half. Three guys all dressed in black would come out and lie down head to foot, I would walk over top of them and squat over their faces and flashbulbs would go off. Then I would answer questions from the audience. This was my nightclub act at the time.

This must have been very racy then, years ago, versus today [1986].

Yes, it’s come around now. People used to sit there with their mouths just open—especially if they got hit by a fish.

You travel a lot. Do foreign customs agents ever give you hassles?

Only in Canada. Once in Germany, and another time in Sweden.

You’re riding a wave of popularity right now. Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

I’m going for it. Right to the top. Why not? All I can do is not make it.

One could say you already have. You’re quite a cult phenomenon.

Oh, but I want more than that. I want Oscars, Golden Globes, Grammys. I mean, why not? If somebody had told me five or six years ago that I’d have gold and platinum records, I would have said they were crazy because I didn’t sing. But now I’ve got them on the wall.

I’d like to see you get an Oscar.

So would I. And I will, if I have anything to say about it. It’s been a dream of mine since I was a kid.

Some people are offended by your act. They consider you a bit of a freak—a novelty only because you’re overweight and obviously homosexual. How do you react?

They’re assholes [Laughs]. These are people who are uptight about their sexuality. Not everyone’s going to like me, but I’m not doing my act for everyone. I’m doing it for those who like it. Some people don’t like Diana Ross, and all she does is get up and sing pop songs. I don’t think I’m a freak, I’m just another entertainer who happened to do something no one else had.


Reprinted with permission from The View from Here: Conversations with Gay and Lesbian Filmmakers (Arsenal Pulp Press, 2007).