In a city known for reinvention, anyone can be anything, which implies that everyone is also no one.
Serial Mom looks about as pristine as the image Beverly Sutphin projects onto her little slice of suburbia.
It may boil down to your average procession-of-talking-heads template, but it’s enlivened by the raucous words from those who supported and launched Divine into the limelight.
The original Hairspray is just funky and enthusiastic enough to make its ham-handed moral go down easy.
Serial Mom is the strongest film of the post-midnight-movie chapter of John Waters’s career.
There are unfortunately better-looking DVDs out there, at least in comparison to the potential of the source.