A John Waters' Christmas
Union Transfer
1026 Spring Garden St.
Philadelphia
Dec. 17, 2024
“I hate rich people now because they try to act like they’re rich — they should hide it, like they do in Sweden,” underground cinematic superstar John Waters joked before launching into a comedic schpiel about his own fame and fortune.
The writer-director of cult favorite films stopped by Philadelphia’s Union Transfer Tuesday night while touring his show, “A John Waters Christmas,” a vaguely holiday-themed monologue he’s taken on the road every year for the past five decades.
Now that he’s 78, the once-shunned punk has transformed into a lauded legend. But, unlike in so many other rags-to-riches stories, the celebrity has refused to sell out his spirit.
“I miss the days of being condemned by the Catholic Church,” he lamented. “I miss getting bad reviews from top critics.”
His uncensored Christmas stand-up is the proof of Waters’ enduring dedication to non-conformity. He exploits the campiest holiday to invent a tradition out of live performance. He maintains an energetic ethic at a time when modern Hollywood tries to crush all creative impulse out of society — and as the actor ages into an unrelatable sector of cultural and financial ease equally capable of squashing the human soul.
The set stood out in an era where the Netflix-style comedy special has become the new commercial for comics looking to rebuild their brand, sullying the unique intimacy once promised by live solo entertainment. Stars like Ellen DeGeneres and John Mulaney have utilized the format to issue “apologies” for bad behavior, attempting to remain likable and relatable cash cows even as their voices become warped from too much attention and money.
In other words, the live show has become a test of evading accountability and advertising one’s business over writing good material.
That’s why there was something gleeful about seeing John Waters continue to talk openly about everything that matters: religion, sex, drugs, politics, wealth, the film industry, censorship, terrorism, toilets. In an age of avoiding offense, he spoke plainly about seemingly every topic that could possibly spur discomfort.
He spoke honestly about how his life has been altered by money and success.
For one, he said, he’s become “addicted to honors.”
“I want the Nobel piece of ass award,” he said. He wants the opportunity to slip acid into the punch bowl at the White House.
“On January sixth I’m seizing the presidency,” he threatened us. “As my first act, I will pardon all speed freaks … and I will have an all-lesbian army.”
He told us about how when the Francis Scott Key Bridge collapsed in his hometown of Baltimore, the Washington Post called him to comment.
“What am I supposed to say? 'It’s a terrible tragedy and I’ll be doing my Christmas show in Philadelphia this year?'”
Instead of trying to prove his own excellence or cement his celebrity (“Call my Lars Von Queer,” he quipped, for instance), he did his best to undermine it — because he understands the whole system’s bullshit, anyhow.
He was even up front about the ironic impossibility of true transparency on his part: He interspersed fake lore about his various movie sets throughout the routine, making inside jokes for his hardcore fan base while simultaneously poking fun at the idea of ever really savoring celebrity insights.
At times John Waters spoke so fast I couldn’t even follow what he was saying. I got the sense that the near-octogenarian was still intent on giving us a bang for our buck, trying to ensure that we were not let down after buying expensive tickets to see a big-timer.
Even after he deemed it was time to “wrap it up,” his attempt at integrating some unoffensive Christmas punnery into an otherwise iconoclastic event, Waters took audience questions for nearly 30 minutes.
We passed back book and movie recommendations. He talked about how even he is unable to make movies in a money-grubbing modern Hollywood, how he might pivot to writing more books. He democratized his ideas for attention-grabbing media in an attention-deficit age. “Make an NC-17 movie with no sex or violence,” he challenged the audience.
The closest he came to asserting his status was through public prescription of anarchist calisthenics: Put “Free” signs on rich people’s lawns so others steal their fancy lawn furniture. Get your friends to dress up as Antifa and members of the Proud Boys and then have sex on the sidewalk.
Though the movie business might be dead, Waters is alive and well. Maybe you don’t have to stay poor to remain a creative spirit — you just have to keep young at heart. The world is supposed to be uncomfortable; nobody knows that better than awkward teenagers and twenty-somethings.
In his latter years, Waters has one hard rule to spread to the rest of the world, and I hope he’s right about it: “You can’t buy youth interests.”
John Waters is touring through the remainder of December — see where he's performing next and buy tickets here.
