John Waters has it all, but he wants more. Fortunately, more-or more precisely, More.com-wants him, too.
The writer director of a dozen cult films-from Pink Flamingos in ’72 to the forthcoming Cecil B. DeMented-Waters signed a couple of years ago with bicoastal The Industry for commercial representation. A satellite of bicoastal Moxie Pictures, The Industry specializes in garnering spots for select feature filmmakers. Waters recently wrapped his debut as a commercial director: three spots for More.com, an online health and beauty supplier based in San Francisco.
Waters and company filmed the comic :30s in late April at Silvercup Studios in Long Island City, N.Y., where Stage B was transformed into a shrine to bad taste: various sets reveal different rooms and facades of a spacious "McMansion"-a large suburban tract home filled with expensive yet hideous furnishings. The baby’s room, where some 20 multicolored mobiles dangle from the ceiling, is an array of shelved Pampers, breast pumps and baby wipes. The master bedroom has a king-size bed and a huge gold-painted headboard, but look closer: the end table on mom’s side is filled with boxes of cold cream and anti-fungal lotion. On dad’s side, it gets even weirder: the lower shelf is packed with box after box of rubber surgical gloves. The front entry contains a strangely decadent-looking sofa that appears as though it was designed by Edward Gorey; above it hangs a so-hideous-it’s-beautiful painting of the family dog, a Chinese Crested. Waiting nearby, in a side room labeled "Dog Holding," are two real-life examples of that exotic breed-one that a crew member describes as looking like "a cross between Carol Channing and a jackal."
Bad taste is something that the director, nicknamed the "Pope of Trash," has long prided himself on. The agency behind the More.com campaign, Citron Haligman Bedecarre, San Francisco, envisioned an offbeat suburban family, The Mores, to promote the Web site. Though Waters may seem like the least likely director of a national commercial-he once directed his favorite leading actor, the late Divine, to eat dog feces-there is a reason why he fit the bill. Outrageous as some of his movie situations
have been, Waters’ movies often focus on happy families-biological or makeshift-who support each other through thick and thin.
"It’s so ironic, isn’t it?" said Waters. "The fact that they’ve hired me shows how times have changed. Whatever I’m notorious for is now okay, if the company wants me to direct their spot, and bring to it all that I am known for. I’m not saying it’s a bad idea-I think I can sell it. To me, a commercial is like the ultimate cult film in a way, if you can influence somebody to go out and buy something."
"It’s funny," he added. "Because I could never get product placement for my movies. Even in Hairspray, we had to make up brand names and make fake labels."
Though Waters has said he never wanted to direct someone else’s script, he explains that he was talking about feature films, not special projects like commercials. "I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time, but I was always shooting a movie or writing one," says Waters. "And my agent at CAA certainly encouraged me to do a commercial, and I didn’t fight him too hard.
"I have to say I’m glad that the first time they ever got a director who is known for making weird films to make a commercial, he must have had a hit commercial. The agencies must have said, ‘Get the other weird directors in here!’ That’s what happened when David Lynch had a hit TV series (Twin Peaks). All the networks said, get the other weird guys! Hey, does John Waters have a series idea?’"
Matt Haligman, the agency’s owner/creative manager, urged the client to wait until Waters completed Cecil B. DeMented (which will be released this August by Artisan) so that he could take the job. "This was an idea that would either fail miserably or be incredibly successful, depending on who we found to direct it," said Haligman. "We thought about getting someone like John Waters-and then we realized that he was signed [with The Industry], and ready to direct. We thought that the company name-More-went along with this country’s obsession with having more of everything. Paired up with John Waters’ perception on pop culture, which is a little twisted, and his love of people’s obsessions, it seemed like a perfect fit."
Over on the kitchen set, Waters proves to be a relaxed, encouraging director for the actress portraying Mrs. More, the endlessly patient and resourceful woman of the house. Adjusting her frilly apron, she picks up a foot-long slice of liver-the real thing, judging from the reaction of the dogs, who eye it hungrily. "I don’t know why people get so disgusted by liver," she says cheerfully, getting into the spirit of her role. "It’s just meat." While that line wasn’t part of the original script, the meat gag made its way into the campaign at Waters’ suggestion during an initial conference call. "They’ve let me be free to make the commercial I want," said Waters. "I think their ideas are good, and they respect me. When I started saying things like, "Let’s have her eat meat," many companies would have said no to me, right off. If they had, I would have known then that it wouldn’t work out."
Haligman describes "Poison Ivy" as "a thirty-minute sitcom compressed into a thirty-second film." In it, young Matt More presents his adoring mother with a handful of weeds, which turn out to be poison ivy. Not to worry: Mrs. More heals her itching family with a shipment of cures from More.com. In the kitchen scene, near the end of the spot, Matt returns with a new present: a beehive and thousands of angry bees. As the action continues on the set, the client, represented by Tim Hogan, the company’s director of marketing, confers with two agency creatives, copywriter Shira Friedman and art director John Davis. All three agree that Mrs. More’s reaction to the "gift"-no matter how hideous or dangerous-should be one of bemused delight. "This is a family that can cope with anything," says Friedman. "She knows that More.com can solve any problem, so there’s no reason to get upset." The beehive scene comes next, even though the swarming bees were filmed the previous day, against a blue screen in a sealed room. Hogan himself donned a bee suit and joined the camera operator in agitating the angry bees to create just the right swarm. "I still can’t believe I did that," says Hogan. "But I like getting involved."
The other two spots, "Babysitter" and "Nose," have a similar feel. In the former, Mrs. More, who is pregnant, interviews a prospective babysitter-a surly, tattooed teenage girl with electric blue hair and chains hanging from her nose. At first Mrs. More is troubled: there’s something about this girl’s appearance that strikes her as suspicious. Leading her through a hallway full of beauty and grooming products, Mrs. More suggests a makeover-starting with a dose of even more shocking bright red and green hair dyes. The plot of "Nose" will be familiar to fans of The Brady Bunch: bespectacled Mindy More, preparing for a blind date, is conked on the nose by an errant badminton. Mindy’s dad, whom Waters describes as resembling "a cross between Don Knotts and a happy serial killer," is despondent. Once again, Mom comes through, and orders contact lenses and bandages from More.com. When Mindy’s date arrives, he’s wearing a huge neck brace and sporting a mouthful of metal teeth.
"We had a lot of fun casting the boyfriend," said Waters. "I told the casting director, ‘Get me the cutest boy on death row.’" Waters also suggested that the actor show up wearing a suit but no shirt underneath. "You know how when criminals appear in court, their lawyer makes them clean up and wear a suit? I once heard of a criminal who was told to wear a suit, and he did, but with no shirt or tie. There’s no worse look than that. And the gold teeth. But you know what? Mrs. More would like him. Mom likes everybody. The big D of denial would be the More family crest."
Shooting in New York is a rarity for Waters, who makes most of his movies in his native Baltimore. Asked why he didn’t request a set closer to home, Waters said, "Baltimore’s become the Hollywood of the East-everyone I usually work with is doing ‘Blair Witch II,’ and after that, everyone’s working on the new Tom Fontana series, The Young Americans."
The transition between feature films and commercials, which require precisely timed scenes and tight storyboards, has been surprisingly easy for the director, according to Haligman. "The prep time is about three weeks for a three-day shoot," said the creative director. Waters jumps in. "Three weeks! It’s a luxury. I’ve had less than a two-week prep for a six-week shoot-and up until Hairspray, I never had this many people working on a crew. To me, this is less pressure. This isn’t my movie, but I’m trying to make it as much of a John Waters movie as I can in a world that’s not a movie. Having the client on the set is much like having people from the studio on the set."
"The most amazing thing to me," Waters said, "is how segregated the commercial community is from the film community. I don’t get it. It’s like two separate but equal worlds."
