Okay, settle in, pop that tape in the VCR (mentally, at least), and ignore the tracking lines for a minute. Remember pulling John Waters' Serial Mom (1994) off the shelf at Blockbuster? Maybe tucked between the mainstream comedies and the slightly weirder cult stuff? You knew you were in for something different with that cover, featuring a beaming Kathleen Turner looking disturbingly cheerful while brandishing a knife. And boy, did Waters, the Pope of Trash himself, deliver a deliciously warped slice of 90s suburban satire.
This wasn't your typical family flick, folks. It was like stepping into a Leave It To Beaver episode directed by someone with a serious grudge against polite society and a deep love for true crime sensationalism.
Suburban Nightmare, Dream Performance
At the heart of this glorious chaos is Kathleen Turner as Beverly Sutphin, the picture-perfect Baltimore housewife. She makes immaculate meatloaf, ensures her family recycles religiously (a very 90s touch!), and volunteers enthusiastically. She's also, well, a serial killer. But not just any serial killer! Beverly dispatches anyone who dares breach the unspoken rules of etiquette or inconveniences her beloved family. Talking during a movie? Wearing white after Labor Day? Refusing to rewind a VHS tape? These are capital offenses in Beverly's world, punishable by obscene phone calls, blunt force trauma via leg of lamb, or even immolation.
Turner is simply magnificent. Fresh off roles that showcased her husky voice and dramatic chops in films like Body Heat (1981) and Romancing the Stone (1984), she dives headfirst into Beverly's dual nature with infectious glee. She sells the June Cleaver facade just as convincingly as the psychopathic rage simmering beneath. It’s a performance that winks at the audience while simultaneously committing fully to the absurdity. Did you know Waters initially joked about casting Meryl Streep? While that’s a fun thought experiment, it's impossible now to imagine anyone but Turner embodying Beverly’s particular brand of lethal perfectionism. She apparently adored the script from the get-go, seeing the sharp satire beneath the shocks.
Waters Does... Mainstream? Sort Of?
Serial Mom represented a slight shift for John Waters. Coming after underground classics like Pink Flamingos (1972) and the slightly more accessible Hairspray (1988), this felt like his most "Hollywood" film yet, boasting a decent budget (around $13 million, though it sadly didn't make it back initially) and recognizable stars. Alongside Turner, we get the ever-reliable Sam Waterston as her blissfully oblivious dentist husband, Eugene, and Ricki Lake (then riding high on her talk show fame, having starred in Waters' Hairspray) and a young Matthew Lillard (pre-Scream) as the Sutphin kids, Chip and Misty, who gradually realize Mom might be slightly more unhinged than they thought.
But don't let the gloss fool you. This is still pure Waters. The film gleefully skewers the hypocrisy of suburban life, the burgeoning obsession with true crime celebrity (a theme even more relevant today), and the absurdities of the American justice system. Remember the courtroom scenes? The media frenzy, the "Serial Mom" merchandise, the sheer spectacle of it all felt both hilarious and disturbingly prescient. Waters himself even pops up in his traditional cameo, playing the voice of Ted Bundy on an archival tape Chip listens to. It's these touches, filmed primarily in Waters' beloved Baltimore (specifically the Towson area, providing authentic suburban backdrops), that ground the outrageousness in a recognizable, albeit twisted, reality.
Charmingly Dated, Wickedly Funny
Watching it now, some elements definitely scream "early 90s" – the fashion, the chunky cordless phones, the sheer earnestness of the recycling plot point. But the core satire remains incredibly sharp. The violence, while sometimes graphic (that liver scene!), often leans more towards darkly comic slapstick than genuine horror. It's less about visceral gore and more about the sheer audacity of Beverly's actions and the mundane triggers for her rage. It’s amazing this film secured an R rating relatively easily back in the day, avoiding the NC-17 battles Waters sometimes faced. Perhaps the humor and Turner's charismatic performance softened the edges just enough for the ratings board.
The film wasn't a smash hit upon release; critics were divided (Siskel liked it, Ebert didn't, a classic split!), and audiences perhaps weren't quite ready for such a biting take on motherhood and murder wrapped in suburban gauze. But like so many great VHS finds, its reputation grew over time, solidifying its status as a cult classic dark comedy. It’s the kind of movie you’d excitedly recommend to a friend who shared your slightly warped sense of humor, whispering, "You have to see this."
***
VHS Heaven Rating: 8/10
Justification: Serial Mom earns a solid 8 for being a near-perfect execution of John Waters' darkly comic vision, boosted immeasurably by Kathleen Turner's iconic, fearless performance. It’s a razor-sharp satire of 90s suburbia and celebrity culture that remains hilarious and relevant. While maybe not as viscerally shocking as Waters' earliest work, its blend of accessibility and subversive bite makes it a standout cult classic. The initial box office failure only adds to its underdog charm for retro fans.
Final Take: Forget Desperate Housewives; Beverly Sutphin was the original queen of suburban chaos, proving that impeccable manners and homicidal rage could make for killer entertainment, especially on a grainy Saturday night rental. A must-rewind.