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Lust in the Dust
(Paul Bartel, 1985)
The mere presence of cult icon Divine is enough to misconceive viewers into thinking that this western spoof is the work of John Waters -- a misconception likely bolstered by the appearance of Polyester co-star Tab Hunter. It's fascinating to think what could have been had Waters not declined the opportunity to direct Lust in the Dust. Instead of the button-pushing anarchic energy of John Waters, we get Roger Corman disciple Paul Bartel, who might be odd and kinky, but lacks the provocative ambition to mine this material for anything more than surface-level chuckles. Remove the novelty of watching a gay camp western starring an obese drag queen and you realize that Lust in the Dust is a broad western parody not all that dissimilar to the comedies of Happy Madison Productions. Jokes are sophomoric. Punchlines are telegraphed. There's too much plot, not enough absurdity.
Despite my disappointment that Lust in the Dust isn't weirder or gayer or more transgressive, the bizarre sight of Divine in a spaghetti-inspired western knock-off is a novelty that never fades. It's like watching A Fistful of Dollars inseminate Female Trouble with Blazing Saddles stepping in as a surrogate mother. Tab Hunter's Able Wood is a riff on Eastwood's Man with No Name, but Hunter lacks the gravitas to play a mysterious gunslinger. He's the weak link of the cast, underplaying his performance to the point of near catatonia. When sharing the screen with Divine and Lainie Kazan, Hunter is like a pitiful sapling caught between the dueling winds of two hurricanes in drag. The catty interplay between Divine and Kazan, as they compete for the attention of the same man in addition to their ongoing pursuit of a mythological treasure, is the lifeblood of Lust in the Dust. Their enormous energy propels the film, providing enough entertainment to compensate for the weak script. Reliable character actors like Geoffrey Lewis, Henry Silva, Cesar Romero and Woody Strode bring authenticity to the picture, momentarily tricking viewers into thinking that they're watching a real western until Divine inevitably cracks another neck between her thunderous thighs during an act of cunnilingus and you realize that this isn't exactly your grandpa's John Wayne matinee.
Lust in the Dust
(Paul Bartel, 1985)
The mere presence of cult icon Divine is enough to misconceive viewers into thinking that this western spoof is the work of John Waters -- a misconception likely bolstered by the appearance of Polyester co-star Tab Hunter. It's fascinating to think what could have been had Waters not declined the opportunity to direct Lust in the Dust. Instead of the button-pushing anarchic energy of John Waters, we get Roger Corman disciple Paul Bartel, who might be odd and kinky, but lacks the provocative ambition to mine this material for anything more than surface-level chuckles. Remove the novelty of watching a gay camp western starring an obese drag queen and you realize that Lust in the Dust is a broad western parody not all that dissimilar to the comedies of Happy Madison Productions. Jokes are sophomoric. Punchlines are telegraphed. There's too much plot, not enough absurdity.
Despite my disappointment that Lust in the Dust isn't weirder or gayer or more transgressive, the bizarre sight of Divine in a spaghetti-inspired western knock-off is a novelty that never fades. It's like watching A Fistful of Dollars inseminate Female Trouble with Blazing Saddles stepping in as a surrogate mother. Tab Hunter's Able Wood is a riff on Eastwood's Man with No Name, but Hunter lacks the gravitas to play a mysterious gunslinger. He's the weak link of the cast, underplaying his performance to the point of near catatonia. When sharing the screen with Divine and Lainie Kazan, Hunter is like a pitiful sapling caught between the dueling winds of two hurricanes in drag. The catty interplay between Divine and Kazan, as they compete for the attention of the same man in addition to their ongoing pursuit of a mythological treasure, is the lifeblood of Lust in the Dust. Their enormous energy propels the film, providing enough entertainment to compensate for the weak script. Reliable character actors like Geoffrey Lewis, Henry Silva, Cesar Romero and Woody Strode bring authenticity to the picture, momentarily tricking viewers into thinking that they're watching a real western until Divine inevitably cracks another neck between her thunderous thighs during an act of cunnilingus and you realize that this isn't exactly your grandpa's John Wayne matinee.