Hairspray

My almost six year old spent a good deal of her summer studying musicals. She spent her August upright, pantomiming her way through double features of Annie and Hairspray with a kind of hermetic focus, mouthing lyrics. Afterwards, she would sing along to the music in front of her mirror and gyrate to herself in earnest. She pit her volume against the soundtrack’s, as if foes dueling for the attention of whomever chances upon them. To walk by her bedroom in mid performance, one might think Ethel Merman had recast herself in the form of a three foot Chinese girl. Add to that her two most practiced roles are the leads in both Annie and Hairspray. Even if she grows up to be a theatre kid – like her sister – I’m trying to imagine a director casting an adopted child in the role of orphan Annie or a tiny Asian kid in the role of Tracy Turnblad, the heavy set white girl who dares to mix with blacks. Issues of appropriateness might arise. And yet, right now she performs both those roles quite convincingly in our living room. When she asked if for her upcoming birthday she could have a “Hairspray” party we countered with a quick dozen reasons why that might not be such a good idea. Down around six or seven on the list was the possibility (probability?) of a younger set of parents not having seen or known about the musical and then coming to find out that it’s really made for older kids. Adults even. And deals satirically with the serious issue of racial discrimination. Suffice to say, Hairspray is not the usual fare for six year old birthday parties.

More to the point, what if in researching said Hairspray birthday for kindergarteners, these same younger parents accidentally picked up the original Hairspray, directed by cult-famous director John Waters? That’s not the one starring in drag the more wholesome John Travolta. Waters’ is the more suggestive less Hollywood version, starring the wildly unconventional 300-pound transvestite Devine, a pioneer whose largesse paved the way for future obese drag queens. Tragically, Devine, who starred in many of Waters’ films, including Pink Flamingos and Polyester, died shortly after their 1988 cult classic Hairspray debuted.

Neither Erin Hasley nor I remember the circumstances of Joe having met and subsequently photographed John Waters in Provincetown in the summer of 1994. But, as socially reserved as Joe often was, he was also an opportunist. I imagine that, whatever the scenario of their encounter, Joe must have made enough of an impression to strike John Waters as a photographer who took his art seriously. Waters’ must have admired how this young, confident, tattooed photographer took quiet control of his set, directing the Director where and how to position himself for this series of portraits. There are the qualities of intimacy and trust in these photos that we see as the trademark of so much of Joe’s work.

We nixed the Hairspray birthday party before the idea inflated too large. My poor daughter had already enlisted my help as planner, someone who could design Hairspray games and deck the house in Hairspray regalia. Sorry, we told her, releasing the air from this ballooning dream. We’ll take five of your friends over to Build-a-Bear, we told her. That way we could keep our standing as reasonably responsible parents. Maybe for her sweet sixteen we’ll festoon the house with Devine balloons and throw a dance party.