Beverly Sutphin (Kathleen Turner) is the perfect example of the suburban fantasy: she regularly attends PTA meetings, makes dinner for her loving family every night, and has a reliable group of female friends to gossip with over happy-hour drinks. What more could she want out of life?

There’s just one small tick that most people don’t immediately sense about her: she’s a rampant killer set off by even the smallest miscalculation (aka chewing gum) from the perfect life she’s curated for herself and her family. Don’t mind her secret fascination with making prank calls and watching bloody horror films. That is just the beginning of what makes Beverly Sutphin — perhaps more appropriately known as “Serial Mom” — one of John Waters’ most compelling and memorable cinematic protagonists.

Thirty years ago, Serial Mom was released in theaters to little noise. While it didn’t break even at the box office with its $13 million budget, it has remained in the cultural conversation as a true cult classic among Waters fans. Similar to many of his other movies like Pink Flamingos (1972) and Female Trouble (1974), Serial Mom has a lot to say about the public’s fascination with true crime and how the media exploits innocent deaths to attract viewership. And it does all of that while being outrageously funny.

In fact, Serial Mom goes a step further with its tongue-in-cheek opening credits that claim “this film is based on a true story.” Naturally, it’s anything but. In many ways, this film feels like it was years ahead of its time in how it captures the cultural zeitgeist around hot-topic murder cases. It was right off the heels of Jeffrey Dahmer’s 1992 trial but about a year before O.J. Simpson’s case. Additionally, it came well before today’s slew of true crime podcasts and Netflix documentaries diving into just about every serial killer case out there.

Some, perhaps, more exploitatively than others.

“Serial Mom” attracts disgust from her neighbors when they start suspecting that she’s up to no good. But it doesn’t take too long for her to ultimately become a notable public figure who steals the spotlight. She is let into a crowded bar where she’s trying to kill someone because the people in line recognize and worship her. Her own daughter begins printing merch to sell outside of her trial. And no matter the increasing evidence and witnesses against her, Beverly capitalizes on public perception to ultimately free herself.

We as an audience end up rooting for her and wanting to see her succeed. The real fun is not found in Beverly convincing key witnesses to her heinous acts that she’s actually the soccer mom they once knew — it’s in watching her show her cards and still get away with it. And through that, Waters transforms us into active participants in the case.

If you were to see Beverly at a grocery store in the year 2024, you’d probably call her Karen. But when she’s Serial Mom — the truest form of her hidden desires — we are completely captivated by her. All of the campiness and sharp-tongued dialogue make watching Serial Mom so indulgent. Bless Kathleen Turner for every choice she makes here.

Of course, I’d hope that we viewers don’t connect to her desire to kill. However, Waters uniquely establishes the idea of how the world’s perception of us can be so drastically different from the real version. That idea is taken to the most dramatic and ridiculous degree… but the core truth still shines through the laughter.

There are many reasons why Serial Mom has continued to dominate the cultural conversation over the years. It carries many trademarks of Waters’ earlier independent films, with its Baltimore setting for one. But it also stands out from his earlier films with higher production values and even cultural references to films like Annie (1982) — which cost $60,000 to license.

This isn’t the same Waters that was making movies for pennies with friends. Most noticeably, drag icon Divine passed away in 1988, who starred as the murderous lead in numerous Waters films. There would be no Beverly Sutphin without Divine’s Dawn Davenport claiming that “the world of the heterosexual is a sick and boring life.” And there certainly wouldn’t be a Beverly Sutphin without Babs Johnson advocating for cannibalism.

As an outspoken advocate and member of the LGBTQ+ community himself, Waters has become a staple in the community with his films interrogating societal norms surrounding heterosexuality. Waters is also known for his outrageous, often gross-out gags that anointed him the title “The Pope of Trash.”

Serial Mom is not as explicitly queer as say Pink Flamingos or Female Trouble — nor is it nearly as shocking or gritty — but it very much appeals to the same campy, heightened sensibilities. Most importantly, it carries every ounce of creativity and boldness that initially earned Waters his crown with his 70s independent work.

If you haven’t experienced the wrath of Beverly Sutphin on your television screen, what are you waiting for? With Waters recently being featured in a major exhibit at the Academy Museum, there’s no better time to dive into the world of Serial Mom. Just make sure to follow her simple rules… you wouldn’t want to tick her off.

Article Courtesy of Matt Minton

Feature Image Courtesy of IMDb