The Brief

Filmmaker John Waters spent decades creating what he playfully calls "filth" for the big screen: irreverent, campy movies set in his hometown, Baltimore. After decades of being proudly outside the mainstream, the subversive auteur is now enjoying some very mainstream Hollywood attention. To coincide with the opening of major retrospective of his career at the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures, this week he was also immortalized in Los Angeles cement.

"Here I am, closer to the gutter than ever," he joked at the red-carpet ceremony for his sidewalk star this week. "The Hollywood Walk of Fame: You're the best and I hope the most desperate showbiz rejects walk over me here and feel some sort of respect and strength," he said.

Waters was surrounded by adoring fans and friends like Ricki Lake, who starred in his 1988 musical Hairspray, and the actress known as Mink Stole, who appeared in all 16 of his films. "The drains on this magic boulevard will never wash away the gutter of my gratitude," he said. Waters posed for the cameras with a framed photo of his late parents, who he said had indulged his passion for filmmaking.

Waters has always been a proud outsider and a queer icon among American filmmakers. With his pencil mustache and sarcastic smile, he became an underground celebrity in the 1980s, and has continued to be famous behind and in front of the camera. He started out in the 1960s as a teen making underground, guerilla films. He soon developed a cult following that continues to this day. Now, at age 77, Waters calls himself a "filth elder."

The exhibition at the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures is aptly called "Pope of Trash."

The first of 12 galleries dedicated to Waters is decked out as a chapel. It starts with a shock — a literal shock from trick buzzers under pews where visitors can sit to watch clips of what Waters calls his "humorous trash epics."

The gallery spaces feature film clips and memorabilia from all of Waters' movies, including the electric chair that executed his star Divine in Female Trouble. On display are Mink Stole's cat-eye spectacles from Pink Flamingos and the cockroach dress Ricki Lake' wore in Hairspray.

The first gallery in the "Pope of Trash" exhibition at the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures is outfitted as a chapel.

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Charles White, JWPictures

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Academy Museum of Motion Pictures

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There's a dance floor for visitors to twist along to Waters' musicals, including Hairspray — the 1988 film about 1960's TV dance shows and racial integration, which became a hit Broadway show, remade with John Travolta and continues to be performed in high schools.

The exhibition also features Debbie Harry's exploding wig from Hairspray, the scratch 'n' sniff "Odorama" cards from Polyester, and the lethal leg of lamb prop from Serial Mom.

Waters is known for irreverent, campy movies set in his hometown, Baltimore.

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Charles White, JWPictures

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Academy Museum of Motion Pictures

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Fashions from John Waters films on display at the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures.

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Charles White, JWPictures

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Academy Museum of Motion Pictures

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Since his earliest days, Waters has outrageously and lovingly mocked society, mainstream values and institutions. The exhibition includes his first film in 1964: Hag in a Black Leather Jacket, and there's original footage of audiences leaving cinemas and reacting to the outrageous antics they've just witnessed.

"The most disgusting thing I've seen in my whole life," says one moviegoer after screening Pink Flamingos, which ends with a scene of Divine eating dog poop. "It's a little gross," says another,"...but I liked it."

"Pope of Trash" is the moniker writer William S. Burroughs once gave Waters, and it's where the exhibition gets its name. "The Duke of Dirt, the Prince of Puke. I had a lot of titles," he told NPR just before the show opened. "I wear them all proudly, and they were all given positively with irony."

Waters says he likes to surprise people — from lampooning hippies and squares, to celebrating drag queens and sex addicts, to appearing as himself in The Simpsons and Alvin and the Chipmunks to now getting his flowers from The Hollywood Chamber of Commerce and The Academy.

"If you stick around long enough doing one thing, they can't get rid of you. They kind of have to accept you," he says. "I mean, who would imagine that Pink Flamingos would have been named by the government as a great American film? It's still shocking to me, but things change." As for being memorialized and celebrated in a museum exhibition of his life and career, he says, "... this just happens a lot when you are dead. And that's good, too. But it's a lot better if you're alive."

Despite his provocative interpretations of American institutions and society, Waters says he always loved the subjects he parodied and has always been treated fairly by the film industry. "I have no bitter Hollywood stories," he notes, while offering a bit of his philosophy: "A sense of humor that knows that we never make our enemy feel stupid. We make them feel smart, even when they aren't. Get them to laugh, and then we can get them to listen."

As for all the current Hollywood hoopla, John Waters has said, "I'm so respectable I could puke."

Jacqueline Stewart, director and president of the Academy Museum, says for a show designed for both Waters' fans and a new generation, the curators leaned into Water's tongue-in-cheek humor and themes such as body positivity and middle class hypocrisies, which are relevant to this day.

"There's been a long tradition of filmmakers working in these kind of marginal spaces, and that it is still happening outside of mainstream cinema," she says. "I think this show also indicates that it's OK if your films are not blockbusters, if you're not always aiming to reach every audience, but instead really delving into the particulars of the cultural and the local community that you're focused on. ... I think that it's going to bring brand new audiences to his work and I hope that John really does see this as this show of respect that the film community has for him."

The fact that he is being honored in Hollywood "is like some sort of insane, happy ending thing," says film historian and professor emeritus Jeanine Basinger. In the 1980s, she asked Waters if she could archive his "trash" at Wesleyan University's center for film studies, which was named after her. Until now, his scripts and ephemera have been stored there. "John is the ultimate outsider who's now being embraced warmly by all the big insider institutions. So he now he's become the ultimate insider, but he's never lost his outsider point of view."

The fans standing on Hollywood Boulevard to witness his star ceremony were equally tickled by Water's new Hollywood closeup. During his ceremony, an out of work actor named Danny Nero held up a poster of the Hollywood sign photoshopped to say "Filthywood." Cheering for Waters was porn performer Donna Dolore, who said, "I appreciate his bringing filth and perversion to audiences worldwide."

Vanessa Moreno, who identified herself as a journalist and a dominatrix, said she admires Waters "for showing you can be an irrefutable dirtbag and receive your accolades."

Kyle Montgomery, who was covered with John Waters tattoos, had come all the way from Canada to see his childhood idol be honored. "It's about time," Montgomery said. "The world is trash. He knew it all along."

Raul Malo, the leader of the country band The Mavericks and one of the most recognizable voices in roots music, died Monday night, according to a representative of the band. The guitarist and singer had been battling cancer.

He was hospitalized last week, forcing him to miss tribute shows staged in his honor at the Ryman Auditorium over the weekend. He was 60 years old.

"No one embodied life and love, joy and passion, family, friends, music and adventure the way our beloved Raul did," read a statement released by his family.

Malo's group, The Mavericks, mourned the loss of their leader in a social post.

"Anyone with the pleasure of being in Raul's orbit knew that he was a force of human nature, with an infectious energy," the statement read. "Over a career of more than three decades entertaining millions around the globe, his towering creative contributions and unrivaled, generational talent created the kind of multicultural American music reaching far beyond America itself."

Over a career that lasted four decades, The Mavericks lived up to the band's name, challenging expectations and following a roadmap crafted by Malo's expansive musical upbringing as the son of Cuban immigrants in Miami.

"I grew up in a very musical household. There was all kinds of music around always," he told WHYY's Fresh Air in 1995. "We listened to everything from Hank Williams to Celia Cruz to Sam Cooke to Bobby Darin. It didn't matter."

In 1992, Malo told NPR that his widespread influences weren't always understood or appreciated in his South Florida hometown, but he said that his struggle to fit in taught him to trust his instincts. Malo had become the guitarist and lead singer for The Mavericks in 1989, alongside co-founders Robert Reynolds and Paul Deakin, and his roaring, sentimental voice defined the band's sound and remained its constant as the group's catalog moved from slow, tender ballads to full-throttle rock songs. In 1995, the band released its biggest hit with "All You Ever Do Is Bring Me Down," a swinging country song featuring an assist from Tex-Mex accordion legend Flaco Jimenez.

As the band grew in members and devoted listeners, The Mavericks continued to push the boundaries of American music, weaving a richly layered tapestry of textures and stories. With more than a dozen studio albums, The Mavericks collected praise and recognition from the Academy of Country Music, the Country Music Association and the Recording Academy. Although they took a hiatus for several years, Malo never stopped making music — and returned to his bandmates with renewed inspiration.

Following its 30th anniversary, the group released its first full-length Spanish album in 2020, aptly titled En Español. The record reimagined Latin standards and folklore-tinged popular tunes; it also made an implicit political statement about Latin music's contributions to American culture.

"In our own little way, if we could get somebody that perhaps is on the fence on issues and hears us singing in Spanish and perhaps reminds them of the beautiful cultures that make up what this country is trying to be and what it should be, so be it," Malo told NPR at the time. "Yeah, I'm OK with that."

The following year, the Americana Music Association recognized The Mavericks with the Trailblazer Award. In 2024, the band released its last studio album, Moon & Stars. The release coincided with news of Malo's cancer diagnosis, which he discussed openly with NPR's Ayesha Rascoe.

Before being hospitalized last week, Malo had been scheduled to perform with The Mavericks at a pair of tribute concerts held this past weekend at the legendary Ryman Auditorium in Nashville. Over 30 artists, including Patty Griffin, Jim Lauderdale and Steve Earle, still gathered to pay tribute to Malo, with some of the proceeds of the night going to the cancer prevention organization Stand Up To Cancer.

According to his spokesperson, though Malo was too ill to attend, the concert was streamed to his hospital room Friday night.

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The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department has mostly blocked efforts to investigate misconduct within its ranks, according to the county inspector general, who announced his retirement Tuesday after 12 years on the job.

In an open letter, Max Huntsman cited examples of how the county has thwarted his efforts to watchdog the department, which in the past has been plagued with accusations that deputies use excessive force and lie on the job.

Huntsman said one example is former Sheriff Alex Villanueva’s misuse of criminal enforcement powers to discredit critics, such as opening an investigation into former County Supervisor Sheila Kuehl.

Villanueva was sheriff from 2018 to 2022.

“My requests for investigation were rejected,” Huntsman’s letter reads. “Even after receiving an official subpoena, the Sheriff’s Department has failed to turn over records regarding the improper surveillance.”

He added: “Sometimes members of the public wonder if frightening new surveillance techniques will be used for improper purposes under the guise of criminal investigation. Sadly, the answer is yes.”

Before becoming inspector general in 2013, Huntsman, 60, was a deputy district attorney who specialized in public corruption. He told LAist on Tuesday that the inspector general job wasn’t something he wanted initially.

“I didn’t want to go work for politicians,” he said. “But the need to provide some kind of independent reporting and analysis was significant.”

The Sheriff’s Department issued a statement saying it valued the Office of the Inspector General and all county oversight bodies and that it wished Huntsman and his family well in his retirement.

The department said it “continues to make great strides in advancing the department in a transparent manner.”

LAist also reached out to the county CEO and county counsel for comment, but they declined.

After George Floyd

In the letter, Huntsman says the state of California has come a long way in strengthening the power of local law enforcement oversight bodies, in part because of the 2020 murder of George Floyd by police in Minneapolis.

After widespread protests — and lobbying by Huntsman — the state provided authority to inspectors general to enforce subpoenas requiring law enforcement agencies to hand over documents and authorized external investigation of police misconduct, including deputy gang conduct.

The Sheriff’s Department — backed by county lawyers — has resisted.

“Los Angeles County may not follow those laws, but it will not be able to avoid them forever,” Huntsman wrote. “The county refuses to require the photographing of suspected gang tattoos in secretive groups that the undersheriff has identified as violating state law.”

“Just a few weeks ago, we requested some information regarding an investigation, and a pair of commanders refused to give it to us,” Huntsman said in an interview with LAist.

Origin of the office 

The Inspector General’s Office was created by the county Board of Supervisors in 2013 in response to a scandal that included former Sheriff Lee Baca covering up the abuses of jail inmates.

Baca went to federal prison.

Since then, the office has issued dozens of reports with recommendations for improving living conditions inside jails that some have described as “filthy,” stopping abuses of juveniles inside juvenile halls and providing shower privacy for inmates as part of the requirements under the Prison Rape Elimination Act.

“All of these abuses were reported by the Office of Inspector General and recommendations were ignored,” Huntsman wrote. Often, it took court orders to enact change.

“When we first blew the whistle on the torturous chaining of mentally ill prisoners to benches for 36 hours at a time, it was only a court order that ended the practice,” he wrote. “Time and time again, this pattern repeated itself.”

Huntsman wrote the county has permitted the Sheriff’s Department to block oversight and defunded the Office of Inspector General by removing a third of its staff.

“It's not surprising the county has driven out two successive chairs of the Sheriff Civilian Oversight Commission,” he wrote.

“Government always claims to value transparency and accountability, but shooting the messenger is still the most common response to criticism,” Huntsman wrote.

Despite setbacks, Huntsman values work 

Huntsman told LAist on Tuesday that he was proud of his career as a public servant.

“I’ve really enjoyed the work and I’m sad to have it end,” he said.

It’s a sentiment he echoed in his letter, adding that despite the setbacks and roadblocks, he was proud of the people with whom he shared the office.

“It has been my honor to work with a talented, brave and tireless group of public servants to ensure that the public knows what its government is doing,” he wrote.

He noted the inspector general’s reports are fact-checked by the office and public.

“When government abuses occur, they are sometimes kept secret, but that is no longer the case for much of what is happening in Los Angeles County,” Huntsman wrote. “What you do about it is up to you.,”

Huntsman’s last day is Friday.

Topline:

The backstory: Last month, the council's Transportation Committee voted to bring a proposal forward to implement a policy change that allows the city to impound and immediately destroy abandoned or inoperable RVs worth less than $4,000. The change is inspired by new state law AB 630, which was created to prevent previously impounded RVs from ending back up on the street.

The motion, authored by Councilmember Traci Park, reports that abandoned RVs pose as public and safety hazards.

What's next: Councilmember Nithya Raman requested that an implementation plan be presented to the council's public safety and housing and homelessness committees.

Go deeper: L.A. pushes policy to make it easier to remove RVs from city streets.