Hairspray (PG, 1988)

Tracy Turnblad (Ricki Lake) is a Baltimore high school student who wants nothing more than to dance on Corny Collins' TV show. She practices the mashed potato, the twist, and other current dance crazes (the film is set in 1962) in her living room while her mother (Divine) irons an endless supply of shirts and slacks. When the show holds a hop in her neighborhood, Tracy and her dim-witted best friend Penny Pingleton (Leslie Ann Powers) rush over, big hair and all, to join the fun. But Tracy is more than just another girl at the hop -- she's also one of the best dancers. Soon she finds herself a member of the Corny Collins Council of regular dancers, dating the cutest boy on the show and favored to win Miss Auto Show 1963. But will mean girl Amber (Colleen Fitzpatrick) and her parents (Sonny Bono and Debbie Harry, vamping it up) undermine her chances with their vicious rumors and subterfuge? And will Tracy be able to help her friends Seaweed and Motormouth Maybelle dance on the still-segregated show?

Like other similarly themed movies, Hairspray encourages viewers to dream of dating the cutest boy, becoming the most popular girl, and having the biggest hair. But it also creates a world more realistic than its counterparts. The hero is a fat girl, and the dancing is segregated. That Tracy deals with all of this with childlike enthusiasm and class speaks well of a movie about a white trash girl who dreams big.

Rickie Lake is easily the best thing about this film. Drag queen Divine is extra fun as Tracy's mother, but it's Lake who grabs and keeps your attention. She imbues Tracy dignity and confidence that you rarely see in celluloid fat girls. Because this is a John Waters movie, there's some gross-out humor, and much name-calling and cursing. The director isn't one for subtlety -- he makes his points with a sledge hammer. Lucky for viewers, Waters also has a campy and silly side, and at least this once, he's overcome with infectious optimism.