John Waters gives us all of the deviant sex, violence, blasphemy, gross-outs, naked fat drag queens and rape scenes with giant lobsters that the movie screens of 1970 otherwise seriously lacked. The greatest accomplishment in Multiple Maniacs though is how well it’s aged, a shocking feat for a film built on shock value. John Waters’ secret: he’s brilliantly funny. Nobody handles bad actors or flaunts a micro-budget better. Waters merely makes his shortcomings a part of the comedy and secondary to the queer, anti-hippie anarchy. Like most truly funny people, Waters is not needy for approval. He’s freely vicious and happy with the right people not getting the joke. Even if he can’t keep his camera in focus in these early films, he’s at least already confident in a toxic vision from which he’d never stray far, even when he went Hollywood. It’s essential Waters, rare for decades, but about to get more easy to see now that the Criterion people are involved. They’ve given the cheap black-and-white film stock, clumsy shots and close-ups of rosary beads in Divine’s ass a state-of-the-art digital restoration that really brings out the grain and the grime. As of this writing, that restoration is on a small theatrical run. You should go, but don’t take your religious friend.