Just last year, Roger Ebert sang the praises of the serial killer B-movie Kalifornia, citing it -- and vastly overestimating it -- as a brilliant character study with something intelligent to say about our culture of violence. While that film took itself way too seriously, Serial Mom manages to get Kalifornia's attempted message across by a far more successful means: humor. It is a John Waters film in the purest sense, in that it's entirely IMpure. More edgy than his last movie, Cry-Baby, but not nearly as extreme as Pink Flamingos, Serial Mom is filled to the brim with his trademark over-the-top gross-out humor -- but this time it has a purpose. It tells the simple story of a conservative housewife (played indelibly by Kathleen Turner) who murders whomever is unlucky enough to get on her nerves. While her husband (acclaimed actor Sam Waterston in a different light) and two children (Matthew Lillard and Ricki Lake) begin to suspect her criminal nature, the suburban town's death toll rises as more and more people make the mistake of p***ing her off. Turner's performance does for suburbia what Al Pacino in Scarface did for the mob: it wallows in its outlandish excess (Oscar snub, anyone?). The murder scenes themselves are so outrageous (they range from stabbing a man in the back with a poker and removing some anonymous inner organ to lambasting a woman with a pot roast) that the film can't help but NOT be taken seriously, and this is where it makes its point. As Stanley Kubrick did with A Clockwork Orange, Waters rubs our faces in our own inner obsession with violence -- but unlike others who have attempted this feat, he remembers to do more than just condemn his audience. Rather, he exposes us for what we really are -- and shows that he wouldn't have it any other way. While others might have stopped as soon as Turner is caught, Waters keeps the story moving throughout her trial -- which features the most entertaining act of courtroom self-defense since Woody Allen in Bananas. One of her killings involves dropping the stage lights at a concert on the head of her son's friend and then proceeding to set him on fire while the audience applauds her sadism, but Waters doesn't glorify the act: during the trial, the prosecutor displays photographs of the burnt corpse, but everyone in the courtroom is distracted by the presence of Suzanne Somers. Critics who have attacked Waters for being gratuitous are mistaken: he DOES show the consequences of the corrupt acts he depicts -- but he also reveals the sad truth, which is that no one really cares anymore. Along with taking on our culture's passion for depravity, the film also addresses our OTHER potentially dangerous problem: repressed conservative housewives. Having no life outside of the home, Turner is so obsessed with doing the best for her family that she's willing to (permanently) get rid of anyone who gets in the way. Rather than being frightening, her killings are just examples of how soccer-mom perfectionism can go too far. In one scene, a future victim of hers is watching Annie and singing along to "Tomorrow" while her dog licks her feet: now THAT'S frightening.<br /><br />Grade: B+