'Hedwig and the Angry Inch': Cult to Follow
The New York Times
February 16, 1998
By Peter Marks
Tired of the same old Teutonic characters in musicals, those mountain-bound Austrian nuns
who rhapsodize about their favorite things, those Berlin MCs who welcome you to sleazy
cabarets teeming with Nazis? Well, then, meet Hedwig Schmidt.
Hedwig is definitely a child of a newer Germany. She's a former he from the former East Berlin,
a rock singer who immigrates to a marginal existence in trailer-trash America. She carries with
her the tangible and psychic scars of her former life: the butchered appendage from a botched
sex-change operation and a fragmenting sense of self.
Not very Sound of Music-sounding, huh? But as magnetically impersonated by the thrilling
John Cameron Mitchell, Hedwig, the pouting headliner of Hedwig and the Angry Inch, brings
a theater alive with the pounding sounds of rock and the funny-sad voicing of a painful past.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch, which opened on Saturday night at the newly refurbished Jane
Street Theater, a cozy house in the Hotel Riverview in the West Village, is a make-believe,
90-minute club gig by Hedwig, backed by her band, the Angry Inch (the rock group Cheater),
and a backup singer of uncertain gender named Itzhak (Miriam Shor).
It is also an adult, thought-provoking musical about the quest for individuality, the attempt to forge an identity that works for both the head and heart. And it is terrifically served by a fresh and tuneful score by Stephen Trask, who meets the difficult challenge of creating rock-, folk-and country-influenced songs that help tell a story. The most impressive achievement, however, is by Mitchell, who transforms what might have been just another campy drag act into something deeper and more adventurous.
His Hedwig, all glittered up in her denim outfit with the pink leather fringe, is in hiding up there in front of us. Embittered by a sexually confusing German childhood and a lifelong series of disappointments, especially the mutilating surgery that leaves him/her with an "angry inch,"
Hedwig spends her time onstage coming to terms with the implications of mistakes she made, of
her self-denying masquerade.
Mitchell, who also wrote the book, has given himself an ambitious assignment. There is a lot of
ground to cover in 90 minutes of songs, storytelling and banter with the audience, because
"Hedwig," as directed by Peter Askin, is satire with a serious intent.
On one level, it's an all-out show-business spoof. "A slip of a girly boy becomes the
internationally ignored song stylist" is how Hedwig, in clipped German accent, describes herself. Mitchell can be uproariously droll, as in the moment when Hedwig gets a call from her agent, who informs her that she has been made the spokesman for tourism in Greater Serbia.
Or, putting on a fur, she recounts a confrontation with an animal-rights activist who demands to know what living thing had to die for her to wear it. "My Aunt Trudy," Hedwig replies.
It is in the admirable desire to go for more than laughs, however, that the musical runs into a
few rough patches. The long passages between songs, in which Hedwig recounts her journey
from disturbed boyhood in a cramped East Berlin apartment to bored Midwestern homemaker to
discarded transsexual rocker, sometimes go on too long. Mitchell indulges Hedwig's need to
explain herself, and at times the complicated exposition becomes, no pun intended, a bit of a
drag.
Your impatience for the musical numbers to come will be magnified, because so many of them
are so good, and two great ones, "Wig in a Box" and "Wicked Little Town," will quickly end up
stuck on replay in the minds of rock musical fans. "Wig in a Box" is a ballad with narrative
echoes of Billy Joel; "The Origin of Love" brings back memories of coffeehouse folk; "Sugar
Daddy" is enlightened country. If this one-act musical could use anything, it would be two or
three more songs of the same resonant caliber.
The lost-in-America motif of "Hedwig" allows Mitchell -- who two years ago directed the Drama
Dept.'s inaugural production, a nervy deconstruction of Tennessee Williams' "Kingdom of Earth"
-- to tweak the conventions of pop culture. Hedwig, as she explains to us, was the driving force in the career of the rock sensation Tommy Gnosis, a boy she met in the trailer park in Junction City, Kan., where her GI ex-husband abandoned her.
It so happens that as Hedwig is starting her set in a third-rate dive, Tommy, who also dropped
Hedwig, is performing to thousands in the Meadowlands. Her failure with Tommy literally pounds
in Hedwig's ears; she opens the stage door occasionally, and in, amusingly, floods the booming
sound of Tommy's concert across the river.
As with "Kingdom of Earth," "Hedwig" is a commentary on itself. Sometimes this gets a little
confusing: Are we supposed to laugh at Hedwig's take on things, or at Hedwig? Mitchell leaves
that up to us. However you choose to look at it, his Hedwig is a singular creation, and "Hedwig
and the Angry Inch" the kind of "Rocky Horror Picture Show"-style event that may inspire a rabid cult following.
Mitchell makes for a captivating presence. Slim, fine-boned and parading the stage in a black
bustier, he could pass for the glamorous sister of the actress Juliette Lewis. He also has the
versatile voice to pull off the demanding score. Askin and the design team -- Fabio Toblini with his witty costumes, Kevin Adams' atmospheric lighting and James Youmans' evocative set and
projections -- make intelligent compromises in creating a funky rock dive within the confines of an inviting theater. (Check out the spacious bar and those comfy seats.)
So, how do you solve a problem like Hedwig? You sit back and enjoy her show. In the end,
that's really all she asks.
Production Notes:
Hedwig and the Angry Inch
By John Cameron Mitchell; music and lyrics by Stephen Trask; directed by Peter Askin; set by
James Youmans; costumes by Fabio Toblini; lighting by Kevin Adams; sound by Werner F;
musical staging by Jerry Mitchell; wig and makeup design by Mike Potter; production stage
manager, Joe Witt; general manager, Brent Peek; associate producers, Eric Osbun and Terry
Byrne. Presented by Alice's Enterprises, the Westside Theater and J.B.F. Producing Corp. At
the Jane Street Theater, Hotel Riverview Ballroom, 113 Jane St., Greenwich Village.
With: John Cameron Mitchell, Miriam Shor Cheater: Scott Bilbrey, David McKinley, Stephen
Trask and Chris Weilding.
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