From Hedwig to Bowie, John Cameron Mitchell on art fighting fascism

Hedwig and the Angry Inch creator John Cameron Mitchell on Bowie, punk and fighting fascism When John Cameron Mitchell first hit the stage in a Farah Fawcett wig at a New York punk rock drag club in the 90s, little did he know he'd be birthing an iconic, transgressive character that would endure more than a quarter-century later. Hedwig And The Angry Inch began as an off-Broadway musical in 1998, co-written with Stephen Trask and starring Mitchell in the titular role: a genderqueer rock singer from segregated Berlin touring the American Midwest after a botched operation left them with the nominal "angry inch" between their legs. A 2001 movie written, starring and directed by Mitchell compounded Hedwig's cult status as a lasting "freak flag for the misfit, the outsider", he said. "That can be anybody, right? … If you didn't feel like you fit in, you understand Hedwig's journey." The film's 25th anniversary brings the 63-year-old to Melbourne International Film Festival for a 4K screening with a "stoned or drunk director's commentary", he deadpans. "Have a nice little edible or a Côtes du Rhône wine," then entertain with insider anecdotes but respectfully not "mess it up" for first-time viewers. "I'm not interfering with the emotional parts, obviously." Both the film's subversive humour and nuanced portrayal of love and fluid identity continue to reach and resonate with all kinds of communities: drag, trans, non-binary, film buffs, theatre nerds — you name it. Not bad for what was initially a box office flop. Enduring legacy and controversy After sparking a bidding war among Danny DeVito, Tim Burton and Forest Whitaker, Hedwig's film rights landed with New Line Cinema founder Bob Shaye, who gave Mitchell a $US6 million budget and full creative freedom. "It couldn't really be mainstreamed," says Mitchell. "It kept it pure. It also meant we didn't make much money because marketing is based on comparing it to something that did make money." Despite its financial shortcomings, Mitchell says Shaye was "more proud of it in some ways" than New Line's blockbuster Lord of the Rings. Widely screened for free in the wake of the September 11 attacks, Hedwig found new life in the DVD and video market as a word-of-mouth litmus test between friends. "It was passed around as: 'I think you're gonna like this' or 'If you don't, I may not date you'," explains Mitchell. "I heard that one a lot. And I meet a lot of people with Hedwig tattoos. "I don't see any Argo tattoos or Gladiator tattoos or whoever else won Best Picture." He credits part of Hedwig's lasting effect on the fact "it doesn't smell like Hollywood. It came directly from the depths; the queer rock and roll swamp that was New York in the '90s". Beneath the glam rock theatre, the film trades in androgynous concepts of "undoing the binarchy", as Mitchell puts it, and timeless storytelling. "It comes out of Plato. It comes from the Gnostic Christian Gospels. Its origins and its themes are deep, classical, and really useful for people of all genders, of all sexualities, races, ages. "The audience is never one thing, which is why I always say, anyone can play Hedwig too." Some have strongly disagreed. The Queer Artist Alliance protested a 2020 Sydney Festival staging of Hedwig over the "casting of cis-gender actor Hugh Sheridan", calling it "offensive and damaging to the trans community" in an online letter. "Not my favourite department of protest, the internet," Mitchell remarks sourly. "These young, non-binary, internet petition activists decided this is a trans role and must be played by trans actors. And really, they just wanted to play the role." "And to me, that goes against everything that it stands for." The production was cancelled and Sheridan "tried to kill himself", alleges Mitchell, aggravated at the misunderstanding of a character whose most famous non-trans portrayal, besides himself, is Neil Patrick Harris's Tony Award-winning turn. Complicating matters was the fact that, privately, Sheridan was "on his own gender journey," says Mitchell. "Who are you to interrupt that?" In 2021, the Packed To The Rafters actor identified as non-binary and bisexual. In 2024, Sheridan said he was "straight for now" in an interview on The Kyle and Jackie O Show. For Mitchell, he refuses to have his creation dictated or policed by identity politics. "It's really about someone recovering from the trauma of people telling them what they are, which is exactly what these petitioners were doing." "The best communities don't force you into identities. They don't say 'You can't do this because you're gay' or 'You can't write a character that's trans if you're not'. "I reject that. Fiction is a hallowed institution where we imagine ourselves as people that we are not … If you really want to follow that line of don't tell any story that's not your own, then you might as well cancel all fiction and only have autobiography." The gospel of Bowie Punk and rock music has a long history with gender fluidity, "and Hedwig is just one little gemstone on that necklace". The most influential jewel? David Bowie, a lifelong idol of Mitchell's and an early champion who helped finance a Los Angeles production of Hedwig out of his own pocket. "He loved [Hedwig]. He told me, 'John, you got it right.' It's the best compliment…" "But it also implies a certain authority … In other words, he gets to decide. But if you're going to give that authority, you might as well give it to Bowie." Discussing Bowie produces several fascinating detours. He shades Lady Gaga as a bad Bowie analogue ("she's just cycling through fashion"). How Australian cabaret artist Meow Meow taught him to crowd-surf in a seated venue (slowly and carefully). Or how his New Orleans artist space features a stained-glass window of Bowie crafted by an Australian living in Canada (shout out Haydn Butler). Burnt out on Hedwig, one of Mitchell's big regrets was turning down Bowie's offer to adapt Ziggy Stardust for the stage. "It would have been cool. It was stupid of me to ignore it at the time." He's made up for it since, staging Bowie-themed productions Queen Bitch, Black Star Symphony and now, I'm Afraid of Americans: A Bowie Song Cycle. Playing Sydney and Melbourne in September, the show sees Mitchell performing Bowie's "most apocalyptic and fascist-facing songs", which became a salve to him after Donald Trump's re-election. "Let's not even mention the Orange Man," he sighs. "But there's a slow boiling kind of fascism [in America]. People only reading the news they want, which is part of the fascist playbook: You degrade fact and give the facts you want." He found catharsis in the darker, subversive corners of Bowie's catalogue. "Bowie's never been reassuring. Even his most romantic songs are tense and have fear in them. "He's not a pure pessimist. He's a realistic romantic in many ways. There is love in there, too. Otherwise, I wouldn't be interested." Practising punk and what comes next Mitchell's jam-packed Australian visit also includes presenting a masterclass on punk at the Festival of Dangerous Ideas. It's an extension of his New York Times opinion piece and 2025 college tour where he instructed younger generations to "stop cancelling each other, find out about punk, and get laid while you're at it". He believes gen Z should reacquaint themselves with rebellion because their prudish attitudes and politically correct policing, afraid of risks and "internet drunk" on short-form content, have had nasty side effects. "There would be no fascism in the US without the smartphone, I truly believe that." "Because if you're only watching the news you care about, and can't get past 10 seconds of something: Oh look! There's a fascist in charge!" His Dangerous Ideas presentation will include examples of artists who used art to fight totalitarianism. Namely, French surrealist Claude Cahun, who fought Nazi-occupied Jersey "in a kind of graffiti, Banksy type way." Mitchell discovered her "gender-bending art of the 1920s and 30s" in an early 2000s exhibition organised by — you guessed it — Bowie. He's writing a new play about Cahun and developing two film biopics on figures who "dealt with their own kinds of fascism." The first concerns beat poet Alan Ginsberg in 1968, at the height of the Vietnam War and president Richard Nixon's reign. The other is based upon the "applied punk" of AIDS activist Peter Staley, whose ACT UP coalition successfully pressured big pharma to reduce the astronomic costs of HIV drug AZT. And it sounds like it already has a pivotal scene. In 1991, Staley had a giant condom placed over the home of senator Jesse Helms in protest of his vehement opposition to funding AIDS research and safe sex practises. "This horrible, homophobic senator couldn't get out of this big, inflatable condom," Mitchell gushes. From Hedwig to prophylactic protest, Mitchell is a life-long creator whose work is always interested in interrogating otherness. "I want things to be not topical, but useful to the moment." John Cameron Mitchell Presents: Hedwig and the Angry Inch 25th anniversary screens at MIFF on Friday 21 August Mitchell then appears at Sydney's Festival of Dangerous Ideas on Sunday 23 August. I'm Afraid Of Americans: A Bowie Song Cycle plays on Sunday 6 September at Sydney's Enmore Theatre and Wednesday 9 September at Melbourne Recital Centre