
2001 · John Cameron Mitchell
For when you want to sing along and cry a little — big wigs, big feelings, and an anthem for anyone who's ever felt split in two. Comfort viewing for the gloriously unconventional.
Raised a boy in East Berlin, Hedwig escapes to America at the cost of a botched surgery — the 'angry inch' of the title — and reinvents herself as an 'internationally ignored' rock diva touring dive restaurants with her band. Between blistering numbers, she tells the story of how she got here: the wall, the loves, the betrayals, and the search for her other half.
A glam-rock concert film with a broken heart — riotously funny and bitchy one minute, achingly sad the next. The songs carry you; the yearning underneath them sneaks up and floors you.
John Cameron Mitchell, who co-created the stage show, directs and stars — a ferocious, fully-lived performance that swings from stand-up venom to raw vulnerability without ever dropping the beat.
Stephen Trask's punk-cabaret songs are shot like a real concert film, and the centerpiece number 'The Origin of Love' retells Plato's myth of split beings in Emily Hubley's hand-drawn animation — one of the loveliest sequences in the American musical. Turn it up.
The glam apotheosis of the New Queer Cinema, it won Mitchell the directing prize at Sundance and has only grown as a cult and stage phenomenon since.
Essays & theory: a reading of Hedwig and the Angry Inch →
Reception & legacy: how Hedwig and the Angry Inch was received, argued over, and remembered →
John Cameron Mitchell directs and stars in the film of the off-Broadway rock musical he built with composer Stephen Trask — the story of an East German singer whose escape to the West costs her, in a botched surgery, the 'angry inch' of the title, and who claws her way back through dive-tour America armed with eyeliner and a killer band. It arrived in 2001 as the New Queer Cinema's glam apotheosis: punk-cabaret numbers shot like concert film, bitterness and yearning braided into every lyric. The centerpiece, 'The Origin of Love,' retells Plato's myth of split beings in Emily Hubley's hand-drawn animation — one of the loveliest sequences in the American musical, period. Mitchell won the directing prize at Sundance and went on to a singular career of communal, sexually frank filmmaking, but nothing has matched Hedwig's fusion of camp armor and open wound. The wigs alone — teased into cartoon halos — are a thesis: self-invention as survival, performed nightly, whether anyone shows up or not.
Lines of influence