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What’s the best thing about a cult? The outfits, of course! If you’re being forced into a grey tracksuit, say “no thank you” and move back into your parents’ house. If, however, the uniform involves fishnets and corsets, raise your cup of Kool-Aid and sign over your bank account. Many of you will assume I’m advocating the wise tutelage of Dr. Frank N. Furter, of long-running “Rocky Horror” notoriety. While the zealot fandom of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” is difficult to dismiss, the genderfucking beauty of Hedwig and her Angry Inch has overcome me lately.
Emerging full-grown and bewigged from the brilliant mind of John Cameron Mitchell, “Hedwig and the Angry Inch” debuted as a musical in New York City in 1994. A feature film and countless stage productions have spread Hedwig’s story far beyond the queer audiences most likely to appreciate her gender-fluidity and the constructed history of her East German boyhood, botched sex-change operation and a string of lost loves. Hedwig’s preoccupation with the young Tommy Gnosis, a teenage rocker she nurtured into stardom and then was abandoned by, gives her a sympathetic position. I am as enraptured with Hedwig as she is with Tommy, and the collective longing for better things endeared the production to me the first time I saw it.
I was excited to hear that Re-bar was hosting the return of a local production of “Hedwig and the Angry Inch,” directed by Imogen Love and starring Nick Garrison. I was naÔve in hoping that everyone else in the audience would share my fetishistic desires toward participatory viewing. I went to a sold-out Saturday night performance expecting crowds of fans in their best Olivia Newton-John drag. I certainly was not disappointed with the show. When Nick Garrison climbed up onto an uncomfortable straight-looking guy’s chair and started mashing his crotch into the man’s face, I was practically on top of our table, cheering. This is what live theatre should be about!
Two hours and many beers later, I had cried through the heart-wrenching “Origin of Love,” thrashed to “Midnight Radio,” and become convinced that “Hedwig” was on the cusp of cult status, if not already riding that glorious upward spiral. As a queer, I tend to forget that what I consider mainstream and tame is still shocking to a majority of the population. It’s my hope, however, that despite (or perhaps because of) her gender fluidity, Hedwig’s humanity emerges as an archetypal warrior figure for these apocalyptic times. This is clearly something that Dr. Frank N. Furter, with his otherworldly predilections, could never offer.
My companions and I left Re-bar that night with the word “wow” repeatedly dropping from our lips. I confess that I would have loved to have seen the audience dressed up, singing along, and even offering themselves up to the cast as props. My friend scoffed that this is Seattle, so it will never happen. But I maintain, with the conviction of a cult inductee, that “Hedwig” will get us all to trade in our Chaco sandals and coffee-stained fleece jackets for glitter lip-gloss, corsets and white hot pants!
“Hedwig and the Angry Inch” happens at Re-bar (1114 Howell St. in Seattle) Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Doors open at 7pm, the show starts at 8pm. Call Ticket Window at 206.325.6500 or go to ticketwindowonline.com for reservations! More information is available at rebarseattle.com/theatre.php.
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