The Original ‘Hedwig’ and a Search for Self-Acceptance

The first play I saw on Broadway was Love! Valour! Compassion! by Terrence McNally. It was the spring of 1995 and my second visit to New York City, which still felt more like an idea than a place. The play focused on eight friends, all gay men, vacationing upstate over the course of one summer. I was 21, a senior in college in Nashville, with a Southern Baptist family and a long-distance girlfriend, but I was finally tiptoeing toward allowing myself to think about why I wanted to see a play about eight gay men.

Less than half a year later, newly graduated, I moved to New York City with my best friend. On our second night there, I told her I was gay. More accurately, I told her I had some big news to share and made her guess until she got it right. (Excruciating, this conversation. Nearly 30 years later I remember it well. I sat on a windowsill in Carolyn’s new apartment. She sat on a mint green sofa, the only furniture in the room thus far. I held the material of a gauzy curtain between my fingers, hid my face behind it, and tried to be brave.)

Carolyn was the first friend I came out to. I half expected lightning to strike, or a big brass band to burst forth from the closet and herald the news. Neither of those things happened, of course. Being gay was life-changing for me but barely notable in New York City, even then, which is probably one of the reasons I felt so at home there.

During my first year of college, I’d arrived to class on Jeans Day—declared so by our school’s small LGBTQ+ advocacy group, during which they asked anyone who allies for gay rights to show their support by wearing jeans—and listened to a sophomore frat guy say out loud that he was tempted to take his rifle out to Alumni Lawn and pick off anyone in denim.

Not a soul in the room stood up to him. I thought of that guy often during my first year of graduate school, just a few years later. I wished there was a way to transport him there, have him make the same claim, and watch my bolder, smarter, more compassionate new peers take care of him.

Those classmates included a lesbian named Lori writing essays about a road trip, a lesbian named Amy writing essays about nuns, and a lesbian named Liz writing essays about identity. That trio took me under their wings—”We’ll be your lesbian aunties,” one of them joked—which included driving me to Boston for OutWrite, an annual conference for gay and lesbian writers.

There, I met a short story writer named Norman. Back in New York, we met up at his place to order takeout and watch Melrose Place, my first-ever date with a man. Another classmate was a poet and performance artist named Mike Albo. At one of our readings on campus, I shared an essay about realizing I’m gay, and Mike followed that with a hysterical piece that ended with him sing-shouting the theme to Dynasty. (Mike Albo’s a performer still. If you have the chance to see him, take it.)

The New York City we lived in was loud and hectic and creative and gay. We studied uptown but ventured downtown for readings, parties, gallery openings, and bars. Sometimes in Soho, but more often in the Village, or Villages, I should say. Both East and West. It’s the latter, on Jane Street, where a little production called Hedwig and the Angry Inch opened near the start of 1998. Within weeks, the show was the talk of the town.

From a glowing review in The New York Times:

“It is … an adult, thought-provoking musical about the quest for individuality, the attempt to forge an identity that works for both the head and heart.”

Everybody I knew related to that quest. It’s why so many of us had moved to New York City in the first place. And it’s one of the reasons Hedwig became such a sensation. The show’s about a genderqueer rock singer from East Berlin who undergoes a botched sex change operation, forms a band, and tours the U.S.

It ran for 857 performances. When a new production of Hedwig was mounted on Broadway in 2014, with stars like Neil Patrick Harris, Taye Diggs, and Michael C. Hall in the lead, it felt just as essential, just as powerful, just as moving. And it won the Tony for Best Revival of a Musical.

This week, a local production of Hedwig and the Angry Inch opens at The Arch in RiNo, produced by Give 5 Productions and starring a quartet of remarkably talented local actors. This Hedwig runs for just 11 performances, from August 1 to 17. Each night, a pre-show features local drag and burlesque performers, curated by Jessica L’Whor.

Hedwig‘s an iconic musical that played a significant role in bringing queer experiences into mainstream pop culture. And a significant role in my own early life as a gay man. I’m so glad it’s playing this summer in Denver, and I’m thrilled (and a little jealous) that some of you get to experience it for the first time.

Click here to purchase tickets for Hedwing and the Angry Inch at The Arch in RiNo.

Editor’s Note: The show has been so successful that the producers have added Monday, August 19 (industry night) and Friday and Saturday, August 23 and 24. The show closes August 24.