J ohn Cameron Mitchell is no stranger to the transformative power of the perfect wig. 

At 63, the Broadway legend is best known for his punk-rock musical Hedwig and the Angry Inch, which charts the rage-filled escapades of genderqueer glam rocker Hedwig as she follows around the ex-boyfriend who stole her music and became a star. Unlike the typical musical, the story unfolds in gigs, with Hedwig explaining her origins, failed sex-reassignment surgery, and current vendetta all while donning rock-n-roll updos, colored tresses, and gravity-defying hair pieces. The musical premiered off-Broadway in 1998, and on the West End in 2000. In 2001, it was also turned into a film, with Mitchell both starring and directing. In 2014, Hedwig made its Broadway debut, winning the Tony Award for Best Revival. While the film was considered a commercial flop after its release, Hedwig has since become one of the most important queer cult classics in Broadway canon.

“Hedwig, when we first did it, Broadway was not welcoming,” Mitchell says. “We knew we would never be accepted on Broadway, just like the film wouldn’t probably be up for an Oscar, because it’s too queer. Too punk. But that didn’t dissuade us.” 

This year marks the 25th anniversary of the career-defining project. And with such a milestone anniversary, it feels fitting that Mitchell is celebrating Hedwig’s legacy by taking a swing at a queer Broadway offering that wouldn’t exist without it: the Tony-Award winning play Oh, Mary! 

The day we speak, Mitchell is backstage at Broadway’s Lyceum Theatre, preparing to don a ringlet-heavy wig and become a drunken, horny, and borderline psychotic version of former First Lady Mary Todd Lincoln. Written and originated by Cole Escola, Oh, Mary! has gone from an Off-Broadway longshot into a successful Broadway staple. A production opened on the West End in London just last year, and there’s already a national tour planned for late 2026. After Escola’s departure, the varied stars that have donned Mary’s hoop skirts have made this show a constantly evolving treasure; Jane Krakowski, Jinx Monsoon, and Titus Burgess have taken the reins. Maya Rudolph will make her Broadway debut in it this spring. But right now, until April 26, it’s Mitchell’s turn. 

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“[After] I saw [Oh, Mary!], I Instagrammed about it,” Mitchell says. “The director [Sam Pinkelton] DM’d and said ‘We need to do something together.’ I was like, ‘Sure, I’ll throw my wig in the ring.’”

Mitchell says there’s a “community” linking the people who pick up Mary’s wig. Monsoon, a former Mary, is a close friend. Mason Alexander Park, the actor who started the West End run, played Hedwig on tour. Maya Rudolph, who will take over the role after Mitchell, was once offered the role of Hedwig. (She turned it down.) But what he gets continually excited about is how the show — like Hedwig — continues to birth its own interpretations. 

“Call me old fashioned, but I get excited when I see full-on talent unimproved by technology,” he says. “Broadway is one of the places where you can’t hide. Honey, eight shows a week ain’t playing.”

It’s been 10-plus years since you’ve been on Broadway. Why did Oh, Mary! feel like the project to make your return? 
I first wanted to do it because I saw Jinx Monsoon do it. It was so different from Cole. It was like a schizophrenic, shot out-of-a-cannon Mary and I was like, “OK, well, this character is flexible enough to be played in a lot of ways.” 

It turned out to be wonderful. It’s an old-school style [of comedy] that some would point to the Carol Burnett Show or Mel Brooks movies, which I grew up with. But also there’s a drag theater tradition that’s been going on in New York since the Sixties, people like Charles Ludlam, Charles Bush, people I’ve always worshiped and who inspired Hedwig. Drag theater is built for Broadway, and because of laziness and homophobia, things like this show would never have been on Broadway 20 years ago. 

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How would you characterize your Mary administration?
It’s very different. But I also am not shy about borrowing what works for other people. I don’t see that as stealing or appropriating. I see it as a tradition passed on. My Mary, I’ve decided, saw herself as more fancy than she is, meaning maybe her elocution school or finishing school was a home-schooled one. And she’s the teacher, which could end in tears, right? So she has a fancier way of over emphasizing, over pronouncing. So she’s a kind of self taught autodidactic cabaret singer. And when you are taught by yourself, it can quickly collapse. And she does. 

Did you draw on any personal inspiration in this role? 
Maybe there’s a little bit of my mom, who was a bit of a rager because she was in a man’s world. She was an artist, and she had to follow my dad around in the military and take care of four kids without help. She was a conservative woman, but that didn’t stop her being furious at the fact that women were second-class citizens. Even though she loved the Pope and voted for every conservative she also had a bumper sticker that said “A woman’s place is in the House and Senate.” So I have little campaign button[s] for Mary to run for president. 

What other similarities do you see between Mary and Hedwig?
They’re both crushed by closet cases, if you think about it. Hedwig ends up with Tommy, who can’t deal with the fact that he’s attracted to, in effect, a trans woman. And he steals her songs. 

They’re both angry women who didn’t get their due, and they’re shitting on a lot of other people because of it. They’re lashing out at everyone around them, and both of them make a space for themselves. So they’re both angry, funny women who are trying to be seen. I think Hedwig is more queer than gay. But Mary is a gay play through and through. 

Is it hard to comprehend reaching the 25th anniversary of Hedwig and The Angry Inch? When’s the last time you watched the movie? 
I don’t remember. This year’s 25th anniversary, I’m doing a screening tour. I don’t need to see it anymore. I do a stoned director’s commentary — so I sit next to the screen with a little light on me, a vape or whatever I’m allowed, and I’m watching from the side of the stage with a mic controlling the volume. Like “Take a look at my ass. That’s a 27 year old ass. I’m 63. Always document your ass before you’re 30.” So I’ll just make observations and try not interrupt the story too much. And there’s other productions. I was just in Pittsburgh; they’re about to do production there. We’re hoping to do productions in Europe. This production in mainland China opened this year. In other words, the sun never sets on Hedwig. It’s playing somewhere in the world.

Do you think the time it took for Hedwig to find its audience helped make it such a lasting cultural artifact? 
The slow keeps it real. Because when you ram it down someone’s throat, you have a different relationship to it. Hedvig was a flop on the screen at first. It was also the time of DVDs. So people would find it that way; tell their friends about it. I met many people who said “I show [people I’m dating] Hedwig and if they don’t like it we don’t date anymore.” I love being a litmus test. So when it’s not mass produced, when it’s not capitalism ramming it down your throat, it stays. It sticks longer. It lasts your whole life.

There is no one quite like Hedwig — what do you think it is that makes people consider her so relatable? 
She’s horrible. Entertainingly horrible. Hedwig is a place where anyone is welcome. She’s such a weirdo that she doesn’t judge. She’s forced into a certain role. She was forced into her gender. I’m not so much of a label person, but I understand when people want them to separate themselves or empower themselves. Hedwig doesn’t fit with any existing label. It’s really more of a plea for the naturalness of androgyny. 

Talk to me about Hedgwig’s historical inspirations.
Hedwig comes from a deep queer tradition of rock & roll that, to me, began with two performers in specific who invented rock and punk the way we think of it: Little Richard and Sister Rosetta Tharpe. [Tharpe] was a dyke, a church lady, but rocked and played that guitar. And Little Richard — that sense of humor. He was a drag queen when he was young. A black drag queen invented punk rock. I say it right here. And David Bowie, the Stones, The Beatles, all the people that are considered the greatest rockers, put Little Richard up at the top of the shrine. Bowie always put his picture in the dressing room. 

But I think of the theater as my church. I think of myself as a kind of priestess asHedwig and Mary: a fucked up one who’s going through possession. They’re not in control, but they have lessons, right? They’re not God. David Bowie’s God. Little Richard was a Goddess.

Did you ever feel protective of Hedwig, especially once she took on a life of her own? 
It’s wonderful to have this child called Hedwig that has its own life. You can check in on it and be proud of it, and then periodically go, “Oh, good.” And it will live on without me. I would never stop someone from doing it, and I don’t control it. Even in the script, I say, make it your own. Add your own. Don’t subtract the core stuff, but add your own stuff to make it yours. I don’t want it to be preserved in aspic.

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If we could book Hedwig for a show, what do you think would be on her rider? 
German gum bärchen, for sure. Probably a wiener schnitzel just to get some energy. And brötchen, little bread rolls which I always loved as a kid. What else is in her rider? She’s not a drugs person. I think she might have to have a martini. Beefeater, extremely dry — so dry that basically you just whisper the word vermouth over the top of it — and an olive. The most iconic rider among musicians I have found is Grace Jones. It’s very detailed and specific. It’s like six dozen oysters unshucked. Grace shucks her own. And I’m like, “Damn now that’s a rider.” 

Are there any dream actors you feel like could do a version of Hedwig justice? 
Well there’s a trans rocker in New York named Lisa Friday who I think would be great. She’s amazing. Cynthia Erivo would be interesting, wouldn’t she? Jonathan Groff. We offered it to Meryl Streep, who replied with an email, very classy. She said, “Oh, darling. Hedwig is Hamlet in heels, but my knees are not up to it.”