Hedwig and the Angry Itch

Hedwig and the Angry Itch

Director: John Cameron Mitchell

If we could of known now what we didn't know then, we would have stuffed our bras with cooked tomatoes over toilet paper any insecure day before puberty set in. Unlike Hedwig Robinson, I was patient enough to do neither, and know that good things come to those who wait. Hedwig poses as a 36 C busty babe with a flaring winged wig, and glittering makeup, not because she is a he, but because he is more in touch with reality than most will ever be fortunate enough to see. Hedwig escapes East Berlin in the hardest way imaginable, especially for a male, but in doing so he comes to an America to do the one thing he/she was destined for, and that, my friends, is a four letter word Hedwig isn't deprived of that rhymes with COCK!

With heels strapped on and Farah Fawcett wig attached, Hedwig adjoins Tommy Gnosis (which is played by Brad Pitt's younger brother), in a attempt to start a rock band. While showing the young American boy the ropes and how Europeans like it done, Hedwig fails to acknowledge that the American could very well rip him off. And that he does, leaving Hedwig to move onto with a new band that play in front of buffet goers and truck stop lot lizards. While Tommy becomes a sell out for the one song they wrote together, Hedwig continues entertaining with the same song for retirees and veterans. Hedwig And The Angry Inch are a modern day Rocky Horror Picture Show that has a lot we could learn from, like how those old timers are more punk rock than you and I will ever be.

With a lawsuit underway, Hedwig's manager scrambles to keep the band motivated, but in order to advance in life, one must detach from the past. Hedwig's childhood nightmares of playing in the apartment's oven impacts him in more ways than one. These aren't lessons to learn from, they're lessons to sing about, but sometimes in this phony world it won't pay off until the end! The flaming floozy bombards around, ordering his Asian girl band around, convincing them they, too, should dress for they occasion. We read in almost every book written by any male rock icon that rock is for boys, but this goes against Newton's or Bowie's theory; what goes up, must come down. If a guitar can be strung up and down, and slung around by males, then girls have the right to rock, as well! If we could look past our pissy pessimistic points for, oh let's say for two seconds, we'll find that there is nothing more hotter than a chick with a blonde mullet wig and bandana entangled on a guitar strap, and this is the future of rock, baby! -Smutstrutter