David Bowie’s initial appearance was, to put it mildly, startling for a young John Cameron Mitchell. Recalling his boarding school days in Scotland, Mitchell vividly remembers the visceral impact of Bowie’s performance of “Jean Genie” on Top of the Pops. “The first time I saw Bowie he really scared me — it was his lizardy, wizardy look,” Mitchell admits, highlighting the transformative and somewhat unsettling nature of Bowie’s early persona. This sense of Bowie’s deliberate provocation resonated deeply with Mitchell, who recognized a kindred spirit in the art of using a constructed image for protection and creative expression. He draws a parallel to his own iconic creation, Hedwig, stating, “You can tell that he just loves to freak people out, which I can relate to — there’s a protective thing about looking freaky. That’s certainly what Hedwig was for me. A mask becomes a safe place behind which you can create amazing art, and that’s what drag is.” This initial encounter laid the groundwork for a lifelong appreciation of Bowie’s artistry and its profound influence on John Cameron Mitchell’s own creative trajectory.
Despite some fans’ reactions to Bowie’s later pronouncements about his sexuality, John Cameron Mitchell offers a nuanced perspective, affectionately labeling Bowie as “the greatest queer straight uncle.” He emphasizes Bowie’s foundational artistry, noting, “He’s a music hall performer at heart, and because of his genius — his brilliance — he took everything he loved and made something absolutely unique with every new album that came out.” Mitchell underscores the unparalleled quality of Bowie’s discography, particularly “that string of albums in the ’70s from Hunky Dory to Scary Monsters.” He boldly questions, “Who has had that string of brilliance? Even Dylan had problems,” placing Bowie in an echelon of artistic consistency rarely achieved in popular music. This admiration speaks to Bowie’s relentless innovation and his ability to consistently reinvent himself while maintaining an exceptional level of artistry.
The second pivotal Bowie moment for John Cameron Mitchell arrived with Bowie’s legendary 1979 Saturday Night Live performance of “Boys Keep Swinging.” For a 16-year-old Mitchell in Albuquerque, navigating the complexities of adolescence and artistic identity, this performance was a revelation. “It was probably the most formative artistic vision I’d ever had,” Mitchell recounts. He paints a picture of his own teenage artistic explorations – “choreographing crucifixion dance sequences to Stevie Nicks songs” – juxtaposed with the electrifying image of Bowie alongside Klaus Nomi and Joey Arias. Describing Bowie’s “TVC 15” performance in detail – “Bowie was wearing a grey pencil skirt, kind of like a Ninotchka-style women apparatchik outfit, with a robot poodle in the background, and Joey and Klaus were doing New Wave angular robot moves” – Mitchell vividly conveys the sheer impact of this visual and performance art spectacle. His reaction, “What the fuck? And from then on I was on my way to Hedwig, I guess,” succinctly captures the transformative power of Bowie’s performance in shaping John Cameron Mitchell’s artistic direction and ultimately leading him towards the creation of Hedwig and the Angry Inch.
John Cameron Mitchell further connects Bowie’s artistry to the socio-political landscape of the 1980s, a period overshadowed by the burgeoning AIDS crisis. “I graduated in 1981, which was of course when AIDS hit, so there was always darkness and scariness involved, and that was Bowie,” he explains, suggesting that Bowie’s work resonated with the era’s anxieties and uncertainties. Mitchell’s deep dive into Bowie’s catalog during college solidified his admiration. He draws a parallel to his immersive experience with Lord of the Rings, indicating a total absorption into Bowie’s artistic world. He singles out “Heroes” as “probably his greatest song, and also his most emotional,” and reveals a personal connection to the song’s themes through his father’s military service in Berlin before the Wall fell. The poignant story of an attempted escapee in Berlin, left stranded and bleeding in the no man’s land between the walls, profoundly impacted Mitchell and directly informed the narrative of Hedwig. “That was Hedwig, caught in the middle and somehow drags herself to freedom,” Mitchell concludes, drawing a powerful link between Bowie’s art, historical context, and his own creative work.
When pressed to choose a favorite Bowie album, John Cameron Mitchell leans towards Hunky Dory, citing “the innocence of those songs.” He recounts seeing Bowie during the Glass Spiders tour, acknowledging it as “cool” but lacking the intimate live experience he sought. Mitchell distinguishes between performers who might falter and those who command absolute attention, placing David Bowie firmly in the latter category, alongside Aretha Franklin, Grace Jones, and Justin Bond. He articulates the audience’s dynamic with these iconic figures: “Some people you go to see fall apart — Judy Garland or Iggy Pop, say — and other people you want to see because they rule you. That was David Bowie, that’s Aretha Franklin, that’s Grace Jones, that’s Justin Bond. You want to be their bottom; you must submit, in a somewhat masochistic way, and it feels great.” This powerful statement encapsulates the captivating and almost magnetic stage presence that defined David Bowie and his enduring influence on artists like John Cameron Mitchell.
John Cameron Mitchell is the director of Hedwig and the Angry Inch and Shortbus
