Image courtesy of Theaterboys
Saturday night at the Belasco Theater, sometime around 11 PM, Lena Hall tugged the earpiece from her ear and let it hang discarded around her neck. This minuscule moment, a pause before the next verse of her solo number The Long Grift, is burned into my memory. Reflected on her face with her ear free of reverb was the fact that Lena Hall and Yitzhak were both all-in, with nothing left to hold back. In a freeze frame of time, it embodied the performance in its entirety, from start to finish. In that one distinct action, Lena Hall was raw and ready to release everything she had left inside of herself.
Ms. Hall, who has been playing Yitzhak for the last year in Hedwig and the Angry Inch, is a force to be reckoned with. The role of Yitzhak, the husband, back-up singer, and roadie for Genderqueer Punk Rock star Hedwig Robinson, is one with minimal dialogue, but the role carries a whopping half of the show's emotional weight. It is a role that requires a dedication to physical labor and dramatic background acting as well as the vocal chops to hit the powerhouse notes of Whitney Houston while still maintaining the heavy gravel akin to the stylings of Tom Waits. The show belongs to Hedwig, the title character, and to John Cameron Mitchell, the original Hedwig and current actor in the role. Hedwig is the star, but for this one night the stage did not belong to Hedwig. The night belonged entirely to Yitzhak.
I can’t recall ever having been in a room more filled with love than that theater. The seats and standing room were filled with people who wanted to wish Lena Hall the very best, to see her final performance and to be with her in this experience. The show was more than just a show; it was a party in her name. Love poured out from the audience with every standing ovation after standing ovation, character and fourth wall were broken on occasion and built right back up with love as adoration with the building blocks of improvisation. The caustic relationship between Hedwig and Yitzhak, one built on a volatile combination of jealousy, love, and violent self-doubt soared above and beyond the usual (and always moving) battle between two bare and frustrated forces. For all the love that the audience gave unto Lena Hall, John Cameron Mitchell and Hedwig multiplied it by thousands. There was an intimacy to the performance, with the looks given to one another, to touches and lingering hands and softer than usual quips of tongue. Watching as well as being in the theater surrounded by trembling fans was to be in Hedwig’s oven, with love reverberating around us like the sound of Lou Reed on American Forces Radio against the walls. Watching Lena Hall’s face as she acted her way through, fighting off tears and tearing her throat out with powerful vocals was an experience in empathetic transcendence. This was a show, above all, not just about watching the details but also about feeling them in our bones.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch is an experience to be had more than once. As of Lena Hall’s last show, I have seen the show three times. That would be less than some, and more than others. I wasn’t lucky enough to catch the train before John Cameron Mitchell put the wig back on his head, and I never saw how Lena played off of the other actors. I came to this show fresh, wet behind the ears in relation to this particular piece of musical theater history and not knowing exactly what to expect, aside from what the general populace had told me. The moment in time was, for me, one of personal upheaval, and I needed something to carry me through. There had been too much death in my life recently, too much striving half-heartedly for out of focus goals. I was tired, grasping at straws. Most importantly I think, I needed a distraction. John Cameron Mitchell as Hedwig is himself a transcendent, but there was something different about Yitzhak. I was more than moved, I was shaken. I recognized myself in Yitzhak, and I attribute that entirely to Lena Hall’s performance. Lena Hall and Yitzhak helped me come to terms with my own gender fluidity in a way that I had not yet done before, through her mannerisms and her dedication to presenting both masculine and feminine elements of the character. What’s more, I empathized deeply with Yitzhak’s plight of playing second fiddle, with the frustration and adoration both simultaneously exuded by Lena’s performance. I understood Yitzhak’s loving anger and sadness intimately, with his desire to be loving at odds with his need for self-actualization. Lena Hall’s performance as Yitzhak touched something inside of me and, most importantly, shook me awake. I was inspired again, to write, to draw, to create, and to reflect on the creation of others. Hedwig and the Angry Inch was what I needed in that moment, and Yitzhak stood firmly relatable like an island in a storm.
For this wave of passion and inspiration, I want to thank Ms. Lena Hall for her art.
I don’t believe any of this would have been possible without her sheer talent for embodying another human being. So often in musical theater, an actor has to be chosen who is perhaps a better singer than an actor, or the reverse, for a more dramatic role. Lena Hall was able to not only play the part, but to become it with a raw passion and untempered vocal fury. Off stage and on; she engulfed herself in the role, playing the part as if she were wearing a second skin, even when she didn’t have to. Her performance as Yitzhak read like an act of love in itself. I spent hours watching YouTube videos and tracking her Yitzogram hashtag because I needed something with which to relate. She tackled the role of Yitzhak, with its minimal dialogue and maximum emotional impact, with a dedication often reserved for Oscar contenders or singers destined to join the 27 club. I cannot speak to having been moved by Hedwig and the Angry Inch at a young age like so many others, but I can speak to it now, in my adulthood, and to being moved by Lena Hall.
Thank you, Lena Hall, for the inspiration, and for the unrelenting passion of your work. Thank you for shining like the brightest star. Your dedication to your craft and your winning personality have guaranteed another long-term fan. Thank you, for everything.
And all the strange rock and rollers
You know you're doing all right
So hold on to each other
You gotta hold on tonight
And you're shining
Like the brightest stars
A transmission
On the midnight radio
Well felt and well said. Kudos.
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