Rob Madge Talks MY SON'S A QUEER At New York City Center

Happy Pride! New York audiences get to celebrate in a big way. Rob Madge is bringing their original solo show My Son’s a Queer (But What Can You Do?) to New York City Center, making the show’s New York premiere after an almost-Broadway run last season. It runs June 12 to 15.

The show was nominated for an Olivier Award in 2023 after premiering at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in 2022. The comedy tells the story of Madge’s family as they explore their child’s love for all things Disney — down to a parade they staged in their basement — theatre, and their Queer identity. It is as much a hilarious ode to theatre and VHS as it is about the power of a family’s acceptance. 

Theatrely sat down with Madge to talk about the show’s opening at City Center Thursday night, what they hope young people will take away from it, and what it means to them to perform it during Pride in New York. 

Let's start with how are you feeling? Opening night tonight! What's going through your head?

I am feeling mostly grateful to be here, and I'm thinking back on the journey that it's taken to get the show here and feeling overwhelmed and proud and rejuvenated and ready to share it finally with the New York crowd.

It’s been quite a journey to get here. How has the show changed over time, and how has it changed for this City Center production?

It's ever-evolving, and it will probably evolve tonight and then tomorrow night, because in a solo show, the audience do become your scene partners. They are the other characters in the show, and based on their response, well, their responses will inform mine, so it's constantly growing on that level. 

Of course, for New York City Center, we have upped the sparkle, and the razzmatazz. There are a few more strands of glitter than there were at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. But it's gone on such a journey that I can't quite process it all. I sort of have to take it day by day and not think too much about what it used to be and where it is now, because the concept is too overwhelming to even contemplate. I just have to turn up, do the job and hope that the message still hits the way it always did. 

At Theatrely, our audience is very Gen Z. What are you hoping that young people take away when they see your show?

That there's a place for them, and always has been and always will be, no matter who you are, how you identify, whether or not you're part of the LGBTQIA+ spectrum. We are all unique. We are that there can be no other version of yourself, whatever that might entail or encompass for you and embrace that, embrace that there is no other you. And love one another. We need each other more than ever. Gen Z, we need you more than ever now. I believe that children are the future. I say that as though I'm not a Gen Z, I'm sort of on the cusp. I'm like a Genelial, a mille-X, I don't know I'm sort of in between, 1996. But we need you, and we'll all be right by your side, and we will be fighting for you hard, so join us.

Talk me through some of your favorite parts about performing this and some of the most challenging. What are the highlights and lowlights?

Highlights are having a platform to celebrate my amazing family, to show them off, to share them and to hear people laughing with them, crying with them, night after night. It just reaffirms how blessed and fortunate I've been. It validates my opinion that they are some of the most brilliant parents and grandparents in the world. I've always felt that, and now it's being externally validated by people applauding them. So that's always the most fulfilling. 

The most challenging, on a very basic level, is the stamina required to helm a solo show night after night. We've got all of the tips and tricks. We've got all of the manuka honey. We've got all of the steamers, the nebulizers. Something that I find interesting I've learned is, I was trained as a singer, not necessarily trained as a speaker. And when you're talking non-stop for an hour plus, you have to use the same techniques as you're using when for your singing voice. 

The other challenge is, as rewarding and as fulfilling as it is, sharing my grandparents. They're no longer with me, and so hearing them, it can hit me sometimes. They are on the stage with me, and I feel like I'm resurrecting them in a way, and that can be difficult, but also immensely cathartic. When people compliment my grandparents after the show and say how amazing they are, they always refer to them in the present tense, because I never dwell on the fact that they're no longer with me. I think that is really beautiful, that they are with me, I feel them with me. That’s a really beautiful thing as well.

When you think about this production overall, what does it mean to you to be doing this show now? In New York during Pride? 

The layers are so never ending, really, first and foremost, doing a show about queer joy is vital in any year, because history has taught us that queer stories are so often rooted in shame, and I want to demystify that. Doing a show about queer joy in 2025 is even more urgent and necessary because we are rapidly moving backwards, and if theatre and entertainment and art doesn't push back against that narrative, we're in deep trouble. I believe that art can be the greatest form of activism, and this is when we need to to get to work. Billy Porter says that, “this is when we get to work.” 

Doing it in New York City during Pride Month in 2025 feels like the most perfect time for it. New York City and its queer history is so rich and you can sense the shared queer history running through the veins of the sidewalk when you walk down it. There's just something about it. It's freeing. It's liberating. I'm not from anywhere near here. I'm from the tiniest little town in the middle of England that no one's ever heard of, but because of the people that fought for us in New York City “back in the day,” that little kid in that tiny town far, far away from here is able to live their life happily and proudly. We owe a lot to this city and to be doing it in 2025 and at the heart of queer culture, feels like the biggest “f you” to anyone who tries to quash us.

My Son's a Queer (But What Can You Do?) runs at New York City Center from June 12 to 15. For tickets and more information, visit here.