Funny, raw and unexpectedly uplifting, Bad Immigrant left me rolling out of the theatre feeling hopeful in a time that rarely is.
It’s not often that a show about immigration policy leaves you feeling lighter than when you walked in. But Jennifer Irons’ Bad Immigrant does exactly that – a dazzling, deeply personal roller-skating confessional that somehow transforms Brexit-era disillusionment into a joyful act of resistance.
Performed by Irons and directed by Tom Roden of New Art Club, the show fuses stand-up, storytelling, and physical theatre with an irresistible sense of play. She takes to the stage in vibrant pink spandex, her skate wheels lighting up bright pink as she glides across the floor, and immediately establishes a tone that’s both comic and self-aware. This isn’t a lecture; it’s a liberation.
The show begins with a striking inciting moment: after being told by a neighbour to “go back to where she came from,” Irons, a Canadian who has lived in the UK for over two decades, begins to question where she truly belongs. Her response is playful and ambitious – she sets out to become a world-class roller skater within a year, pursuing the kind of “elite athlete” status that might even qualify her for a visa home. What follows is part TED Talk, part cabaret, and part sports film, unfolding with charm, absurdity, and unexpected depth.
Irons keeps a confident rhythm between humour and poignancy. One moment she’s performing a fish dance narrated by David Attenborough; the next, she’s describing a sobering, eye-opening encounter at an immigrant detention centre. These tonal shifts never feel jarring. Instead, they show how humour can convey hardship with an honesty that seriousness sometimes cannot.
Irons’ performance is generous and unguarded. Her delivery sparkles with wit, but her greatest strength lies in her vulnerability – she invites laughter while exposing real ache beneath the jokes. The recorded conversations with her young child, projected with crisp captioning that ensures accessibility, offer moments of disarming tenderness. The sound design, with pop anthems and tongue-in-cheek numbers like “Hypocrites Get on My T*ts,” reinforces the balance between playfulness and poignancy.
Visually, the production delights in simplicity and playful spectacle: a giant skate with a disco ball sheen, and a strip of multi-coloured lights around the back of the stage reminiscent of those that line an ice rink, along with the constant shimmer of Irons’ costume. The design gives her space to move freely, to fall and recover – a visual metaphor for the resilience that underpins the piece.
Where many works about migration lean into despair, Bad Immigrant insists on hope. Irons openly acknowledges her privilege as a white immigrant and contrasts her experience with those who face systemic exclusion. She also reflects on a broader challenge for all of us: sitting down with and connecting with those that don’t already agree – people who might want immigrants gone. Yet she doesn’t end in guilt or defeat – she ends in gratitude. What began as a quest for recognition ends instead in belonging. Through skating, she finds something she wasn’t even looking for: a community that accepts her simply because she shows up and shares their joy.
That spirit of inclusion carries into the finale in a small, beautifully simple gesture that makes every audience member feel part of something larger – a quiet act of generosity I won’t spoil here, but which lingers long after the lights come up. It’s a subtle but moving invitation to join her world, to feel what she found on the rink: connection, freedom, and joy.
As the audience filed out, Irons personally spoke to everyone, radiating the same openness and warmth she had embodied on stage. It felt less like leaving a theatre and more like being seen off by a friend – a genuinely inspiring artist who doesn’t just talk about community but creates it.
Bad Immigrant is funny, moving, and quietly revolutionary – a love letter to connection, resilience, and the radical power of joy.