Jennifer Irons is an internationally renowned dancer and choreographer. Her new show Bad Immigrant is an absurdist roller disco theatre/dance that explores immigration, belonging, colonialism and identity. Ahead of the show touring to The Lens Studio in Portsmouth, Jacksons Lane in London and Sheffield University Drama Studio, we spoke to Irons about her inspiration for the show and what audiences can expect.
What is Bad Immigrant about and where did the idea come from?
Bad Immigrant is a roller disco about immigration. It’s my attempt to become a championship roller skater as a way of proving I’m ‘good enough’ to belong. It’s part story, part dance, part sweaty comedy and all about the contradictions of identity. What does it mean to be ‘good’? Who chooses? And why do some have to do more to prove their ‘worth’ than others? Add some glitter and techno and we’re there.
The idea really began with anger. After Brexit, a neighbour told me, “If you don’t like it, you can just go home.” As a white, English-speaking Canadian, I’ve got privilege and a platform that others don’t, but the sting was still there. For three seconds I considered politics (then I remembered Billy Connolly’s line that anyone who wants to be a politician should automatically be disqualified). So instead, I turned to what I know best: dance, humour, and movement. I figured if the immigration systems of the world are absurd, I can explore that in the most absurd way.
I also grew up in northern Canada, in Indigenous territory, where I was considered a settler. Here in Britain, I’m considered an immigrant. I’m both insider and outsider, and that contradiction sits at the heart of the show. Roller skating became my way to explore it, because while borders shut us out, wheels offer freedom.
You’ve recently performed the show at Edinburgh Fringe. How has the audience reception been so far?
Fringe is like having a sister for a best friend– glorious, brutal, honesty. If people don’t like your show, they just leave. So I wasn’t sure how Bad Immigrant would land. But the response has been both humbling and electrifying. People laugh, they cry, they stay behind to talk. We’ve even been running post-show surveys, and over 70% of audiences say they left thinking differently about immigration. That feels huge.
What’s been surprising is how broad the connection has been. It’s not just immigrants who relate; it’s anyone who has ever been “othered,” whether for class, sexuality, gender, or just being the odd kid in school. The show touches that nerve of belonging, and audiences have responded with both humour and heartbreak.
At times the feedback has been hilarious people saying they loved watching me fall on my arse repeatedly and other times deeply moving, with audience members telling me they finally felt their own story reflected back. And selfishly? Performing it daily in Edinburgh made the show sharper and braver. And more absurd.
Throughout your varied work, you’re almost always dancing. How are you using dance in Bad Immigrant to tell the story?
Dance was my first language. Skating is the perfect metaphor for migration, where borders restrict movement, wheels are freedom. I grew up watching figure skating (I am Canadian), and I always wanted to be able to glide, swoop like that, where your hair moves in the wind. Like I’m in some kind of glamour shoot with a massive fan, only the fan is in my head.
Roller dance is also a community that doesn’t care where you’re from. No one asks your immigration status; they just want to know if you can do the Crazy Legs. That open, joyful spirit runs through the show.
The show documents the quest to become a champion roller dancer from zero experience. There’s an excellent amount of falling over, inspiration from 80’s techno pop, various skate styles and the movement of being an immigrant.
Skating has given me a whole new world of movement later in life, a surprise gift. The joy of going fast, of moving with others, of finding freedom in your body, that’s what I want audiences to feel too.
Bad Immigrant sounds like a really unique production. Who are some of your creative or theatrical influences?
I’m a magpie! Pina Bausch taught me that dance-theatre can be messy and raw and still pierce straight to the heart. Comedians like Hannah Gadsby and Jon Stewart showed me how humour can disarm before landing a gut-punch of truth. I love New Art Club’s standup comedy/dance mix and convinced Tom Roden, one half of that due to direct the show.
But I’m just as shaped by trashy pop culture. MTV, roller discos, the Superbowl in the 80’s (when it was all marching bands and before Kendrick won it). That’s the stew I grew up in, and it sneaks into everything I make. I love blending high art and low culture until you can’t tell which is which.
So Bad Immigrant is this mixed bag of influences: serious thinkers, scrappy mistakes, trashy pop, big dance-theatre, and everyday joy.
What has been the highlight of your varied career so far and what do you still hope to achieve?
The real highlight has been Skate4Mates; a project that shares the love and joy of roller skating with people seeking sanctuary here in the UK. It started as part of the development of the show – the current talk around immigration has been so awful and I wanted to see if we could do something that was full of joy. I had no idea if it would work, and it’s blown me away. We have 60 people waiting to take part. Everyone so far has continued to skate. Watching people who’ve survived so much find community and pure joy on skates? That’s unforgettable.
As for what to do still… I haven’t choreographed the Super Bowl halftime show yet. If you could let them know I’m available, would be great.
What advice would you give to aspiring performers or creatives who want a similarly varied career?
I love Sister Corita Kent and John Cage’s 10 Rules. Especially:
Rule 8 – Don’t try to create and analyse at the same time, they’re 2 different processes and
Rule 4 – Treat everything like an experiment.
Also: Find your people. The ones who cheer you on, lend you skates, or drag you back up when you fall over. Nobody makes great work alone.
And finally, every brilliant performance/film/show/book you’ve ever seen is built on a mountain of failures. Instagram doesn’t show you the missed funding bids, the terrible drafts, the rehearsals that fell flat. But they’re there. So keep going. Keep falling.
What do you hope audiences will take away from the show with them?
Joy, laughter, empathy, and maybe the irresistible urge to buy a pair of skates. We’re touring to Cities of Sanctuary around the UK and hope that the show sparks a different kind of conversation about immigration.
I want people to walk out feeling less alone, whether they’ve been called an immigrant, or just felt like they didn’t belong somewhere. I want them to laugh at the ridiculous parts, think about the uncomfortable truths, and feel provoked enough to question the language and assumptions we use around belonging.
And I want them to feel the humanity in it. Because immigration isn’t a “problem”, it’s part of human history. It brings richness, contradictions, and joy. If people leave Bad Immigrant with both a giggle and a lump in their throat and maybe humming a trashy pop song I just skated to – that’s a good start.
And if they do go buy skates afterwards? Call me. I’ll meet you on the seafront.