Before there were West End transfers, sold-out audiences and award nominations, there was a living room.
Like many children, Rob Madge spent hours creating elaborate worlds of their own. Unlike most children, however, those worlds were meticulously documented on home video. Costumes were assembled, family members were cast in supporting roles and entire productions emerged from an imagination that seemed incapable of sitting still.
Years later, those recordings would form the foundation of My Son’s A Queer (But What Can You Do?), the autobiographical show that introduced Madge to a much wider audience. Yet spending time with them, it becomes clear that the enduring appeal of the story has never really been about theatre. It is about something much more universal.
At its heart lies a question many adults quietly wrestle with: what happened to the confidence we had as children?
Throughout our conversation, Madge reflects on creativity, family, self-expression and the extraordinary impact of growing up in an environment where imagination was celebrated rather than questioned. While the home videos may provide the narrative framework, the deeper story is about authenticity, belonging and the people who give us permission to become ourselves.
It is a conversation filled with humour, nostalgia and warmth, but beneath the laughter lies a powerful reminder that some of the most important parts of ourselves are formed long before we understand who we are.
What Happens When Nobody Tells You To Stop?
Many people spend adulthood trying to recover something they lost in childhood. Confidence. Fearlessness. The willingness to be ridiculous.
Madge speaks about those early years with a mixture of affection and amazement, recalling a childhood spent transforming living rooms into theatres and everyday objects into props.
Disney played a significant role in that world. Princesses, villains and larger-than-life characters offered a language through which creativity could flourish. Looking back, Madge recognises that those stories became an outlet for self-expression. “It was my kind of outlet into being really camp, I suppose. Being a Disney Princess or a Disney Villainess was the easiest route for me to express my love of dressing up and flamboyance.”
There is a tendency to dismiss childhood imagination as something temporary, a phase to be outgrown. Madge sees it differently. The confidence that allowed a child to perform fearlessly in front of family members is the same confidence required to stand on a stage as an adult.
When asked what advice they would offer aspiring writers and performers, Madge’s answer returns immediately to childhood. “I encourage people to remember that kid inside them and don’t let anybody take any confidence away from you.”
It is a deceptively simple observation. Children rarely create with an audience in mind. They create because it feels joyful. They sing because they want to. They dress up because it makes them happy. They perform because the act of pretending is exciting.
Somewhere along the way, many adults begin seeking permission.
Madge’s philosophy suggests that creativity often begins when we stop asking for it. “It’s not as deep as a lot of people make it. Have fun with it.”
The Gift Of Being Accepted
One of the most moving themes throughout our conversation is the role family played in nurturing that confidence.
Much has been written about the support Madge received from their parents, and rightly so. The home videos that inspired their work exist because somebody thought those moments were worth preserving. Yet what emerges most strongly is not simply support, but acceptance.
There was no grand statement. No dramatic gesture. No life-changing conversation. Instead, there was something arguably more powerful. Normality.
Reflecting on their grandmother, Madge becomes noticeably thoughtful. She remains one of the most important figures in the story they tell. “She was just, there was just never any question, or any raised eyebrow, or any indication that my form of expressing myself was wrong, or was odd, or strange.” The distinction matters.
Many people can recall moments when they were encouraged. Far fewer can recall environments where they never felt judged in the first place. For Madge, that absence of judgement became foundational. “That’s what I take away from her most, is her openness.”
The conversation serves as a reminder that acceptance is not always active. Sometimes its greatest power lies in what it doesn’t do. It doesn’t question. It doesn’t criticise. It doesn’t ask someone to be different. Instead, it simply allows them to be.
Looking back, Madge recognises how fortunate they were to grow up surrounded by people who approached their creativity with curiosity rather than concern. Those relationships did more than provide encouragement. They created the conditions in which confidence could thrive.
Making Something Out Of Nothing
Creativity is often portrayed as a mysterious gift, but Madge describes it as something much more practical. Start somewhere. Write something. Pay attention.
When inspiration feels distant, their advice is refreshingly straightforward. “If you’ve got some burning passion inside of you to write or create, just put something down on paper.” The challenge, they believe, is rarely a lack of ideas. More often, it is overcoming the fear of beginning.
Like many creative people, Madge openly admits to procrastination. Yet they have developed strategies for finding their way back into the work. One of the most effective involves something surprisingly ordinary.
Objects. “I was talking to someone about this the other day. Objects. If you’re short on inspiration, look at something in your house or something that you connect with and write a tiny little thing about that.”
It is advice that feels entirely consistent with their own creative journey. After all, an old box of home videos became a stage show. Family memories became storytelling material. Childhood games became art.
The lesson is not that every object contains a masterpiece waiting to be discovered. It is that creativity often begins by paying attention to what is already around us.
The stories are usually closer than we think.
The Courage To Ask
One of the most extraordinary moments in Madge’s career began not with a producer, an agent or a major theatre company, but with a direct message.
During lockdown, producer Paul Taylor-Mills posted on social media expressing a desire to work with new writers when theatres reopened. Madge decided to take him at his word. “I literally sent him a DM on Twitter.” There is still a sense of disbelief in their voice when they tell the story. What followed was a meeting, a conversation and eventually a production that would grow far beyond its original ambitions.
Looking back, the story feels almost improbably simple. Yet it also reveals something important about opportunity.
Many careers are shaped not by certainty but by initiative. Someone sends an email. Someone makes a phone call. Someone takes a chance on an idea before it feels fully formed.
Madge is quick to credit the people who helped transform those early thoughts into a finished production. “He really channelled all the mess of my ideas that were on paper and turned them into something in real life.” Creativity may begin in solitude, but bringing ideas into the world almost always requires collaboration.
Growing Up Without Growing Out Of It
As our conversation draws to a close, the discussion turns towards the future.
Madge speaks enthusiastically about new challenges. There is a desire to explore different forms of storytelling, particularly straight plays and Shakespeare. The prospect of stepping away from musicals for a while seems genuinely appealing. “Oh my God, the stress of singing every day.”
The comment is delivered with characteristic humour, but it also reveals an artist eager to keep evolving.
What becomes apparent, however, is that none of these ambitions represent a departure from the person they were as a child. If anything, they feel like an extension of the same instinct.
The child who transformed a living room into a theatre still exists. The difference is that the stages are larger now.
When I suggest a Shakespeare-inspired sequel, Madge immediately begins imagining it. “My Son’s Obsessed with Shakespeare, What Can You Do?” The joke lands because it contains a kernel of truth.
The imagination that fuelled those childhood productions never disappeared. It simply found new outlets. Perhaps that is the real story behind Rob Madge’s success. Not that they grew up and became an artist, but that they never entirely stopped being the child who loved putting on shows.
In a world that often encourages people to become more cautious, more restrained and more self-conscious with age, there is something deeply refreshing about that.
After all, the confidence we admire in artists is often the very same confidence we once possessed ourselves. The challenge is remembering how to find it again.
