Interview: The Wire‘s Andre Royo on Reviving Drinking in America Off-Broadway

Not everyone can say that they had a starring role in one of the seminal shows of television’s new Golden Age. For five seasons, Andre Royo found himself on the streets of Baltimore as Reginald “Bubbles” Cousins, a heroin-addicted informant on HBO’s The Wire, a series that, by all accounts (but especially Royo’s), nobody watched when it was on. But over the last 20 years, it’s taken on a life of its own — more popular now than ever before, Royo still gets called “Bubbles” when he’s walking down the street.

This month at the Minetta Lane Theatre, we’ll get a new view of Royo when he takes on Eric Bogosian’s rarely seen solo play Drinking in America, which is directed by Mark Armstrong and presented by Audible (and will be available as an audio edition at a later date). Royo did not quite jump at the chance to do this show — he was angling for Bogosian’s Talk Radio. But it ended up being a perfect match for this newly sober actor, whose gregarious personality is a real delight.

This conversation has been condensed and edited for clarity.

I just watched To Leslie the other night, and I didn’t realize you were in it. I’m glad it’s getting the exposure it deserves thanks to Andrea Riseborough’s Oscar nomination. It’s really lovely.
Who knew that it was gonna blow up like that? You do these movies and you think it ain’t gonna get too many eyes. A social media barrage. I wish I had friends like that. But it’s great and it’s well-deserved. She’s a real dope actress. Her commitment reminded me a lot of the work ethic of what I was doing when I did The Wire. You have to be fully committed. You have to have no judgement. And you have to go all in. And then everybody else has to play their part, and the story will be told. 

Speaking of, I finally binged The Wire for the first time about a year and a half ago after being told by everyone that it was a hole in my television knowledge. What a great show.
I’m so happy to hear that. Thank you for watching and what fucking took you so long? [Laughs] When we came out, it wasn’t a thing. It was in the middle of The Sopranos, Sex and the City, and Six Feet Under. Oz had just ended and HBO was like, “Yo, we need a Black show!” My hood was watching, but the gap between The Sopranos and The Wire wasn’t comparable. We just weren’t being seen. 

After the third season, we got canceled and I moved to L.A. and I was trying to get work, and I would say I was on The Wire and they’d be like, “What show? Which Black guy were you?” Around 2010, I was going to get some donuts and I saw the L.A. Times headline that The Wire is the best show ever and I was like “When did that happen?” Social media and little nuggets here and there, and Obama — that was the biggest commercial ever when Obama said he watched ‘The Wire. All of a sudden, the intellects were like “This is a really important show and if you don’t watch it, you don’t care about society.” And then Twitter, and then HBO started streaming, and it took a life of its own. 

It means a lot, because people kept that story going in a way that made it seem more personal than it just being a great TV show. They talk about it like it’s important. When you’re part of a show that’s able to entertain and educate and inspire and bring awareness, it’s like lightning in a bottle.

I read this article that you were trying to do Eric Bogosian’s Talk Radio. How did Talk Radio morph into Drinking in America?
You know what? I’m trying to find out myself. I met [comedian] Marc Maron a long time ago and I did his podcast, WTF. We had the same energy because I love to talk. I went back to Talk Radio and I was like, “It’s the same shit we’re doing now.” Everybody’s talking and they all like getting beat up on, so I just felt like I wanted to bring it back out. I had met Eric Bogosian playing poker and I was like “Yo, man, would you let me do Talk Radio?” And he was like, “You’ve got the energy, you just have to put your foot on the gas and never let go.” 

I wanted to do it. We were off to the races, and then I don’t know. I think there was a lot going on with the rights and shit just got tight, and I was mad. Then Audible came to me and said we could do Drinking in America, and my first reaction was “What, the B-side? I’m doing the B-side?” I read it and my first thought was the ego: “This is all me! I share the stage with no one!” Then I read it again and I was like “Oh, this is all me.” There’s nowhere to hide.

What was it about the play that you connected to?
I’m in sobriety right now. I’m a year and seven months as of two days ago. Eric wrote this when he was sober after a year and six months. It felt like the universe was telling me, “if you want to say goodbye to that life, what better way than to do it on stage? Go in there and hurt yourself. Get intoxicated in the arts.”

There are 13-14 characters in this play, but throughout my journey with alcohol and every other addiction we have, I’ve seen myself in all of them. They all could be me at certain stages in my life. I was the asshole, I was the drunk, I was delusional. I’ve been all these characters, so why not take all the struggles and pain and put it into this? 

I had to do a deep search about this play. It wasn’t one of his that I know.
That’s why when I first got it, I was like “What are you giving me the B-side for? I’ve never heard of this shit.” But Eric is geeked out. He loves his old shit being done. It was in the middle of his come up, and he acted out all the characters. I was like “If ”he” could do it, I can do it.” I’m just happy to bring his work back out again. Guirgis is my man. Miguel Piñero is my man. Eric is one of those dudes who is writing about that class of New York City where we didn’t give a fuck. His work, just like Mamet and August Wilson and all those others, kids should be studying it in acting classes. I’m happy to be part of that journey.

Why do this play now?
We have 500 channels now, and there are a lot of actors out there. I don’t want to be forgotten, so this is my Birdman show. Let me go out there and remind people who I am. Because I’ll be Bubbles forever.

Do people still call out to Bubbles when they see you walking down the street?
All day. The thing I hope never stops…When it comes to Bubbles, it ain’t a “Hey, Bubbles!” People have to stop me and be like “Thank you” or “You remind me of a family member” or “I also had an addiction.” It’s a really heartfelt appreciation, not just of the work, but for shining light on how hard it is, or how disconnected we’ve gotten from each other. You know it is when you’re young and running around. You don’t give two fucks about homeless people. They’re in the way. You might throw some change at them, but you’re still dismissive. We had no compassion. After doing the deep dive and being in Baltimore, you realize how unfortunate and sad that is. 

Looking at Drinking in America, it befuddles me that we, as men, in our programming and education, we put ourselves in this box. The rules were set that men are supposed to protect, provide, and not show any emotion, which is sad. In 2023, that’s changed a lot. I love the idea that my daughter’s generation thinks its ok to show emotions. These kids are able to be vulnerable without losing anything, and I love that and it’s important to show it.

I did a couple of interviews where they were like “What do you want the audience to take away?” And I was like, “At best, that Eric Bogosian is a phenomenal writer and I’m the shit.” But outside of that, I hope they take away an understanding about how stupid we are to have raised ourselves to believe that that’s what defines a man or a woman.