ILLUSTRATION BY HANOCH PIVEN
Twenty years ago last month, Alan Cumming burst onto the American scene as the emcee in the Broadway revival of Cabaret. It was a role so perfectly suited to the Scottish actor’s expressive eyebrows, cheeky wit, and slinky sexuality that he not only won a 1998 best actor Tony Award, but he also revived the role for a lauded 2014 restaging, opposite Michelle Williams and, later, Emma Stone. The next two decades brought dozens of scene-stealing roles in projects as diverse as the Spy Kids franchise, the X-Men sequel X2, Eyes Wide Shut, and Julie Taymor’s adaptations of The Tempest and Titus Andronicus. Despite the increased exposure, however, Cumming remained a decidedly New York character—the kind of figure, like a Patti Smith or Fran Lebowitz, that New Yorkers always feel a special, protective ownership over.
But that all began to shift during his Emmy-nominated seven-season run on CBS’s The Good Wife. His lovably gruff campaign strategist, Eli Gold, a buttoned-up political operative, couldn’t have been further from—though no less magnetic than—his lipstick-wearing, bare-chested Cabaret character. New Yorkers would have to learn to share.
In March, he landed his own CBS show, Instinct, a rollicking procedural based on a James Patterson novel. His character, Dr. Dylan Reinhart, boasts a résumé nearly as diverse as Cumming’s: He’s a professor, author, former CIA agent, and motorbike enthusiast who teams up with the NYPD to stop a serial killer. He also happens to be the first gay lead character on an American network drama.
While starring in a groundbreaking television series certainly qualifies as a full-time gig, Cumming has spent the last few years in perpetual motion: touring his one-man show, Alan Cumming Sings Sappy Songs; opening his own bar and performance space, Club Cumming, in Manhattan’s East Village; campaigning for Scottish independence and against Brexit; and even traveling to Lebanon with the UN High Commissioner for Refugees.
Fortunately, he finds time to meet with Hemispheres for a breakfast of avocado toast (with extra chili flakes) and a pot of tea at Soho House, in New York’s Meatpacking District, where he charmingly flirts with both the waiter and waitress, raising one of those famous eyebrows of his with each one-liner. “I usually think of my career as more of a verb than a noun,” he says. “I just do things that feel good at the time. And if I don’t like it, I stop.”
As a huge fan of The Good Wife, I’m excited to welcome you back to TV. But you and James Patterson seem like a bit of an odd couple. How did this show come together?
I got this galley copy of the book, and I remember just thinking it’s a real page-turner, as those books are. So I was reading it, and I was going, “Who wrote this?” And they said, “Oh, James Patterson.” And I went, “Who’s that, again?” They said, “One in every 17 novels sold in America is written by him.”
Is your portrayal of the character similar to how he’s written in the book?
He had a husband; he had a motorbike. He’s a little more of a goofball now, but I think that’s just me. When we wrapped on the season, [showrunner] Michael Rauch said, “We’re wrapping our good friend Alan. We’re also wrapping his eyebrows.” I feel like my eyebrows are more of a character on the show than I am.
How much do you want Dylan’s sexuality to be a talking point for the show?
It’s inevitable that it will be one of the main talking points of the show—and so it should be. But actually, in terms of the show, it’s the third or fourth thing down the list of things about this character. In 2018, the idea that this is the first network drama on American television that has a gay lead character is insane and shocking. It’s great, but it’s also awful. That should be a talking point, about why it took so long and why that’s a problem. The other thing that’s great about it is that his gayness is not the main topic of the show. It’s just, “…and, also, he happens to be gay.” I mean, him riding a motorbike is kind of more of a plot point than his sexuality, which is a really positive thing. And then the third thing is that the gay storyline is a really nice, functioning, supportive relationship. It’s not issue-led like most gay storylines on network TV. I was definitely very conscious of how that would be handled, and I keep an eye on that more than other parts of the show.
It’s a pretty big deal and definitely overdue. Do you feel as if all eyes are on your every move?
I feel like that anyway. If you’re out, if you’re queer and famous in this country, it’s a small band. If you don’t embrace that, then I think you’re being sort of cowardly. Because the very fact that you are put on this weird pedestal is the problem. Of course this part of the story will be a big deal, but ultimately my goal would be for it to not be a big deal.
It seems particularly significant that this show is debuting in the current political climate.
You know, it’s a scary time. Everywhere, LGBT people are being oppressed—and literally persecuted in some parts. I don’t feel as safe in this country as I did before, even in New York City, and I’m wise to feel like that when somebody is advocating, via silence, a whole range of crimes against various humanities. So the fact that this is going on in this climate is a really positive thing, and I think it’s really good for CBS, who in the past have been accused of not having enough diversity.
What has been the response from test audiences?
In general, they really like the show, but there are things like, “We don’t mind Alan’s gay!” It’s not their favorite thing about the show. I think that’s kind of what we’re up against.
If you’re out if you’re queer and famous in this country, it’s a small band. If you don’t embrace that, then I think you’re being sort of cowardly.
You’re back filming in your adopted hometown of New York City. How does it feel to be considered a real “New York character”?
I’m so glad the city is like a character in the show. In The Good Wife [which shot in New York but took place in Chicago], you’d do a take and someone would go, “Sorry, there’s a taxi in the background.” During Christmas, I realized it was my 20th year in New York. At the end of 1997, I came to start rehearsals for Cabaret. To be honest, I knew I wasn’t going to go back. People say things like, “I saw Cabaret,” to me, and you’re waiting for the “… and you were great.” But often it doesn’t come. They mean “I saw Cabaret” like “I went up to the top of the Empire State Building.”
Do you feel a kinship between New Yorkers and Scots?
There’s an energy, an openness, that’s very similar. You can come into any place and just be like, “Hey, what’s going on?”
You were a vocal supporter of Scottish independence and spoke out against Brexit. How do you recover from those disappointments? Is it still a fight?
Obviously, it was devastating, but it’s definitely still a fight. Since Brexit, that has only spurred the fact, because it’s yet another decision that Westminster made that Scotland doesn’t agree with—and, actually, the whole point of independence is there. Of course there’s going to be another referendum.
Are people in Scotland still politically engaged?
They totally are. Eighty-four percent of the population voted in the independence referendum. It’s an incredibly politically engaged country. Things that I find very difficult about America—I realize I’m just so used to them from back home. Like the idea that it’s not a dog-eat-dog world. That having a safety net for people and ensuring that everyone has access to good health care and good education is not being soft on people. That’s not being a nanny state. It’s just a right that I feel people should have, and when you don’t have it, it’s like, “What kind of culture are we that doesn’t care?” It’s that kind of mentality.
Would you ever run for office?
[Laughs]
Do you get asked that often?
I do—more and more, actually. But I think that I have more reach just being me and being authentic. [In 2016,] I’d just been to Lebanon with the UN High Commissioner for Refugees, and I went on Stephen Colbert and was able to talk about it. I’ve got access to all these millions of people, and I’m talking about something really important, so I think I’m actually more powerful and have more access to more people and am more able to change people’s minds.
What did you learn while you were in Lebanon?
I saw a country that is aching. Thirty percent of the population there is refugees. I met a lot of people who were refugees from Syria. It was super-intense. I interviewed this one guy who wasn’t allowed to show his face because he was still in danger. I went to an LGBT group, which is, as you can imagine, even more horrific. They throw gay people off buildings. I mean, [one guy] had been raped, electrocuted, and had family members killed in front of him, and he was 19. What I realized, and what I think about America now, is that it’s going to take a long time for the PTSD of what has happened—not only to the people who it’s happened to, but to all of us—and the idea that our character, our soul, has been so ravaged. It’s going to take a long time.
There’s definitely a parallel between your newest endeavor, Club Cumming, and the Weimar-era Kit Kat Klub in Cabaret: The world may be going to hell outside, but inside, as you sing, “Life is beautiful.” Your club has hosted everything from drag shows to knitting sessions to a singalong set with Sir Paul McCartney and Emma Stone. How did that whole project start?
My dressing room at Cabaret was called Club Cumming. It was the year I was doing Cabaret and The Good Wife at the same time, so it was much easier to just bring the party to me. And it would be this rocking party. I got a booze sponsor for my dressing room, Bacardi USA, God bless ’em—endless supplies of Skyy vodka. It was like the Batphone: “Hello! We’re out of gin! Could you send some now? Thanks!” Afterward, I did a few pop-up parties, just as a way to see friends, really, and it started to get a shape. I just love encouraging people to have fun. And Easternbloc was my favorite bar, so I bought into my favorite bar.
That sounds dangerous!
It is dangerous, because I have this TV show; I can’t be out every night! But it’s been amazing. In a way, I think it’s one of my best creative achievements.
I just love encouraging people to have fun. I don’t think any pleasures should be guilty.
What were your inspirations?
What I loved about these parties is that I come off as a very non-judgy person. So when I put on something that people might be embarrassed to dance to because it’s too poppy or too tacky, I would encourage people to dance to it. I find, especially in America, people have a real problem with that. “Oh, am I allowed to dance to this? What does everyone think of it?”
Yeah, we have this idea of the guilty pleasure.
Which I never agree with. I don’t think any pleasures should be guilty. I don’t like this idea that you have to decide not to relate to the music on a sensual level, you have to decide intellectually whether you’re going to let go or not. So that was my intention. The two songs I sing the most there are “Tomorrow” [from Annie] and “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid—two of the tackiest songs I can think of, but everyone sings along.
You made a whole show, Alan Cumming Sings Sappy Songs, out of that ethos.
The whole thing with Sappy Songs was that it was songs that I’m going to completely commit to. I’m gonna sing “The Climb” by Miley Cyrus, and you’re gonna go, “F***, that’s a beautiful song.” I set it up like, “Some of these songs I was very snippy about and judgy. I never thought I’d be singing them now, but if you listen to songs in a different way, they keep coming back to you, and you can open your heart to them.” By the end of it, you’re going to be questioning why you thought that way.
I hear you’re debuting a new show, Legal Immigrant, this year. Tell me about that.
I actually feel that the whole language around immigration has become very negative, and, as someone who’s a recent immigrant to this country, I feel dented by that. It’s almost like those words “legal” and “illegal” have blended as a prefix for immigrant. We’re taught to assume that there’s some bad news or strife in some way, and I find that really insulting. So I wanted to do a show highlighting my story of coming here; I’m gonna do the immigration status of every songwriter. Let’s question what we think about immigrants and remind ourselves that every f****** brick in this building would have been laid by an immigrant; all our infrastructure was built and perhaps designed by immigrants.
How deep into America do your tours take you?
I go pretty deep! I had a great time in North Carolina. In Sappy Songs, I read a poem a guy called Steve Siddle sent me: a letter to the president that he’d written in the style of the Scottish poet Robert Burns. Genius. And I read that, and it gets a huge reaction, and also boos, and I like that. I want people to be challenged. I think being political with both a capital “P” and a little “p”—even just things like maybe talking about my ex-boyfriend and his tattoos, one of the hilarious anecdotes I tell—is probably more effective than me ranting. It’s just fear of the unknown. A lot of the people who were excited by this whole notion of the other and refugees and immigrants are people who don’t come into contact with those people. The more you slide into their knowledge about it, then inevitably we’re in a safer, better place.
