John Kensil
written by Tabitha Vidaurri
“It’s funny because people will say they don’t believe in stereotypes, but there are definitely stereotypes about Philadelphia,” says comedian John Kensil, a Philly native. “I talk very fast. That was something I had to work on when I was out there (in L.A.). I almost lost my accent. I guess being a comedian, you’re neurotic about different things. I thought people were judging me as if I was from Brooklyn, 1930’s. ‘Look at the boids in the sky’.”
To be honest, Kensil does have a recognizable Philadelphia accent, which is mainly in the pronunciation of the letter ‘o’, but he admits that being back in Philly has made it thicker. “It really stands out when you go to Los Angeles. They have a flat accent; they don’t move their top lip when they speak.” Kensil says. “I had people out there ask me if I was Scottish or British. I was very self-conscious about it. I thought maybe it would cost me a gig, or an audition.” He went as far as taking a Samuel French ‘How To Lose Your Accent’ audio course. “Basically it just told me to slow down.”
John Kensil’s reputation precedes him. If you follow the comedy scene in Philadelphia, you know his name well. And if you know anything about him professionally, it’s three things: 1) He’s been doing comedy for around twenty years. 2) He used to live in LA. 3) He has a strange series of popular web videos where he brings down the house through a series of brief stage appearances without actually saying a word.
“I do have something idiotic online,” Kensil boyishly admits, referring to “The Pat House Intros”. They’re a short series, (search for Pat House at YouTube.com) taped at Helium Comedy Club, and they all start out the same way. Comedian Pat House takes the stage, and we see Kensil, dressed in costume, as a rabbi for example, has followed him. Before Pat can introduce himself, the audience is laughing. Kensil’s rabbi hat flies off because it has been pulled by a string backstage. In other bits, Kensil is dressed as Lincoln, or the devil, or Captain Kirk, or he is holding a puppet. He’s on stage for only a moment, a bit of mischief, just enough time to make a surprised face and leave.
It’s a sweltering August afternoon when Kensil arrives at The Nodding Head, a microbrewery in Center City Philadelphia.
Kensil, contrary to the impression made from the intros, is not a prop comic. Aside from looking a bit like an extra in Goodfellas because of an obsession with vintage sharkskin suits, he does not go out of his way to look weird. On stage, he switches back and forth between the stream of consciousness style of storytelling to the classic setup and punch line. “Did you guys hear about the elephant that killed its trainer? Yeah, he cut his brake lines.”
It’s only fitting then, that Kensil’s career switches back and forth between mainstream and unconventional. He began performing stand-up in the early nineties at the Comedy Cabaret, a chain of clubs throughout the Philly suburbs. As a young comic, he found he had to tailor his material for the suburban audience in order to keep getting stage time. But he’d head back into the city later at night to see what alternative comedians like Paul F Thompkins and Adam McKay were doing.
Over time, Kensil found his own voice, which fell somewhere between the suburban crowd and the obscure late night gigs. He describes it in terms of geography; “I like doing sets that are New York and L.A. friendly. Not that I want to try to go over people’s heads, but there’s more to life than talking about shopping.” However, he mentions that the “club comedian” inside of him has been a major driving force. As he puts it, “You can’t ‘alternative’ yourself out of a living.”
For about three years, Kensil hosted is own comedy show, aptly named The John Kensil Show, at The 5 Spot bar in the Old City section of Philadelphia. He modeled it off of The Dean Martin Show, and it had a definite Rat Pack vibe. “It might have looked like a corny variety show, and I knew that was the look of it, but believe me, the material wasn’t.”
The show was extremely popular among the local stand-ups because it gave them a chance to break out of the typical stand-up routine. Kensil encouraged them to take risks and created an environment where it was ok to go into experimental territory. “I got all the comedians who I liked and I said, ‘I want you guys to do characters. Do whatever you want, have fun with it,” says Kensil. “If it goes great, great. If it fails, its not you, it’s the character.’”
Unfortunately, The John Kensil Show came to an end in 2006 when The Five Spot burned down. Kensil says he wants to revive variety show at a new venue.
“John is particularly popular with Philly comics because he is always searching to do things here that have not been done before,” says Dennis Horan, veteran comedian and friend of Kensil’s. “He has put together shows that were mock-telethons, old-style radio shows, brought a puppet on stage that he did not acknowledge, and has done countless characters. My personal favorite was ‘Jackie Invisible’, who was an invisible man. John did the entire set from a backstage microphone. Nothing was onstage, except this invisible man’s hat that floated from the back of the room to the stage, on a pulley that John set up beforehand. Who does that?” Horan adds, “When Kensil commits to the path less traveled, that’s when he is at his best.”
Since he had been touring up and down the eastern seaboard for over ten years, in 2005, Kensil chose to go out to the west coast. He made sure he lived where the action was, and rented an apartment right near Hollywood and Vine. “I gravitated toward the alternative comedy scene out there.” He would frequent places like the M Bar and UCB Theater, taking in improv and variety shows, and performing at as many places as he could, including some of the less hip venues. “The club comedian in me wanted to work. So you jump in both pools. I would go to the Comedy Store. It must have been great thirty years ago. Now, the audience is nothing but tourists. There were a lot of bringer shows. It sucked, after doing comedy for fifteen years, to have to start over again.”
“You don’t get paid for comedy in L.A., but that’s where you get discovered,” says Kensil. “Therefore a lot of Los Angeles-based comedians go on the road. If you ask a comedian ‘where do you live’, he’ll say, ‘Well, my clothes are in Los Angeles, but I’m on the road all the time to pay rent. “
One of Kensil’s methods for making money in LA was to write material for talk show hosts on a per joke basis. “Every day I would get up and get four papers and write topical jokes. I would send them to everybody: David Spade, Bob and Tom [Los Angeles DJ’s]. I’d be faxing jokes back east to Conan. The joke writing aspect keeps your mind sharp.”
He also worked as an actor, performing bit parts in television shows and films. Kensil landed a nonspeaking role as a skating judge in Blades of Glory, which he claims was due to having a large head. “I got hired because I looked like a guy. It had nothing to do with comedy. The casting agents wanted Swedish/German-looking people.” His involvement in the film ended up lasting for three weeks. “I wanted to see how a movie gets made. After the first two days, it’s jury duty.”
Kensil muses on his decision to leave L.A., balancing the high cost of living there with the probability of being discovered. “I see guys getting popular from the Internet,” says Kensil. “On the one hand I thought that cable TV and computers would ruin comedy because they oversaturated it, because everyone thinks they’re funny now. But as a result, people are finding new ways, inventive ways, to get known and be creative.”
Kensil’s writing proces is like many other comics’; he carries around a small book full of notes only he can decipher. “I’m not a jittery or nervous guy, buy my mind is constantly working like that,” he says, laughing after accidentally dropping his notebook on the floor. “I’m not saying its genius or gold, but I need something new every day. I have to write something down, or do something. I’ve known a lot of guys whose act hasn’t changed in fifteen, twenty years and they are very successful working comedians. But it’s like a music artist who gets hooked on drugs because they’ve had to sing the same hit song for twenty years. It’s a blessing because you get paid very well, but its also it’s a curse. You have to keep the creative flame alive.”
Kensil ultimately returned to Philadelphia to take care of his parents who both had bouts with cancer. One of seven kids, he’s the single one. So long story short, he takes care of his parents and does comedy. “Doing the art is what has the rewards, not the fame. It sounds so corny and prophetic. Its weird. I guess as I’ve gotten older, I’ve been thinking that way. People might judge it as not having an edge.” Kensil adds, “But I looked back at my calendar, I’ve worked every weekend for the past five years.”
Kensil’s positive attitude about living in Philadelphia has rubbed off on other people in the stand-up community. Many comics in town hold him in high regard – a father figure is probably too heavy handed of a description – but his disposition does have an air of wisdom about it. “I know everybody. I like everybody. There is a nice camaraderie here,” says Kensil. “The Los Angeles comedians kept to themselves and were more guarded, they had a ‘If I don’t make it, I’m done’ attitude. I say, ‘Why? You can do comedy until your sixty years old. You sound like one of the kids from Fame.’”
Kensil compares many comedians’ attitude out there to the film, Logan’s Run. He’s known younger comedians who sometimes behave as if there is a diamond flashing in their hand, signifying their time is up. “Don’t act like it’s the end of the world,” he says. “Especially with comedy, you can do it anywhere.”
Tabitha Vidaurri is a writer from Philadelphia.
For more information on John Kensil,
visit myspace.com/jfrk or JohnKensil.com.