Orny Adams goes from flop to JFL headliner
Bringing people together with jokes, not dividing them, is his goal
When his first name is typed out on my computer, my autocorrect insists on turning “Orny” into “Ornery.” Which is somewhat ironic in that, over the years, Orny Adams has often been labelled “ornery.”
Irony abounds in the life of Orny Adams. He changed his name from Adam Ornstein, in order that it have less of an ethnic sound. But here he is at the Just for Laughs comedy festival’s Ethnic Show, playing the designated Jew — although his roots are clearly incidental to his act.
Regardless, Adams has been absolutely killing it as the closer since the launch of the Ethnic Show last week. Not to detract from host Maz Jobrani or Matteo Lane, but, frankly, Adams has been worth the price of admission alone, with his intensely hilarious views on life’s minutiae, focusing on everything from flossing to smart fridges and pretty much nothing on matters ethnic.
Since first coming to the festival 18 years ago, this is the first time Adams has closed a show here. He’s finally getting his due, and it’s about time. He possesses one of the sharpest and freshest wits in the business, but he has been too often misconstrued.
Many might recall that Adams was featured along with Jerry Seinfeld in the 2002 documentary Comedian. Seinfeld was established as the king of the comedy hill; Adams was seen as the angry and brash up-andcomer and took plenty of heat as a consequence.
“That still tags me to this day,” Adams says, over coffee in the lobby of his boutique hotel. “I’m not angry. I’m passionate. I just want to make people laugh.
“Some may want to be the best serial killer or the best Ponzi scheme operator. I just want to be the best comedian around. I would be being dishonest if I didn’t want to be considered the funniest guy any night I’m on stage. You have to have that sort of fight mentality. But for whatever reason, I feel that the comedy community really turned on me because of the film. It was so disheartening, but it’s only made me work harder.”
Times have changed. Adams is getting respect. For good reason. His material and delivery are wholly original. Comedy is not a business for him. It is a craft. He preps the entire day for the 20 to 70 minutes he’ll perform in the evening. He plans his every word meticulously. Same with his wardrobe and set.
“My comedy philosophy may be different from that of others,” says Adams, 47, who was born outside Boston, lived in New York for a spell and is now settled — as settled as he can be — in L.A. “A lot of comics get up on stage and they want to divide. Immediately, they want to say that politically, they’re here; ethnically, they’re here. Whatever it is.
“I go up there and when I look over my audiences, I see young people, older people. I see every shape, every colour. It’s beautiful. I get up there and talk about refrigerators or ceiling fans. And 10 minutes into the act, everybody forgets what their identity is and they become one. I use comedy to point out how we’re more similar than dissimilar. Which I think is something the world can use right now.”
Audiences invariably lap up Adams’s shtick, but he is his own harshest critic. “Audiences may give me a standing ovation, but I can be down on my performance because I know I made a mistake and that I have to do better.”
Curiously, Adams insists he’s mellowed some, that he is more a low-t (testosterone) than a high-t guy these days. That is somewhat debatable. After all, his recent Showtime/the Movie Network special is called More Than Loud, an acknowledgment that he may be more vociferous and animated than most — albeit more passionate than irate.
“I’m leaving it all out there. When I get offstage, I’m completely depleted. Doing the best performance ever is all I care about.”
Doing the best performance ever is not what transpired during Adams’s first appearance at JFL 18 years ago. Unlike the then-unknown Kevin Hart, who got his big break at the fest’s New Faces series, Adams bombed doing the same show a year earlier.
“It was probably one of my biggest career failures,” he recalls. “All the attention was on me. The festival had discovered me. I was in all the newspapers. But I got up on stage and I was flat. I didn’t deliver. I think I had a network deal that was pulled out as a result. I went into free fall, and it has taken me years to get where I now am.
“I’m thrilled to be here closing a show now, but, honestly, I can’t believe I’m not at a different level. It’s very hard to see every year which comedians they are all excited about. I wish comedy was less of a business and more of a meritocracy. I wish it was the guys who were really funny filling the rooms. Not those with the best marketing.
“Yet that’s the reality. I’m not angry 24/7, otherwise I’d have a heart attack, but that’s a sense of injustice I deal with every day. Still that won’t stop me. I’ll keep going as long as I’m improving.”
I go up there and when
I look over my audiences, I see young people, older people. I see every shape, every colour. It’s beautiful.