Jamie Kennedy: Man-Child In The Promised Land

With his starring role in Son of the Mask, America's merry prankster is dipping his clown shoe into the waters of - gasp! - maturity. Will anyone believe it? Does he?

I THINK I'VE FIGURED OUT JAMIE KENNEDY. The 33-year-old actor, comedian and sketch-reality television maven (not Apprentice-style reality; the good, Candid Camera kind) is a very serious guy, a burgeoning multi-hyphenate of Hollywood moguldom, whether he wants to be or not.

This class-clowning, hip-hopping Upper Darby, Pa., native has always been his own cast of diverse comic characters, spiraling through roles as sassy black women and infomercial sales nerds during the run of his famed The Jamie Kennedy Experiment television show. His last comedy flick, Malibu's Most Wanted, was a self-penned take-off on his own youth. And though he's working on a top-secret series for Comedy Central, there are confusing chinks in his yukster armor.

After all, this is a guy whose first film role was a bit part in the dire Dead Poets Society; an actor who went on to major successes with noted directors like David O. Russell in Three Kings, Baz Luhrman in Romeo + Juliet and, most crucially to his career, Wes Craven in the Scream horror series, in which he held his own against genre-queen Jamie Lee Curtis. Holding his own is nothing new: Kennedy's performed ably with comic heroes like Steve Martin and Eddie Murphy in Bowfinger, as well as acting against the legend of a comic actor whose career he most likely wouldn't mind having – Jim Carrey.

That last one would be in Kennedy's new comedy, Son of the Mask. Rather than merely aping Carrey's maniacal howls and leers from its original incarnation, Kennedy – as a still-struggling cartoon illustrator – plays it much cooler, allowing his dog to wear the mask and co-star Alan Cummings to take on Masklike tendencies. Mostly importantly, though, Kennedy plays a young married man with a child (OK, it's nearly an Exorcist baby, but stay with me), making this character his realest, most adult yet. Kennedy cries. Kennedy yearns. It's quite something to see.

Yet I sense that, for all his growth, Jamie Kennedy is struggling with this very conundrum: “How can I mature in this business while still being able to play Splinter Cell?”

Let's find out, shall we?

What's the whole socio-economic picture of you growing up in Upper Darby – totally blue collar?

Jamie Kennedy: Oh my God! It's like one of the biggest suburbs in the country. Totally blue collar. A lot of Catholic schools with different parishes.

Were you a happy Catholic?

JK: I was a pretty happy Catholic … for a while (laughs). It was a very innocent place to grow up. And every day your innocence got broken. You get out of the bubble of your cloistered parish and you learn more. Every subway ride – to Jersey, to Manhattan – each form of public transportation brings you into a different world. It was a good thing I lived near the subway.

Who did you find yourself fitting in with?

JK: Mostly the wise-asses. Not trouble-makers. Not outcasts. Not even traditional class clowns. Just wise-asses.

Since I know you got in on the hip-hop tip when you were, like, 12, I have to ask – first song? How did you happen upon it?

Jamie Kennedy: I remember some black kid in my neighborhood just giving me this cassette tape – Fat Boys. Corny now, right? But I remember going to the playground and playing basketball while hearing “All You Can Eat” behind me. It was amazing to me. Until the same guy gave me a Run DMC tape. It made no sense, like something from outer space. Until I studied it. Next thing you know, I'm going to my neighborhood theater to see Wild Style and Breakin'. Will Smith (a fellow Philadelphian) used to come to the record store in my area all the time, always making personal appearances to sign his new vinyl or cassette. I stole a few and had Will sign them (laughs).

I know you dressed the part.

JK: I have my pair of parachute pants. Go to the club. Adidas with the fat laces. Chains.

So you weren't exactly “B-Rad,” your character from Malibu's Most Wanted. But you weren't too far from it either.

JK: Yeah, I wasn't as big a jerk. And at least I grew out of it like you're supposed to. I think.

That brings up an interesting point – you're 33. Childishness is expected in actors. But people expect you to grow up and mature. Everything you do, career-wise, is peered at through that microscope. Is that tough – having to grow out of something you might still like?

JK: It's something I think about every day: How long can I act, or be, this young when my chronological age is growing? It's rough getting older when you still feel younger or want to act a certain way. As an artist – ugh – I always look to add layers to what I've done. But, personally – well, a lot of my older friends are emotionally stunted – haven't grown beyond age 13. Sometimes I think I'm still there.

Even so, you've certainly had wildly successful dramatic roles. It's a huge part of your résumé. It's just that your comedic instincts are younger. And you do guide the largest part of your career – writing and producing for yourself. So you're steering your own ship.

JK: So am I going to have to grow up? It's a struggle. I appeal to kids. I'm youthful. Rather than have one single girlfriend, I go on lots of dates. I hang with my parents. I play video games. I'm a big kid. But I really do wonder what the hell growing up entails.

So you don't think you'll ever grow all the way up?

Jamie Kennedy: No. Besides, look at Rodney Dangerfield. At 60, he had the same youthful persona that he had at 30.

Were acting and comedy separate realities for you when you first pursued show business?

JK: In the acting class I took then, people would just laugh at stuff I did. The things weren't meant to be funny. My instincts were just … laughable. I actually think people laugh at me most when I'm trying to be serious. I'm a lot more serious than people know. When I would do these scenes during The Jamie Kennedy Experiment, I honestly thought I was Tom Cruise. But you could tell that the crew would just be like, “What a dork.”

What's the worst you've ever been heckled?

JK: At the Comedy Store in Los Angeles, in, like, 1990, I used to do these “pot luck” comedy nights to a mostly black audience. I'd be wearing my paisley shirt. Thought I looked cool. Next thing you know, they're screaming “Ice Ice Baby” and yelling for me to get the fuck off. But with all the discouragement, I'd always find the one kernel of encouragement and run with that. Play to smaller crowds, find out how to get four laughs in six minutes. Work that. Write more material. Then get six laughs in four minutes.

You did the math. You built the act. Next thing you know you got your face out and the rest is history. How did Scream change the game?

JK: It totally put me out there. Wes Craven took me under his wing, made me his go-to guy. You have no idea how that helped me. He so pushed for me to get that role.

And like Three Kings, it showed an emotional range – quirky, wide and deep. You've worked with amazing directors, genuine artists. What did you take away from the experience?

JK: I can't believe who I worked with. Baz (Luhrman) was the guy who made it OK to own the scene, to not be afraid to ask your director for another take or to give your input; all because I couldn't hit my mark with his original blocking. Ever since, I've been so not timid. David (O. Russell) is always improvising and always looking for everyone's input – the driver, the caterer. Frank Oz (who directed Kennedy in Bowfinger) made me aware of selling big laughs through subtlety.

That's definitely all part of your show. What was the best part of developing The Jamie Kennedy Experiment – other than having your own show, with your own name?

JK: I'm more of a student of human nature – a conceptualizer, a character – rather than a great writer. But my dream was to be on Saturday Night Live. I even auditioned for it and didn't make it. So getting my own show wasn't just about me. It became an exorcism. I really let those characters out. Some still aren't all the way out.

Is that why you'll be doing your own show at Comedy Central?

JK: Yes, but the Comedy Central thing is way under wraps. What I can tell you is that it's broader, revolving more around stereotypes. Less prank, more reality.

Despite the fact that he has Devo helmet-hair and spins like a top, your character in Son of the Mask is your most adult role yet. Was there any trepidation about portraying adulthood on any level? Or trepidation about the fact that it wasn't your creation?

JK: I had trepidation on every level. The whole “you can't be Jim Carrey” thing; the “not my script” thing. But I liked this script. And I wanted to be in something big. I've been in stuff that people liked. But not something ultra-commercial. It seemed as bold an experiment as anything else I've done. It also helped that I wasn't going to be Carrey's Mask guy. Everyone has the Mask in them in this movie. That really helped.

While you're not a trip-and-slip comedian, there's a big physicality to everything you do. Is maintaining some exercise regimen important in all this?

JK: It is. I'm, of course, on the New Year's workout program. But I always have to hit the gym – do weights a few times a week, get on the treadmill. And I do a lot of yoga.

You've always been your own biggest, loudest effect. Was it rough having to act against effects for the first time?

JK: Totally. It was nothing but the director yelling, “Now!” “Run!” “Pow!” while I was supposed to be chased by a large hammer.

You cried in Son of the Mask. Dude – I was touched. Are you that good that you can tear up at will, or do you have a sense memory you key into?

JK: I either imagine an awful thing happening to my mom and dad, or I just use the never-blinking trick so that my eyes just well up. Now everyone knows my secret.

Scary last question: You have money now, but you come from a blue-collar upbringing. Do you ever get a shiver of fear about having to go back?

Jamie Kennedy: Every day. Every second of every minute. Even though I'm away from my home, my hometown never leaves my mind. I brought my family to Vegas for Christmas. Paid for everything. Bought them tickets to all the shows. And there's my mom in my ear going, “$200 for these tickets?” or trying to give me coupons to pay for stuff. I spend half the time I'm with my mom begging her to please not let me look like a cheap-ass.