The kid of comedy

Alejandro Kolleeny keeps it clean at Gotham Comedy Club.

The kid of comedy

The freshest new face in standup comedy has zits — and talent

By Will McKinley

It’s five minutes until show time at Gotham Comedy Club, and comedian Alejandro Kolleeny is relaxed and confident.

“If this audience doesn’t like me, I’m not necessarily going to reevaluate my act,” the lanky, soft-spoken comic says as the large crowd buzzes with anticipation. Unlike his offspring, Alejandro’s father is not quite so butterfly-free.

“Right before he goes on I tend to get a little nervous,” the elder Kolleeny confesses. “But he exudes so much confidence on stage that it makes me not so nervous.”

Jonathan Kolleeny has been dealing with pre-show palpitations since the summer of 2003, when his talented son began his standup career — at the age of twelve. Now a 16-year-old high school junior, Alejandro Kolleeny is pursuing his dream thanks to Kids ’N Comedy, an educational and performance collective for junior comedy aspirants.

“It’s comedy for family-oriented people,” says co-founder Jo Ann Grossman. “We’re from the Bill Cosby School of Comedy: clean, not crass.”

Standup is truly a family affair for Grossman and Stu Morden, her husband of 19 years, and the driving force behind the program. The couple began producing variety shows for kids more than a decade ago and then added talented kids to the mix but it wasn’t until 1996, when the BBC filmed a show that featured a lot of kid comics, that the calls from young comedians began pouring in.

“Nobody had ever heard of kids doing standup comedy before,” Grossman said. They began auditioning potential performers and “in the middle of one kid doing his material, Stu said, ‘Stop for a second. Now try it this way.’ And we realized that there was something that we could teach them.” The couple established Kids ’N Comedy to serve these budding young comics through classes taught by a rotating staff of ten coaches, an intensive summer comedy camp, and of course, gigs.

After stints at a jazz club, a rock venue and a synagogue, Kids ’N Comedy took up residence at Gotham in 2000, where children as young as nine get a chance to practice their comedy stylings on the same stage as top professionals in the industry. For junior joke tellers, it’s like playing Little League at Yankee Stadium.

“I really want to be a comedian,” Kolleeny says, with the kind of naked honesty you can only get from a kid. And, from the looks of things, he is well on his way.

“He started off at age twelve writing these brilliant, dark, edgy things,” says Karen Bergreen, a comic and instructor who has coached kids for most of her 10 years in the business. I was twelve I still thought that farts were funny. Alejandro was born to do this.”

In addition to classes and regularly scheduled performances, Grossman and Morden also offer on-stage critiques for program veterans like Alejandro.

“Stage time is essential to becoming a good standup comic,” says comedian and coach Darlene Violette. “And getting that stage time is next-to-impossible, particularly if you’re new.”

Or under-age. Every night of the week, amateur comics in New York City can find an open mic in a bar to work out their new bits. They can also find something else in those bars: booze.

“I’ve experienced a lot of, “Sorry, we can’t let you perform because we can’t even technically let you in,’” Alejandro laments.
Thanks to Kids ’N Comedy, Alejandro gets his stage time. In addition to the Sunday afternoon Kids shows and the Friday evening Teen shows, Grossman and Morden also package the young cut-ups for benefit shows “on the road.”

“Audiences love these kids,” says Jane Condon, a Connecticut-based comedian, mother and emcee of the Teen shows. “Sometimes I forget I’m not their mom. I’m like ‘Alejandro! Get a haircut!’ And he did! It’s the first time a teenager ever listened to me.”

But, like most kids, Alejandro doesn’t always do what he’s told.

“He’s always been somebody who has pushed the boundaries of what he’s able to do at a certain age,” Jonathan Kolleeny says, as the lights dim and the performance begins.

Karen Bergreen takes the stage and warms up the half-parent/half-kid crowd with a joke about Cookie Monster’s new low-fat diet.

“If you’re gonna go after someone, go after Big Bird,” the quirky comic complains. “You don’t get hips like that from eating bird seed.”

She continues with jokes about her two young sons, all the while playfully picking on wide-eyed youngsters seated in the front of the house. Within minutes, the normally edgy nightclub has transformed into a friendly, safe place for kid comedians to play.

And play they do. Portly teen Keith Marron self-deprecates about his weight. (“I’m semi-big, like a semi-truck.”) Twelve year-old Andrew Vattier does an impression of President Bush with a Pinocchio nose. (“So we’ll know when he’s lying.”) Jake Sidransky complains about clothes shopping with Mom. Ryan Drum gives an Oscar-worthy performance of a mock-infomercial called “Cheat to Win!” And elder statesmen Max Fox, perhaps the most polished of the bunch, cracks wise about heading off to college. All are confident. All are comfortable. And, much like the adult version of the art form, all are male. (Note to funny girls: Represent for your gender!)

As gales of giggles wash over the audience, Mistress of Ceremonies Bergreen announces Alejandro. And the roller coaster ride begins.

“The other day I drank long-expired milk,” he says, while fiddling with the mic stand. “And nothing happened. I beat the system.” The one-liner is met with a collective chuckle. Alejandro discounts it as an “opening joke” and continues. “I like to walk up to strangers on the street and say, ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’ Then walk away.’”

The crowd laughs, clearly warming to the young intellectual. An experienced comic knows when he has the audience. Alejandro has them, and knows it. And he keeps them, for the most part, for the next thirteen minutes — far more time than any of the other performers. The audience does not seem to mind the length of his set, or his tendency to litter his brilliantly written material with chatty observations about their response, or lack thereof. Then he pauses as if to conclude his set, but instead launches into a joke about getting sick from a giant-sized ice cream sundae called the Carvel-anche.

“My stomach was like, ‘What’s a pound of ice cream doing in here?’” The audience enjoys the punch line, but the young Jedi has lost the Force, and the crowd. He concludes with a meandering joke about his grandmother, and exits the stage to warm, appreciative applause.

After the show, Alejandro laments the up-and-down response from the crowd.

“I was on stage too long,” he chastises. “I made everyone tired of me.”

Stu Morden, who was watching the proceedings from the audience, begs to differ.

“They were a pretty dead audience,” the dean of Kids ’N Comedy says bluntly. Later, he explains, “In the past, when things weren’t going well on stage, Alejandro would cut it short and bolt. Now he doesn’t do that. He just keeps working.” But the educator resists the urge to over-scrutinize his young student. “I try to find a balance,” he adds — not an easy thing to do in the confidence-crushing world of comedy.

“The highs are very high, the lows are very low and it’s hard, at a young age, to take those extremes,” Karen Bergreen confides, as the audience files out. “All the parents in this program are very involved with the kids, in an emotional support kind of way.”

As he and his dad prepare to head back home to Brooklyn, Alejandro Kolleeny keeps his confidence afloat.

“Most comedians do comedy for 10 years before they get anywhere,” he says. “By the time I get out of college I will have been doing it long enough to get somewhere, without 10 years of temping. This is what I want to do as a career.”