Mandeville Vaudevillian: Why Did This Flaming Idiot Quit While He Was On Top?
by Webb Williams
When my Inside Northside editor first asked me to write about The Flaming Idiots, I told her I didn’t really do political humor, and I’d be darned if I had to go to Baton Rouge for interviews, especially nowadays with the price of gas being what it is. She said that that sentence was much too long and proceeded to explain. The Flaming Idiots, a trio of zanies, performed successfully for 20 years and then deliberately decided to leave show business for the real world. One of them now lives in Mandeville. Hmm.
I reconsidered, and did a bit of research. The New York Times called The Flaming Idiots, “Good-natured, high-spirited, silly fun ... bubbling with constant humor … a theatrical experience ... footloose, fanciful, free-spirited.”
Intrigued, I met with Kevin Hunt, the local member of the disbanded trio, and got a DVD of their last show. As The Flaming Idiots, they were called “Pyro” (Jon O’Connor), “Gyro” (Rob Williams) and “Walter” (Kevin). After traveling and performing at renaissance festivals, fairs, colleges and theaters (including on Broadway) in 38 states and Canada, Mexico and England, Kevin and his wife chose Old Mandeville to settle down and Blue Ribbon School their 9- and 11-year-olds. But more from Kevin later.
Now, via DVD, on with the show—alas, The Flaming Idiots’ sold-out final performance, held at the New Victory Theater in Times Square in 2004, and aptly called “The Flaming Idiots & Their Very, Very, Very, Very Last Show EVER!”
The Fantastic
Farewell Performance
The lights dim as a strange voice booms over the anxious crowd: “Hello and welcome to the very last Flaming Idiots show. No matter how many lives depend upon it, turn off that cell phone. Now, since this is the last performance of The Flaming Idiots, they have nothing to lose; please take time to find the exits to the rear and sides of the auditorium. No, I mean it—really look at those exits. Now, imagine yourself, screaming and running through the theater, pushing little children out of the way. And now please, at this time, get ready to … lower your expectations …”
The intro tells of three young men—21, 20, and a whippersnapper of 17—traveling the country, living in a van, and honing their all-too-recently-acquired skills. We’re talking serious chutzpah here, folks. The opening continues, “These three young men are now old men, as you’re about to see.” Yeah, like 40-something is old, I moaned.
Then the three zanies run out like banshees, dressed in colorful comic attire, hopping and whooping it up as they masterfully juggle burning sticks to the amazement of all. Oooopps. Spirits sag as one of the Idiots drops a miss-juggled torch. As the trio hang their heads and slouch offstage, the audience gives a collective “awwww” in sympathy for the fiery faux pas.
Undaunted, our heroes fling themselves back onstage, jumping and frolicking around while flinging flaming torches into the air and juggling them back and forth to one another with masterful precision. Then, sadly, their mastery abates, as once again they blow it. And once again, the audience is sympathetic, totally with the blazing troupe, hoping the third time is the charm.
Frenetic Energy
The Idiots return, tossing their flaming rods into the air while the band that Spike Jones would have been proud of fiddles excitedly, and, perhaps because the trio made the Sign of the Cross this time, they succeed, to the delight and amazement of all. Thunderous applause—and relief—all around. Gyro, the talkative one, explains that every time they finish that routine and no one’s on fire, it’s a total success. The crowd’s still clapping.
There’s a lot of energy here. Pyro introduces himself as the “hulking form of manhood with corrective lenses.” Our own Mandevillian vaudevillian, Walter, the straight man with long, long, long wooly hair that would make Jimi Hendrix do a double take, says, “My name is Walter. Hey.”
As they continue, one gets the impression that they’re channeling the hilarious repartee of the Marx Brothers combined with the madcap antics of the 3 Stooges, superb Cirque du Soleil skills and hip references to Bob Fosse, William Shatner, Alan Greenspan, Tiger Woods et al. Having honed their comedic and athletic skills for 20 years, the Idiots have the audience in the palms of their talented hands. Bows, vociferous spectator approval—and now, the show really begins.
The high-spirited, silly, maniacal and amazing fun unfolds for almost two hours, with audience participation including a young Melissa (“Of course your name is Melissa; you were born in the ’90s”). There’s a unique theatrical oomph that is at once spellbinding and corny-but-excusable. Many of the jokes are “aw”-inspiring. (Like that one.) But you’re glued to your seat as the Idiots perform incredibly creative acts.
In one segment, Gyro hits golf balls across the stage into Pyro’s mouth with uncanny precision. Tiger, eat your heart out.
What tha—? Out come five big beanbag chairs, juggled with a mass of color; ultimately, all three Idiots are tossing the large furnishings with masterful, albeit foolhardy, precision.
Coin-catching fans are amply rewarded by Pyro (the big guy who kinda’ looks like an athletic Tom Arnold, but is much funnier) and his amazing expertise, in spite of the comedic derisive commentary of the other two Idiots. Two. Three. Four. Five. And an astounding six-coin attempt. After a few tries, he gets them all, to the encouraging applause of a relieved audience.
Yep, Strait Jackets. Figures.
The three dramatically don strait jackets, all the while cracking the audience up with their antics and comedic patter and encouraging yet another audience member to participate in the next bit. They reference Houdini, David Copperfield and Penn & Teller, but say they won’t perform the escape trick upside down ever again, because in a prior stunt, children from the audience beat them with sticks ’til candy fell out. So this time, they are all tied together securely in their strait jackets by the guy from the audience, who is asked to blindfold himself and, at the count of 25, fall back into their arms. The three frantically free themselves just in the nick of time, catch the trusting volunteer, and everyone loves the exciting escape.
Then comes—shades of “Ghost Busters”—the intrepid trio donning goggles and leaf blowers on their backs, miraculously balancing beach balls 12 feet above them! They angle and maneuver the balls into metal hoops high above the stage with the expertise of a Shaquille O’Neal. The crowning touch is a levitation by the three Idiots of a huge beach ball that suddenly erupts in a shower of confetti. With triumphant musical accompaniment and proud performer arms folded, the crowd goes ballistic with appreciative applause.
Signaling a brief intermission, a drive-in movie-like ad suggests that patrons go to the concession stand for a snack “or even a full meal.” With all the flavor of the ’50s, this spot gives the Idiots time to get the stage swept for the next routine.
Break over. Gyro comes out, mounting a ladder so he can perform his unique drum solo. The short, boisterous-but-funny fellow bounces balls onto a kettledrum with all the rhythmic passion of a spectacular chariot race scene. Joined by Pyro on tuba, Walter on triangle (never went to music school), and band members on accordion, xylophone and percussion, the ensemble dazzles the crowd with a Japanese-drums-meet-Weird-Al-Yankovic assembly of rhythmic mayhem that drives the audience bonkers with glee. It’s less like a musical rapture than it is a musical rupture, but who cares at this point?
Way Down Upon the Swami Ribber
Next, it’s time to feature our Mandeville connection, Walter. Or should I say Swami Walter, as the turbaned, dhoti-wearing mystery man is ungraciously brought onstage via hand truck, seated on what must be a magic carpet. He demonstrates his amazing physical dexterity with a broomstick held in both hands. In a bizarre contortionist demonstration, he manipulates the stick under, above, around and beside his entire body. His arms and legs must be made of wet spaghetti, one thinks.
In yet another side-show routine, Swami Walter lies stretched across two small ladders, one supporting the top of his shoulders, the other his ankles. Reference is made to his “phenomenal abdominals” and “fab abs.” Then, with his excited theatrical flair, Gyro steps onto Walter and says he’s “going to think about Kierkegaard. And, ya’ know, even when I have heavy thoughts like that, the Swami can keep me aloft.” Gyro jumps down, and then leaps from the floor to the unsupported stomach and back again. And again. “Wanna see that again?” Swami Walter raises his hands and makes the “time out” gesture. “Okay, wanna’ take a break from that one?” Next up, the amazing Swami inflates and swallows a balloon longer than a loaf of Leidenheimer’s French bread. Balloon swallowing. Why? I dunno, but the kids love it. Don’t try it at home, y’all.
Bullwhips and
Bungled Juggles
Next up is Gyro, who, in a gaucho hat and outfit, bounds onto the stage cracking a mean bullwhip as he dismembers playing cards, newspapers and almost Pyro and Walter as they trustingly hold smaller and smaller pieces of paper.
As their last bit, amazing—and amusing—pin juggling follows, with Pyro and Gyro whizzing pins closer and closer to Walter’s head, flailing his super-long wooly hair. Gyro comments on the hair, “Looks like there’s been a radioactive explosion at the Rogaine factory.” The funny-bone spectacle continues as the troupe adds more and more pins, dropping them with no excuse. “Some jugglers are afraid of dropping. NOT US! We embrace it and make it our trademark!” After a few more drops, Walter adds, “Maybe that Champagne before the show wasn’t such a good idea.” They go to an astonishing 10 pins.
A lengthy, rousing standing ovation and shouts for more ensue, and Gyro asks for a very large male volunteer for the next stunt. A giant New Yorker steps up onstage, and Gyro leaps on his back, climbing to stand on top of his massive shoulders. The Flaming Idiots then do what they’re famous for—juggling fiery torches.
The crowd loves these guys. Nearly two hours of solid entertainment has flown by, flawless to the finish, and they made everyone forget their troubles and embrace their wild abandon.
Applause is bittersweet as the show comes to the final curtain. Walter’s foot-long coiffure gets a quick crew cut from his partners, transforming him from a wild and wooly zany to a guy who might be a carpenter or something. But, then, he and Pyro put on McDonald’s shirts with drive-thru headsets as Gyro puts on a suit and Jack-in-the-Box head. The accomplished comedic jugglers hang up their pins as the curtain closes on a 20-year career, remaining wacky to the end.
From Broadway
to Mandeville
Kevin Hunt reminisces about The Flaming Idiots—and why they disbanded after 20 years.
“The three of us [Flaming Idiots] met at a renaissance festival south of Dallas in a town called Waxahachie, which I think in Indian means, ‘buffalo dung heap.’ Had to watch your step. We juggled, walked on stilts, joked and never let a lack of talent keep us from doing a show. Our show was always character-driven, and evolved by not relying on the juggling or fire-eating, but always on the humor.
“My parents always had a hard time with us doing this for a living. They were supportive to a degree, as far as a hobby that I would get over and then start doing something more productive, but I just kept doing this. I remember when my family came to see the show, and by the end of the show, my father was actually laughing so hard that tears were coming out of his eyes. And that made me feel really good, just to see him enjoy the show that much. Then I realized that a week earlier, I had been at his house and he’d had the same reaction to “Police Academy 4.” But it still meant something to me.
“We were on TV shows like “Comic Strip Live,” “Sunday Comics,” “The Today Show,” “The Tonight Show” and lots of others, but we always preferred to perform onstage with a live audience.
“Audience participation can result in all kinds of shenanigans. Once, Rob picked a guy whose shoulders were as wide as he was tall—a giant. He got up on his back, climbing around on him, stood on the guy’s shoulders and the guy grabbed him and did a one-armed press, about two or three reps with him before releasing him. Hilarious.
“When we started, we were just three kids in a van, traveling. After 20 years, with families, it got old. My wife, Mary, and I moved from Austin to Mandeville after I retired. It was after Katrina, and we wanted to enjoy the benefits of rebuilding a community where we lived ’til I left show biz. Mary’s best friend lived in Mandeville, and Mary fell in love with the area while on a visit here. We truly enjoy living here and sending our two kids to Blue Ribbon schools. My wife does upholstery and I’m a carpenter, but I still haven’t found my dream
job—building theater sets and solving technical problems, but being paid for it. Rob is still active in entertainment, writing in L.A. Jon performs as a juggler and in mud shows—comedic theater in the mud at renaissance festivals, kind of like, er, ‘theater in the ground.’
“We wanted to stop playing the game while we could still play the game. We wanted to go out on top like ‘Seinfeld’—not linger and overstay our welcome like ‘Happy Days.’
“The best part is that we’ve been able to entertain over a million people live during our 20 years together. I couldn’t have planned this ride, but it was good getting here.”
The Flaming Idiots DVD can be purchased at madammogulproductions.com or by calling 1-888-GET-IDIOTS (1-888-438-4346).
