Comedy Scene
Bumatai taking show biz easy these days

By Derek Paiva
Advertiser Staff Writer

"PLUR? What the heck does that stand for?"

"Peace. Love. Understanding. Respect," answers one of Bumatai's employees, spelling out the acronym, essentially explaining the raver philosophy to his befuddled boss. "The 'R' can also stand for responsibility."

Bumatai shakes his head, sighs, and looks at the recently arrived reporter. The flowing-black surfer-boy hair is now neatly cut and peppered with flecks of white. The choice of clothing a crisp black polo shirt and matching slacks, sans rubber slippers. Even the humor reflects his increasingly Seinfeldian view of the modern world. But the Nanakuli-by-way-of-Los-Angeles voice, deep laugh, and occasional flash of bad-boy wickedness in his dancing eyes remain pure vintage turn-of-the-1980s Andy Bumatai.

"You gotta wonder why they couldn't think of something that sounds more pleasant when you say it as a word," says Bumatai, sounding less like the comedic arbiter of all things local that he was than the still-learning parent of two pre-teenagers he really is. "I mean, come on. PLUR?"

It's got to be comforting to the comic's similarly aged and similarly working-class fan base that the 47-year-old Wai'anae High School dropout is still lamenting his growing pains despite being a successful husband, dad and business owner. These days, though, Bumatai's slapstick jabs at growing up leeward and local have been replaced by sharp observations of the absurdities of everyday life.

Take signs and labels, for example.

"There's a sign on gas pumps that says, 'Return handle when done fueling,'" says Bumatai, straight-faced. "Is this a big problem? How many people do you know that just throw that thing on the ground?"

Bumatai moves on to effortless ruminations about supermarket fruit labels ("Why do you have to put a sticker on an apple that says 'apple?' Is somebody really going to mistake it for an orange?") and McDonald's large, yet impossible to read, in-restaurant nutritional information chart ("This sign is 52 inches by 30 inches, with five-point font black writing on white paper. It's like the advertising company said, 'How can we make this completely unreadable for the public?' ").

He laughs off his now-sporadic comedy appearances and their consistent billing as Bumatai's grand return to stand-up. For the record, Bumatai's last large public gig before Saturday's Tommy Davidson opener at the Hawai'i Theatre was a Kalapana reunion concert in April.

"If you work infrequently, every time you come back it's seen as some kind of return," laughs Bumatai, who hardly misses his days as a workaday comedian first in Hawai'i, then on the Mainland circuit. "For the last three years, I've been concentrating on building ... (Wireless Paradise) up, which is a full-time job." Though still often asked to perform live, Bumatai keeps his stand-up appearances down to three or four a year, and only accepts stuff he finds interesting.

"Most of the time, I say no," admits Bumatai. "I don't do birthday parties. And if somebody calls and says, 'Eh, our canoe club is trying fo' raise money and we was wondering if you could come down and perform little bit for us,' I turn 'em down. I want to do stand-up comedy that's fun. Playing the Waikiki Shell with Kalapana is fun. Two shows with Tommy Davidson? That's going to be a gas."

More than just Bumatai's first Hawai'i Theatre performances, the Saturday opener will mark his first interior look at the renovated Hawai'i Theatre. Which brings the question, why hasn't he headlined a Hawai'i Theatre gig himself?

"To be honest, I don't think I'm strong enough to fill it," laughs Bumatai. "It's not that I don't have name recognition. It's just that my audience — the group of folks I'm strongest with — just can't go out. They've got kids. They've got jobs. They're older. They want to go to sleep." Besides, Bumatai would much rather opt for a one-time gig in a small jazz club for 50 people than bear the pressure of headlining a big show.

"I'm almost a victim of my own image," smiles Bumatai. "I'll be 48 in December, but people seem to remember me as this 25-year-old kid going 'Howzit, braddah' with the local humor and all that stuff. I'm not putting that down, because it was wonderful. But it was a phase in my life, and I've moved on. I'm older and maybe a little wiser, but I'm not that person anymore. And some people still kind of expect that."

With an eye toward retirement, Bumatai is even starting to wind-down his hands-on involvement with Wireless Paradise. Day-to-day operations of his three-store, three-year-old business has largely been delegated to employees while Bumatai dreams of a retirement spent rebuilding vintage Harley-Davidson motorcycles and working the occasional stand-up gig.

"I'm like the voice on 'Charlie's Angels' now," Bumatai says of his Wireless Paradise duties. "I just call in and say, 'How ya doin? Do this and do that.' "

And the onstage Andy?

"I'm more honest with myself on stage nowadays," says Bumatai. "When I talk about things, I'm not just making stuff up to get laughs. I think I'm a better person now than I was then. And I like myself better, so I'm more comfortable on stage. If I do a bad show, the world doesn't end, and I realize that. I'm just more comfortable. Period."