Friday, February 20, 2004 Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal

On the Money

Jeff Hobson aims to attract a word-of-mouth following, but giving away cash doesn't hurt

After hosting several variety revues, Jeff Hobson anchors his own one-man show. Photo by Craig L. Moran.

Money talks. Even more forcefully, it seems, than the flamingly gay character who wants you to kiss him on the cheek for it.

The dude in the front row considers the offer, looks back at his friends for affirmation, then decides it's worthwhile to grit his teeth and pucker up. He delivers the smooch in exchange for a handful of singles.

Thus is the power of "Jeff Hobson's Money and Madness Show," in which randomly dispersed bills attempt to speed up the long, slow marketing process it would be to build word of mouth and answer the question, "Who's Jeff Hobson?"

Frequent showgoers may already know. The comedian-magician has been in town since 1987, and for years hosted "Spellbound" at Harrah's. More recently, he emceed two other variety revues, "V -- The Ultimate Variety Show" and "The World's Greatest Magic Show."

But now, finally headlining his own one-man show at the Excalibur, Hobson and producer Dick Foster are betting a few buckets of cash can eliminate the year or so it took to build up former unknowns, such as Mac King or Clint Holmes.

"It's like we're breaking new ground here," Hobson says of the idea of literally throwing money -- some of it scattered from buckets amid Rip Taylor-style confetti -- with no strings attached. "No games, no nothing."

"A lot of people really don't get it at first," he adds. "They don't think it's real." But word travels fast. Even in its opening days last week, the new show generated a few repeat customers. "I think it's going to be one of those cult-type things," he predicts.

All the more perfect for Hobson's culty stage persona, which fuses the most mincing and manic traits of Liberace and Paul Lynde into a whirlwind of fabulousness that simply cannot be contained.

While Hobson waits for a man he's pulled onstage to shuffle a deck of cards, he breaks into a waltzing Snoopy dance before declaring, "You want me, don't you?" It's as outlandishly outre as a drag show, and plays to middle-aged tourist couples in the same winking, yet inoffensive manner.

"It's not really on purpose. It's just that when I found the character, I remembered the traditional comedy," Hobson says of his across-the-board appeal. "I was never a fan of anybody but the old comedians," such as Red Skelton and Danny Kaye. "I think that's why people all over are a little more apt to enjoy me."

Like most professional magicians, the Detroit native began performing as a pre-teen. "Ironically, Lance (Burton) and I competed over the years (as teenagers). We would be in the same competitions, all over the United States. He would win first (place), I would win second. ...

"I finally said, `Forget it. I'm going to do comedy.' I know I need to do another thing because I need to be the best at what I'm doing."

Working birthday parties and Cub Scout banquets as a teen, "slowly I realized that the sleight-of-hand stuff didn't pay my bills. They would pay me bigger money for comedy."

They paid him so well, college wasn't even a temptation. "By the time I was 18, I was making more money doing shows on the side than my father was bringing home in a paycheck as a tool-and-die worker."

"I had sometimes a thousand bucks sitting in this drawer, from weekend shows when I was a teenager. I felt bad about it, because my father was working his ass off to bring home $400."

Later, he became a staple of the corporate circuit, one time being flown all the way to Australia for a single performance. Corporate shows can become a comfortable trap, he says. "You pick on Bob, and everyone else knows Bob. Here, people are hesitant. It's like a party where nobody's introduced."

The Hobson character we see today started with a small crowd on a cold night at a comedy club in the '80s, after someone gave him a rhinestone-studded tie to wear onstage.

"I was like, `I don't know, I'll try it,' " he recalls.

"As soon as I walked out, I had these big, burly Harley guys with tattoos looking at me right off the bat, and snickering to themselves. Then came the words that have launched every performance since then: `I know what you're thinking.' " That got a laugh.

"But I'm not." A bigger laugh. "I'm not! " A bigger laugh still, so he kept going.

"I was ... but I'm not anymore." Then he remembers looking at the Harley guys to deliver the capper: "But I could be again."

"And that night basically was the birth of this weird, sexually ambiguous person," he says.

That person is somewhat less ambiguous in its latest incarnation, where Hobson accuses one patron of having "a straight eye for the queer guy" as he models a variety of sequined blazers and smoking jackets.

One recent night, Hobson feigned exasperation with a female recruit who wasn't following his lead on a disappearing egg trick. "Patronize my gay ass!" he said.

And they loved it. But if they didn't, there was always the money.