Tomáš Kubínek - Clown Jazz At Its Finest
Tomáš Kubínek is not only an acrobat, storyteller, magician, and comedian, but he’s also one of the most dedicated performers and kindest humans I’ve met in a long time. In addition to his thrilling solo shows, Kubínek does a lot of pro bono work at detention centers and performs for young audiences – he did a morning show for Big Island school kids at Kahilu before an evening concert last Wednesday.
Born in Prague, Czechoslovakia, Mr. Kubínek, 53, entertained nearly 500 students—some still in kindergarten. The one-hour show featured magic tricks, contests, and nonstop fun and laughter. He even opened it up to Q&A near the end.
“Is it true you were smuggled out of a country when you were little?” asked a young female student in the crowd. Kubínek paused for a moment to think and replied, “It’s true!” He then shared that he was three years old when the 1968 Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia happened and that he fled the country with his family. They eventually settled in Canada.
Events from his early childhood frequently appear in his routine. For instance, the day he and his seven siblings visited their great-grandmother. As a special treat, she gave them one piece of candy to share – each taking 10-second licks before passing it to the youngest, Tomáš. While this candy-sharing process took place, Kubínek mentioned that his great-grandmother played old opera records on a hand-cranked gramophone. To mimic the sound of a crackly, old record, he skillfully crinkled a noisy candy wrapper and sang opera in a high-pitched, nasal voice – occasionally adjusting the speed and repeatedly getting stuck in a groove.
Kubínek‘s act isn’t just about odd facial expressions and physical humor; he also uses improv, which he calls “clown jazz.” As he leaves the stage, he climbs through the crowd, balancing his small frame on the narrow theater armrests, having fun with some German tourists along the way. Eventually, he picks a tall, physically fit man to climb onto his back on stage.
“The dance of the six shoes” features Kubínek strapping four shoes attached to struts onto his knees. Classical orchestral music plays as he showcases his “walking machine” contraption across the stage – it’s like watching an old jittery Kinetoscope film, one frame at a time.
Another nearly impossible stunt involves Kubínek balancing a glass of red wine on his forehead, which he says is so big he calls it his “fivehead.” While whistling “It's a Sin to Tell a Lie” and strumming an authentic banjo-uke (banjolele), Kubínek performs a complete backward somersault and, without spilling a drop of wine or using his hands, he ends by drinking the glass empty.
Perhaps the most spectacular feat occurs near the end of the show. Wearing old aviator goggles and a helmet cap, and with the help of a harness and a few strong stagehands to support him, Kubínek flew clockwise above the Kahilu’s stage. His large yellow wings unfolded into an impressive display that drew cheers and applause.
Kubínek disrobed to an oversized white nightshirt and made himself smaller by slipping his bare feet into the sleeves. Carrying a lit candle and his trusted banjo-uke, the entertainer wrapped up the evening by singing “The Song Is Ended (But The Melody Lingers On),” a tune made famous by Irving Berlin in 1927.
Just as the crowd was starting to leave, Kubínek came out to shake hands, sign programs, and take a few photos. There’s no formal meet-and-greet or merchandise to buy at his shows. When I asked why, he responded sincerely, “When I committed to becoming a performer, I told myself I’d only make money from the performance, and nothing else.”
Kubínek embodies a small spark of madness, and that’s what makes his memorable show genuine and appealing.
Photos: Steve Roby
