Petthai Wongkamlao aka Mum Jokmok

The thought never crosses his mind: No way, Petthai Wongkamlao says, such a thing is not possible. He's dead certain there is not even the remotest chance that one day he'd wake up and find that he'd stopped being funny, that his gift of the farcical gab had been lost forever. ''That's not my kind of nightmare,'' says the country's top joker. ''I just know that will never, ever happen to me.''

Petthai, better known by his star pseudonym Mum Jokmok, has shown that his words aren't just a promise but a proof. With the features of a classic court jester -- a face born for perfect mockery and a short, almost stumpy body that can take on a varying degree of cartoon-like ludicrousness depending on his choice of burlesquing costumes --Mum, 41, doubles his funny act with quick-witted jests and homegrown, even low-brow, gags untranslatable into other tongues. That he's not scared of losing his comic knack shouldn't be a surprise, especially when Mum finds himself more ubiquitous than ever in his 20-year career.

Besides his usual stint on many TV shows, this weekend Mum sports a Beatle's mop to star and direct the movie "Yaem Yasothorn," a feast of romantic tomfoolery set in an Isan village; Yasothorn is also the home province of the comedian. And still in theatres is the ballyhooed Tom Yum Goong, in which Mum plays a sidekick to the amply-muscled Jaa Panom. In the film he plays an Australian cop, yes, a real Aussie policeman, which is another proof of how most Thai clowns are ready to stretch the limits to get you a laugh.

Midnight My Love

But Mum's most impressive turn of the year is his leading role in the surprisingly heartfelt Cherm or "Midnight My Love". In something resembling an acting stunt, the professional buffoon plays a straight-faced taxi driver with a painful past who falls in love with a massage parlour girl. By defying his own archetype and succeeding in being sad and not being funny, Mum shows he has a talent that goes beyond his usual range.

''When the director contacted me, I refused him at first,'' Mum says. ''But then I realised I shouldn't back out when I didn't even give it a try. So I did it. And it was so difficult to hold my face very still and try to be this character who's not funny. I knew people would laugh at me when they simply see me walk into the scene, and my job was to make sure that that wouldn't happen.

''I was glad I did that film, though a lot of my fans complained because they couldn't accept me like that. A crying comedian? Isn't that an oxymoron? Most people only want me to be funny, and that's what I think I should do. I don't think I will play another serious role in the near future. Once is enough.''

Thai Comedy

That's because Mum knows how laughter echoes louder than a sob. Funnymen have long been the indispensible seasoning of Thai entertainment, and today they even threaten to steal the whole show for themselves. In the current situation when Thai cinema stands on its wobbly legs due to the audience's lack of confidence in its quality, jokers have become the only bankable pull. It happens that the clownish face of Mum -- as well as other comedians like Teng Terdteung, Thep Po-ngam and Nong Chernyim -- can attract people into the theatre with more effectiveness than the faces of the leading cast, because even if the film is bad, the crowd knows it's harder for the guy to be unfunny.

The three top-grossing movies of the year so far have testified to this. Tom Yum Goong, likely to be 2005's top earner with over 200 million baht in receipts, has Mum cracking jokes in it. The sleeper hit Luang Pee Teng (The Holy Man), raking in 140 million baht, starred the mustachioed Teng Terdteung and was directed by another comedian, Note Chernyim. Then there was Payak Rai Sai Na, which starred an ensemble of jokers as superspies and pulled in nearly 80 million baht.

The Bodyguard

Mum's first effort as actor/director was The Bodyguard, which was a hit last year thanks partly to that unpalatable sequence when his character runs naked across the Victory Monument, with a small plate covering his privates. Yaem Yasothorn, Mum's second movie as actor/director, is a period romantic comedy that mimics the Technicoloured vividness of old-fashioned Thai films. Mum came up with the story, complete with dialogue in Isan dialect, and helped develop the script; the rural, buffalo-prowling setting of Yaem Yasothorn may seem jarring at a time when Siamese cinema is trying hard to become more and more urbane, but it's made in the belief that the majority of viewers still demand movies with a pure, provincial appeal that reflects the vaudeville spirit of our silver screen history.

''Some people snub a comedian directing a movie,'' Mum says. ''Did I study filmmaking? Of course not. But a lot of people who are making movies right now didn't graduate from film schools either, so why pick on we comedians?

''When I directed the film, I didn't speak to my crew in a 'filmmaking language'. I just told them what I wanted, and I just knew how to make it all funny. With television it's easier because you have to be funny for only 15 minutes. In a movie you have to sustain the momentum for one and a half hours. That's what I'm concerned about, and not all the techniques of modern filmmaking.''

The one who's studying modern filmmaking is Mum's 20-year-old daughter. She's currently in the second year at a film school in Toronto, though Mum says he never consulted her regarding the matter of his own movie.

Yaem Yasothorn

Yaem Yasothorn is set in the bucolic world of golden haystacks and green paddies that Mum grew up with. He's an Isan son from Yasothorn himself; his house, he says, is next to the province's main movie theatre, Yasothorn Rama. After getting tired playing pranks on his family members, Mum discovered that people found his monkeying-around funny and came to Bangkok as a boy of 17. He started doing stints as a ''cafe comedian'' -- playing a mix of sharp and vulgar gags in nightclubs known as cafes. Ten years later he moved to television where his fame rose, and continues to rise further today. Mum has become synonymous with comedy in this stressful period such that he doesn't have to do more than walk into a scene and raise his thin eyebrows to set people off on a roaring good time.

''For me, I'm not acting funny. I am funny,'' Mum says unfunnily, stressing his belief that one is either born a funnyman or one is not. ''But that doesn't mean I didn't take my job seriously. On the contrary, doing television shows remains a challenge because I have to keep it fresh week in week out.

Mum Jokmok Autobiography

''I never sit down to analyse why I am funny; I'll stop being funny if I do that, right? I like to observe people, that's my creative resource. What people do, their body language, their ways of speaking, that's an endless source for gags. The important thing, I think, is that I'm very confident once I have to be on stage. I'm a pro, and a pro needs to be confident.''

And like a pro Mum takes his balderdash seriously. A clown's duty is even more relevant, he believes, in a society that's losing its sense of humour due to everyday pressure. Even when his shenanigans, the full repertoire of nonsense from cross-dressing and schoolplayish plays to ticklish one-liners, are viewed as low-brow or tasteless, Mum keeps going because he still think he can make people happy.

''I'm grateful that people still think I'm entertaining,'' he says. ''I never think if my fans are slum people or hi-so types. Really I do not have time to care. If they see me play and laugh, then it's all right.''

Mum, however, plans to take a step further: stand-up comedy. ''I want to do it because I haven't done it before, and it seems like a real challenge, doing a live show like that,'' he says. If preparations go as planned, the show will be ready by early next year. Then we'll see if it's another proof that once being a funnyman means always being a funnyman. Mum's serious about it, so please take him seriously too. Don't laugh at him, not just yet.