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S am Hammington doesn’t swagger around Gangnam in the trendiest threads and dark shades. Instead, he wears a T-shirt and Braves jacket while speeding through the streets of Haebangchon on his scooter. Many expats would be hard-pressed to identify this medium-height, stocky Australian guy as a national celebrity. But when one of his half-mil- lion fans spots him in the wild, they are often left disappointed. He might be familiar to some expats from the odd Dunkin Donuts poster around Seoul or his four years on the TBS eFM radio show “Drive Time,” but it was his goofy an- tics on the Korean small screen that led the 12-year expat to become one of the peninsula’s most famous slapstick come- dians, branded the first foreign comedian to do comedy in Ko- rean. Even though his “Gag Concert” variety show days are far behind him, he can’t go 100 meters before hordes of fans flock to him for photos and au- tographs. But being a household name doesn’t come without its drawbacks. Having a la- bel like “comedian” is difficult to live down, or in his case, live up to. He’s never as funny in person as they expect him to be. Some expat entertainers reflect a subdued version of their on-camera persona: Morning TV darling Bronwyn Mullen is warm and outspoken, while Jake Patchett, host of Mnet America’s “Jjang” K-pop variety show, is just as silly and snarky as his emcee and rapper alter-ego Jake Pains. Others, like the hyperenergetic DIY stars Simon and Martina Stawski of Eat Your Kimchi, are freakishly the same. But Hammington is not throwing one-liners or pulling gags at the table to get a laugh. He is calm and reflective, observing his surroundings, perhaps noting inspiration for future material. Over coffee the 37-year-old Mel- bourne native speaks with a slow, sincere tone. He’s just a normal guy you’d run into on the street or hang out and play video games with. Away from the limelight, he is notably turned off. “A lot of people don’t realize that there’s an on and off switch,” says Hammington. “When I’m on TV, I make people laugh to give them a break from the realities of life. But when I’m at home, I’m not like that.” Though Hammington is grateful for his success, always being thought of as the “funny man” gets tiresome. He says he’s ex- hausted by fans asking, “Are you not having a good night?” when they see him without a permanent smile stamped across his face. It’s not be- cause he hates his job — in fact, he’d like to continue his career in entertainment for as long as possible — but simply because he is not capable of being funny 24-7. “If I was like that all the time I would probably either be dead or in a hospital. It would be physically exhausting to try and keep up with that.” People seem to expect those in the public eye to be smarter, more attractive and better dressed than the common folk. They expect Hamming- ton to be funnier. “A lot of people see me on talk shows, variety shows and reality shows, and think that’s who I must be.” On screen Hammington plays a caricature of himself, but in the real world he’s just Sam, a guy who likes to read, work out, travel and play video games. “I’m not different from anyone else. I just have a different job. Peo- ple make mistakes, people say things they regret. We’re all the same.” THe Off SWICH Being in the limeligh t isn’t easy. Seoul’s funnyman Sam Hammington reve als life behind the laughs ‘ A l o t o f p e o p l e d o n ’ t r e a l i z e t h a t t h e r e ’ s a n o n a n d o f f T V, I m a k e p e o p l e l a u g h t o g i v e t h e m a b r e a k f r o m t h e r e a l i t i e s o f l i f e . B u t w h e n I ’ m a t h o m e , I ’ m n o t l i k e t h a t . ’ S a m H a m m i n g t o n S t o r y b y E m i l e e Je n n i n g s / P h o t o s b y D y l a n G o l d b y
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