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Leno is happiest in two places: on a stage and under the hood of a car. He owns a warehouse where he keeps 19 vintage automobiles, including a 1915 Hispano-Suiza and a 1954 Jaguar XK120. He also owns about 40 motorcycles. He reads the most esoteric motor magazines and cruises the San Fernando Valley scouting out junk dealers for items like a carburetor for his '33 Indian motorcycle. On his home answering machine, the message says, "If you're calling about something important, like cars or motorcycles, leave a message. If it's about anything else, call my manager at . . ."
Leno's own engine is never at rest. A foot is always tapping, a hand slicing through his hair -- he is a perpetual-motion machine. He says he has the attention span of a gnat -- not necessarily a handicap for a talk-show host -- but he has the stamina of an Energizer battery. He rarely goes to bed before 4 a.m., and "I feel like a good-for-nothing if I sleep past 9."
Leno says he's most relaxed when he is onstage. On a Sunday night before hosting the Tonight show, he can often be found at the Comedy and Magic Club in Hermosa Beach, trying out new material. "Sometimes," he says, "I'll drive downtown to test a single joke." He likens doing his act to an athlete working out: a stand-up has to stay in comedic shape. For Leno, it's an addiction and a pleasure. "Vacations are fun," he says, "for a day or two. But they're not as much fun as doing your act." Stand-up for him is entertainment at its purest: a guy with a microphone, a stool and a glass of water.
Leno's nightclub act is his television persona times two: the gestures are bigger, the voice is louder. He's also more ornery, less the smiling bar mitzvah boy. In order to try out his dozen or so new jokes, Leno performs his whole 80-minute routine. His act is sealed with a give-and-take with the audience. "And what do you do, sir? You certainly don't teach posture here in town. Oh, a quality engineer? Ladies and gentlemen, here is the problem with our country -- the man's slouching." When the laughter ebbs, he tells the audience he'd like to read them some material that he's trying out for Tuesday night. "Now if the jokes don't work," he says in a schoolmarmish tone, "don't go watching Arsenio or anything."
Getting him to analyze what makes him funny is like trying to force a surfer to describe a wave. "Funny is funny," he says with a shrug. He finds self- analysis pompous. Pressed, he will squirm and say his comedy springs from his female side. "I always liked the funny things that women liked. You grow up trying to make your mother laugh. I enjoy making women laugh more than men." And so he does: Did you see the movie Hook? It's about a 40-year-old guy acting like a nine-year-old boy. Gee, that's something women don't get to see enough of.
When he performs, he is always himself. He's not dirty, he's not malicious. His style is simply to take an everyday premise, then explore it with rigid logic until it becomes ridiculous. He is the voice of common sense teased out to the absurd. Says his comedian friend Jerry Seinfeld: "His uniqueness is that he is sophisticated and broad at the same time, so hip and so ordinary. He has an act that you can do in SoHo and Vegas." Seinfeld smiles with illumination: "Jay always knows what's wrong with this picture."