MORT SAHL REVIEW

Wednesday, October 9, 1996 ˇ Š1997 San Francisco Chronicle

Sahl's Star-Spangled Satire
Comedian's wit is as sharp as ever, sparing no one in 'America'

STEVEN WINN, Chronicle Staff Critic

The signature V-neck sweater and folded newspaper date back more than 40
years, to Mort Sahl's origins as the thinking man's stand-up at the hungry i in
North Beach. But at Monday's opening of ``Mort Sahl's America'' at the
Alcazar Theatre, the resilient 69-year-old satirist quickly put to rest any
notion that he'd be trading on old material in his comically ripe homecoming.

One night after the Clinton-Dole debate, Sahl came out of the chute
peppering ``the old geezer from Kansas'' and ``the sociopath from Arkansas''
with deflating instant analysis. ``Dole was in good taste,'' Sahl said,
commending the Republican candidate for ``not bringing anything up. It
probably didn't occur to him.''

Clinton inspires no passion, Sahl observed, ``including Paula Jones'.'' Even
debate moderator Jim Lehrer -- and, while Sahl was at it, public television in
general -- got whacked. ``With great respect, Dr. Mengele,'' was Sahl's
telegraphic parody of a judicious PBS interviewer. That's the way Sahl
works, apolo gizing for digressing, with his self-deprecating little wrinkle of
a smile, and delighting in it all the while. In a little over two hours, he
digresses his way across a great swath of American life, perfectly at ease on
an empty stage and knowing exactly where he's headed every step of the
way.

His announced topics are politics, women and the movies, all cunningly
linked in the show's final moments. But if a jab occurs to him at any
moment -- aimed at Pat Buchanan, Larry King (``I read parts of your book
all the way through''), Labor Secretary Robert Reich's size or Barbra
Streisand's fatuities -- he works it into the flow. His scripted show, which
has played in New York and Los Angeles, has a buoyantly spontaneous feel,
as if Sahl were free-associating.

Sahl hides his devastating critiques behind a genially rumpled manner,
faultless timing, evenhanded skewering of the left and right and a
share-the-wealth comic spirit. He credits his ex-wife, Dole and others for
some of his best material, cites Adlai Stevenson's definition of a liberal as
``someone who will lynch you from a lower branch'' and reveals the comic
side of a Havana cigar-puffing Al Haig.

Relating his visits to the hilariously sober Perot and Nader conventions, Sahl
admits to a fondness for populist movements. But at heart he's the innocent
skeptic with a ringside seat at White House dinners and high-roller
Hollywood parties, faithfully recording the hypocritical bombast and
showbiz-as-substance of the American body politic.

The richest and most sustained material in the show comes in his
bite-the-hand-that-feeds- him rebukes of Hollywood tinsel liberals. Sahl,
who has been working as a scriptwriter since the early 1980s, delivers one
perfectly etched caricature of his directors -- and the absurdities of
moviemaking -- after another. We muse on why Robert Redford must be
Jewish, eavesdrop on a couple of intense Polo Lounge breakfasts with
``Regarding Henry'' director Mike Nichols and ride through Beverly Hills in
a luxury convertible with Sydney Pollock. Asked why he ``envies'' the street
people sleeping in doorways, Pollack ingenuously replies, ``Well, they don't
have to come up with a hit.''

Oliver Stone gets a walk-on and promptly describes himself not as a director
but as ``a social historian.'' Sahl supplies a definition: ``A social historian,'' he
says, ``is someone who reports accidents to eyewitnesses.''

Sahl's picaresque tour of the Hollywood funhouse concludes with two
surreal Clinton fund- raisers, 3 1/2 years apart, at Streisand's Malibu
compound. The laughter is unbroken in these expert set pieces, but Sahl
makes them count for something more. His recounting of his own brief
exchanges with Clinton strike a lingering note of sadness, an echo of the
endless striving and futility of politics.

Sahl is like a veteran prizefighter who thoroughly knows his craft and never
seems to break a sweat. In a delivery that makes it look easy, his humor
seems to lack the indignant passion of Jackie Mason, another veteran comic
who has crossed over to theatrical venues. And there are times when Sahl
does seems to be shadowboxing and marking time. The Warren
Commission is old business, and Sahl's remarks about the ``new woman''
he's encountered on his post-divorce dates seem generic.

But he has a way of fitting even the most well-worked material to his own
sensibility. Sahl uses his inscrutable logic to conflate the arguments
surrounding abortion and entitlements. ``The Democrats don't want anyone
to be born,'' he reckons, while ``the Republicans don't mind if you're born.
They just don't want you to live long enough to collect Social Security.''

``Mort Sahl's America'' makes even the most absurd speculation -- a
corporate downsizing of the Crips and the Bloods gangs -- seem plausible.
From beginning to end he's got his feet planted firmly on the ground. ``We'll
live. We always do,'' Sahl concludes of next month's election. Living through
the campaign is a whole lot more fun with a lift from Sahl.

Š The Chronicle Publishing Company

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