COMEDY: Laugh tracks

Reviews of the latest comedy discs

Julie Seabaugh

Zach Galifianakis


Live at the Purple Onion (DVD)

(4 stars)

In the annals of famous twin brothers (Castor and Pollux, Joel and Benji Madden) bearded comedian Zach Galifianakis and his "sibling" Seth are perhaps most at odds. Interspersed with live material from Zach's 2005 taping at the famed San Francisco nightclub, the repressed and partially envious Seth questions the motives and ethics of his brother, who only really bonded with Seth over a Fugees song. Seth doesn't "get" Zach.

Of course, Seth is another in the stable of characters Zach employs in his quest to redefine the notion of stand-up comedy. "The 5-Year-Old Who Complains about Having a Beard" and "The Timid Pimp" appear in the quirky set as well, but none have as much of an impact as the character that is Galifianakis himself. The brooding alt-hipster employs a piano, hard stares, false starts and a steady supply of alcohol to keep his unhinged stage persona from going off the rails.

Never one to dumb down material, he constantly goes for bits that take just a half-second longer than most to detonate: "For five years now I've been addicted to cold turkey." "The only time it's good to yell out, ‘I have diarrhea!' is when you're playing Scrabble. Because it's worth a shitload of points."

Like Seth, audiences may not "get" Galifianakis' comedy, but in an industry built on borrowed jokes and personalities, his is an undeniably fresh take on age-old eccentricities.


Lisa Lampanelli


Dirty Girl (CD)

(3 1/2 stars)

Lisa Lampanelli—fave of Howard Stern and anyone who's caught a recent Comedy Central Roast—takes on everyone: soccer moms, "dirty homos," "the Asians," "the blacks," Oprah, Tom Cruise, "lesbos," expectant mothers, Hispanics, Lance Armstrong, starving Ethiopian kids, Arabs and fat people. Yet it's anything but divisive. By laughing at our differences, she figures, we negate them. It's not a new philosophy, but whereas someone like Don Rickles' shtick is that of defensive bewilderment, Lampanelli's centers more on her personal experiences with breaking taboos. "The chocolate love is for Lisa Lampanelli!" she enthuses. "I have blown more black guys than Hurricane Katrina."

Lampanelli knows her strengths, and she knows her audiences. The only thing that scares her is "that God is gonna see my act one day and think I mean all these crazy jokes."


Wanda Sykes


Sick & Tired (DVD)

(2 stars) Wanda Sykes has been at her best when her feathers are thoroughly ruffled (Curb Your Enthusiasm, Clerks II). When she's merely annoyed or, worse, bemused, her premises tend to skew overly broad and generic.

In her second concert special, the observational bits on American Idol, old folks surfing the Internet, swimming with dolphins, her preference for dogs over men ("Dogs are loyal ... and they can lick their own balls") fall short, and even when she takes on meatier politics, the barbs she shoots at the Iraq war, Dick Cheney, health care, reproductive rights, gay marriage and racial profiling are deadly dull.

Sykes was never a sassy, Original Queens of Comedy-esque contender; her career decisions and material have been both smarter and more serious. But when she lobbies for mainstream appeal with such tired punchlines as this one, regarding the deficit—"We are so broke, we're like MC Hammer broke"—she not only sacrifices laughs, she sacrifices her once-potent ability to make audiences see issues in a new light.


John Pinette


I'm Starvin' (DVD)

(2 1/2 stars)

The best material derives from what a comic knows. Where, then, do John Pinette's passions lie? Here's a hint: He's the only working comic to reference food more often than Jim "Hot Pockets" Gaffigan.

Sure, his run in Broadway's Hairspray gets more than a passing mention, as do the highly unlikely (for him) activities of skiing, camping and visiting a water park, but from the time the former Las Vegan takes the stage at last year's Montreal Just For Laughs Comedy Festival, turkey, turnips, McDonald's, KFC, Starbucks and Cold Stone Creamery overrun his thoughts. His family reminds him of food. Travel reminds him of food. Pinette's act lacks punchlines. Instead, his earnest exaggerations and frenetic eyebrows carry him through conversational stories in which he vents surface-deep social frustrations and mimics people, animals, Gollum and Ewoks. For some, he's vaguely reminiscent of John Candy. To others, he's a master of the slow burn who slides in occasional linguistic humor. Either way, his message is clear: Decisions about food represent decisions about life.

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