COMEDY REVIEW : Lots of Laughs From a Gloomy Gus

John Mendoza’s act goes along like some sort of downshifting comedy express, careening from subject to subject (and sometimes from joke to joke) in a hit-and-run but ultimately hit-and-miss manner.

Maybe the misses would seem less glaring if some of the hits weren’t so sharp and potent--or if his material were rooted in a strong, definable point of view.

On some nights, in front of some crowds, his world-weary, just-say-no (to everything ) cynicism might be sufficiently strong to bind together his freewheeling collection of lines and bits. But it didn’t play that way Tuesday at the Irvine Improvisation, where he continues through Sunday.

On the plus side, no one is going to confuse Mendoza with one of those bland, interchangeable-parts comics who increasingly are littering the stand-up landscape. He definitely has an edge; his non-stop negativism helps ensure that--though it’s kind of like going to dinner with someone who finds a cloud in every silver lining. You’re a little relieved when the meal ends.

Feeding that edge is something of a mean streak. Noticing a man with very close-cropped hair near the stage, Mendoza said: “You’ve got some haircut there. Are you a mental patient or in the military?” Along with being rougher, Mendoza is also bluer than most Improv comics.

Having said all that, though, it must be emphasized that some of Mendoza’s stuff is very funny. His low-key, choppy delivery yields intermittent waves of laughter, as opposed to an ever-building response over the course of a set. He’s a spare, trenchant writer, and his perpetual hangdog expression epitomizes deadpan .

As if to telegraph the sarcasm-tinged indifference that would be pouring forth from that expressionless puss of his, his opening words Tuesday were: “Hi. How are you? You look good. Pleasure to be here. Real thrill.”

A moment later came the first of many segments that began “I hate.” (“I hate people who wear contacts. They lose ‘em (and) they think it’s your job to find them.”) The things that Mendoza hates are as wide-ranging as they are numerous, from perky people to kids (“they’re like old people with energy”), to life itself.

He also seems to hate extraneous words. Not only are most of his pieces eminently tight, but he also doesn’t bother with segues much of the time. Which means there were sequences like this:

“Ever wonder if illiterate people get the full effect of alphabet soup?” Pause. “You know what the abbreviation for July is? J-U-L. You’ve gotta be in a hurry.” Pause. “I saw an ad in the L.A. Times that said ‘If you have a hard time making decisions, call us at 279-8483 or 569’.” He didn’t need to finish the second number; the laugh had already come.

Such staccato bursts of whimsy helped offset the set’s philosophical underpinnings, which hold Mendoza up as an incurable Gloomy Gus, a fatalist who sees plenty of things wrong, but not much hope or joy.

He articulated this fatalism after bumming a cigarette from someone in the front row and lighting up: “I like smoking. Smoking’s great. Keeps me from jogging. . . . They say if you smoke, it knocks off 10 years of your life. It’s the last 10. So what do you miss--the drooling years?”

He took some brief detours into absurdist territory. In a section on television and film, he revealed that his “all-time favorite movie was Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds.’ I saw it with my older brother. We got home that night. I went to bed. He opened all the windows and poured croutons on me.”

Quite early in the show (in case his style or accent had left any doubt that he hails from New York), he said: “I grew up in New York. Ever seen a New Yorker give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.” Mendoza leaned over, as if speaking to someone unconscious on a sidewalk. “Get up before you (bleeping) die.”

The 55-minute set could have stood more interplay between Mendoza and the crowd. For one thing, in a running exchange with an Algerian audience member and others, he proved quite comfortable and adept at creating something from the moment. For another, because he is good--and surprisingly quick--such exchanges would break him out of his predominantly static modus operandi, putting an energetic spin on the proceedings.

Mendoza is headlining a solid, diverse bill that also includes Rob Schneider (who’s been on “Letterman” a couple of times) and Mark Brazil. Tonight only, transplanted Texan Bill Engvall will headline; Mendoza will do an abbreviated set.

The Improv is at 4255 Campus Drive, Irvine. Show times: 8 p.m. Thursday and Sunday, 8:30 and 10:30 p.m. Friday, 8 and 10:30 p.m. Saturday. Tickets: $7 to $10. Information: (714) 854-5455.