ART REVIEW : Watered-Down Surrealism in S.D. : A show of 12 California artists contains works that do justice to originators of movement but also includes pieces that exploit its popularity.

In a 1924 manifesto, Andre Breton introduced surrealism as “a new vice,” delivering ecstatic freedoms to its addicts--freedom from the contamination of reality, freedom from the entangling skeins of logic, freedom for the mind, the heart, the unconscious to roam at leisure.

Surrealism’s “mysterious effects and special pleasures” continue to tempt many an artist and seduce many a curator. This year’s abundance of shows related to surrealism--locally and elsewhere--has turned the surrealist label into a catch-all of instant virtue. Certainly the heady conceptualism that reigns in today’s art scene begs a more intuitive, sensuous antidote, but what is being passed off as contemporary surrealism doesn’t always fit the bill.

“Echoes of Surrealism” (at UC San Diego’s Mandeville Gallery through Oct. 28) is a show of 12 contemporary California artists, and contains several resounding voices that do justice to the ghosts of Breton, et al., but also includes some weak, derivative whimpers that exploit the movement’s popularity.

Surrealism, from its inception, has always been less a style than a frame of mind. Defined as pure psychic automatism by Breton, surrealism suggests a sensibility devoid of reason, “exempt from any aesthetic or moral concern.” Black humor, rebellious pride, fidelity to chance and a disdain for the regimental social order all made surrealism a potent postscript to the anarchism of Dada. Political critique was rarely spelled out in the art itself but was present in the artists’ own revolutionary acts, in their defiance of convention, their poetic poison arrows sent to the guardians of the status quo.

Given this heritage, it is surprising how overt and literal much of the imagery is in the Mandeville show. Carolyn Cardenas paints a painstakingly detailed chronicle of decadence and despair in her hinged triptych, “West of Eden.” An updated version of Hieronymus Bosch’s “Garden of Earthly Delights,” Cardenas’ painting takes Southern California as its target, particularly its inhabitants’ indulgences in carnal pleasures and material diversions. A couple soaks in a hot tub while the world around them erodes--physically, ethically, socially.

Like Cardenas, Deborah F. Lawrence engages in slick social satire that has little to do with surrealism’s poetic subterfuge, but much to do with decaying value systems and art’s impotent, though highly visible, role in this process. Lawrence’s painted montages twist familiar icons of art and popular culture, from the Mona Lisa to Marilyn Monroe, into humorous, irreverent positions.

Other artists in the show have pledged a little too much allegiance to individual members of the original surrealist circle. Mark Bryan aligns himself uncomfortably close to Rene Magritte, while Phyllis Shafer borrows heavily from Yves Tanguy. Their efforts are overly stylized. They haven’t the freshness and startling oddity of their precedents from 60 years ago.