Uncured Hams : Scores in O.C. Try Out Their Routines for ‘America’s Funniest People’

Television cameraman Greg Canes suffered nary a scratch through three years of covering unrest in the West Bank and six weeks of dodging Scuds in Operation Desert Storm. But then he came stateside and took what proved to be the most dangerous job of his career.

“I’ve lost a fingernail, I’ve cut up both my feet and I’ll never be able to grow hair on my knee again,” he said Sunday, during a break in the action at Anaheim Plaza.

In this job, Canes, 26, tours the country shooting thousands of precocious toddlers, office cutups and closet impressionists for “America’s Funniest People,” a weekly program entirely composed of under-a-minute routines performed by unpaid amateurs.

The show’s crews typically visit shopping malls and town squares, advertising a $10,000 prize for the best bit they see during the year. With so many hams concentrated in small areas, Canes found out, “things can sometimes get out of hand.”

On Sunday, Canes and his colleagues didn’t suffer any injuries. But there were plenty of groans.

Staring straight into the camera, contestant Dawn Frick staked fame and fortune on this joke: “How can you tell when a blonde has been working at your computer? There’s white-out all over the screen.”

As eyeballs rolled and lips frowned among the crew, producer Kerry Millerick quickly retorted: “Do you know why blonde jokes are so short? So brunettes can remember them.” This got a rousing laugh from the hundred-odd spectators, and the show continued under Millerick’s genial oversight.

For nearly six hours, he and his crew watched a parade of jokesters, facial contortionists and the occasional costumed performer aim for seconds of exposure on national television. Out of nearly 120 contestants, Millerick said, perhaps five will end up on the air.

Not that the selection is all that difficult.

Ten to 15% of the material he sees, Millerick said, are blonde jokes. Another 10% are children’s impressions of Steve Urkel, the annoying young star of the television comedy “Family Matters.” Further, Millerick added, a large but unquantified percentage of material can be classified as “FOTTF”--Funny Only to the Family.

“Everybody does the same thing,” complained show researcher Michael Burns. “It’s not just the blonde jokes and the chubby faces. It’s that the mainstay of humor today is imitation--these people come to us and mimic what they see on television. TV mimicking TV can get a little tiresome.”

And while the program’s staffers mused over the state of American humor, contestants came with makeup, props or mere shamelessness to show their talents.

Cradling his 7-month-old grandson against his chest, tile contractor Tom Cooke of Anaheim offered America what he called a “twongue-tister”: “I’m a pleasant pheasant plucker. I pluck mother pheasants. I’m a very pleasant mother pheasant plucker.”

“I’ve been watching the show for a year,” Cooke, 51, said after his 6-second performance, “and I knew I could be as funny as those people they put on.”

Some performers already had comedic experience. Ida Pennella, 49, a community college instructor, said she had performed routines at meetings of the Knights of Columbus and other civic groups. She hoped to win $10,000 with a routine she called “How to get rid of a booger in traffic.”

In other cases, contestants engaged in what might be considered forms of performance art. In bright stage makeup, Darlene Lindouer, 49, came wearing a big blue dress and a floppy hat, to which she had affixed several tea bags. She pulled out a tiny teacup and saucer and, to the tune of “I Could Have Danced All Night,” downed cup after cup of imaginary tea.

Asked to explain the significance of her performance, Lindouer would only say, cryptically: “It doesn’t mean anything.”

And a few had clearly defined causes.

A man who called himself Francis Scott Kazerski brought an American flag and performed his own composition, “Red, White & Blue . . . God Bless You,” a song he hopes will replace “The Star-Spangled Banner” as the national anthem.

Kazerski, 38, hoped to demonstrate on television his song’s singability: He said he had composed it in easy-to-reach low registers, in contrast to the present national anthem’s notoriously difficult pitch.

Despite the mirthful atmosphere of the shoot, however, even “America’s Funniest People” could not entirely laugh away the nation’s mood.

Many of the contestants said they had recently lost their jobs; rather than fantasize about sports cars and trips around the world, they said they hoped to win the $10,000 prize in order to pay off mounting debts.

Robert Kintner, a 42-year-old unemployed construction worker came planning to do “a skit about a grandpa married to a young woman.” When producers demurred on that idea, Kintner quickly came up with another: an Elvis impersonation, which he concluded by baring his toothless smile to the camera.

“When I smile, everybody laughs,” Kintner said. “I’m out of work. Maybe ‘cause of this, they’ll call me up to be in a movie.”

Many of Anaheim Plaza’s merchants also hoped “America’s Funniest People” would be an economic boon. With its dark, empty corridors and shuttered storefronts, the 37-year-old mall has been in decline for the past decade.

“This mall is a pretty sad place,” said Q. Player, a manager at the Broadway, Anaheim Plaza’s remaining department store. “I thought this show would be good for business but, man, I don’t think it’s enough.”

The television program “brought people to the mall, but not too many are carrying packages,” sighed John Machinaverna, owner of J. Mac Jewelers.

Indeed, when Millerick asked spectators at the shoot how many had been shopping that day, not one person raised his hand.

But at least one merchant was glad “America’s Funniest People” had come to the mall.

“It’s had no effect on business at all,” said Bob Hayes, of Hayes Furniture. “But my kids got to do their armpit version of ‘The Addams Family’ theme for TV.”