CALIFORNIA ALBUM : Silly Civic Centerpiece Captures a City’s Heart : San Francisco celebrates the 20th anniversary of ‘Beach Blanket Babylon,’ a cabaret-style spoof of pop culture, with a total lack of solemnity.

It takes a special sort of city to fall in love with a show that features absurdly huge pineapple hats, dancing Christmas trees, singing French poodles, and a walking, talking Mr. Peanut doll.

In Des Moines, it might not compute. In San Francisco, the people can’t get enough.

We’re talking about “Beach Blanket Babylon,” a cabaret-style spoof of pop culture that has captured the irreverent heart of this city by the bay. Today marks the stage show’s 20th anniversary, making it the longest-running musical revue anywhere--and a beloved civic centerpiece here.

Week in, week out, “Beach Blanket” woos capacity crowds with its ultra-campy charms. Close to 4 million people have seen it so far, and many are repeat visitors. Cyril Magnin, the late department store magnate known as “Mr. San Francisco,” was the most shameless addict. He went back a record 465 times.

Like its host city, the show has endured much through the years, including the loss of many cast members to AIDS. But it continues to thrive, mostly because it has evolved and remained fresh through 7,300 performances. The current story line, for instance, includes sendups of the Bobbitts, ice warriors Tonya and Nancy, the Clintons and Mrs. Doubtfire.

“ ‘Beach Blanket’ is not only a lot of fun,” says Assembly Speaker Willie Brown, a devoted fan, “it’s a San Francisco institution. . . . It’s right up there with the Golden Gate Bridge.”

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The phenomenon began quite modestly with an outfit called Rent-a-Freak, which provided living props--gorillas on roller-skates, for example--for private soirees. The chief freak was Steve Silver, a native San Franciscan who says the only prerequisite was that performers “have absolutely no talent at all.”

One night after supping in North Beach, Silver and 10 fellow freaks came across a guitarist raking in the bucks on a street corner. Inspired, the crew fetched their costumes and spent the next few hours frolicking on the sidewalk. They made $25 the first night, $85 the next.

“We knew we’d hit it big when the crowd got so deep, people climbed on top of a telephone booth to watch us,” recalls Silver. “Our goal was to make enough money to go south and play Hollywood and Vine.”

They never got to L.A. because Silver, sensing he was onto something, plowed his life savings of $800 into a stage show instead. Building on the freak concept, he concocted a zany homage to a few of his favorite things: Beach Boys music, Carmen Miranda hats and surf movies with Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon.

The June 7, 1974, debut was staged in the back room of a restaurant. The cast numbered 11, including Silver as a dancing M & M, and admission was $2.50 a head. The show sold out.

“The idea was to present a slice of Americana, with a beach-oriented theme,” Silver says. “We dumped two tons of sand on the floor, and we had a lifeguard at the door who sprayed the back of your hand with Coppertone. So, if you went out and came back, he had to smell your hand to make sure you paid.”

Silver leased the makeshift theater for six weeks, expecting his offbeat, lowbrow production would endure no longer than that. But word spread, and the crowds kept coming.

Since then, the show has popped up everywhere from Russian TV to the 1989 Academy Awards. There was a successful run in Las Vegas, and even an invitation to perform at Ronald Reagan’s White House.

While the show has become a popular tourist attraction, 75% of the tickets are bought by locals.

“If you’re a San Franciscan, I think you relate to the show in a special way,” says Karen Bolakian, a sportswear saleswoman who relives the “Beach Blanket” experience every year or two. “Occasionally, we take people visiting from out of town, but they look at you funny and don’t quite get it.”

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The setting is San Francisco’s War Memorial Opera House, where the city’s most elegant, monied citizens meet and greet over “Tosca” and “La Boheme.” On this night, however, Pavarotti is not on the program. And the seats in the gloriously gilded theater have been populated by grown men and women . . . in beachwear.

One graying gentleman sports a tuxedo top, Bermuda shorts and snorkel gear on his head. Another clutches a rainbow-striped beach ball and looks chilly in a scanty Speedo and thongs.

Bruce Gach, in particular, stands out. He has a three-foot-tall fruit basket hat strapped to his head.

“Do you like it?” asks Gach, an earnest, 40-something pediatrician. “I have one that’s four times this size at home.”

Gach has come, along with 3,175 other giggling people, for the “Beach Blanket Babylon” 20th anniversary celebration. Featuring 60 returning alumni performers and a melange of favorite skits from the past, the gala event is a visual feast--complete with a finale dominated by a glittering San Francisco skyline hat the size of a sailboat.

Like Gach, most of those attending are “Beach Blanket” devotees, hooked on its peculiar blend of kitsch and camp and so-awful-they’re-good puns. And what, pray tell, is the appeal? Exactly how have spectators as diverse as Queen Elizabeth, Ralph Nader and Cheech & Chong been seduced lo these many years?

“It works,” says Gach, a 15-year follower of the show, “because it’s people poking fun at other people without the risk of getting sued. Everything is lighthearted. Innocent.”

Silver, the penniless freak turned famous producer, would not disagree, but adds this theory:

“ ‘Beach Blanket’ is like a health spa, a place where you come, forget your problems and don’t have to think too much,” he says. “It’s also a place where you’re guaranteed to laugh. And with the world in the shape it is today, people very much want to laugh.”