RESTAURANTS : GIMME SHELTER : Great Scene. Great Babes. Loud Music. This Is One Sanctuary That Isn’t. : S. Irene Virbila

At Sanctuary, things get going late. At 8, the maitre d’ has seated only a handful of tables in this trendy Beverly Hills supper club. By 9, groups of two or three are pouring in the door, most heading up the twin staircases to the bar, the rest slipping into the ample black leather banquettes at the edges of the room. Upstairs, a musician croons frantic, revved-up standards.

The former American Legion hall on Robertson debuted as the club Asylum in 1990. Two years later, it was transformed, briefly, into Cafe Morpheus. And last November, the space reopened as Asylum’s synonym, Sanctuary. This time around, it has an amorphous Gaudi-esque look, something like an enormous cream-colored, supper-club cave with primitive-looking, parchment-like hanging lamps casting a faint yellowed light. “What are those little lampshades?” I ask the maitre d’, as he opens a bottle of Lucien Crochet Sancerre. “You don’t want to know,” he says but tells me anyway: “Lamb’s testicles.” Uh huh.

Considering the hype the place has been getting (“Baywatch’s” Pamela Anderson and “Picket Fences’ ” Costas Mandylor are investors), the food can be surprisingly good. Brian Keller, who was last seen as executive chef at the new Mortons, has a chance to do more of his own thing here. Ordering off the debut menu, I get a very decent meal. Chilled, freshly cooked shrimp come with a take-no-prisoners cocktail sauce; quail stuffed with chorizo sits on a thin corn-studded cake. Venison au poivre is rare and delicious, very peppery, and comes with a bundle of haricots verts and horseradish-spiked mashed potatoes. For dessert, there’s a warm and fluffy cheese tart surrounded with lots of dark berries.

Another night I come with a couple of friends. As we steal bites from a round of appetizers (tequila-doused ceviche heaped in Belgian endive leaves; seared scallops with shiitake mushrooms and a tangy black bean sauce; a roasted vegetable strudel with a kicky beet vinaigrette), a young woman walks by in a black vinyl dress so extraordinary that every person in the room watches her, eyes riveted. More and more bionic vixens filter in until the scene becomes hypnotic. Just as our main courses arrive, a conga line of spectacularly endowed women jostles past our table, headed for the back room. And that’s when John Wayne Bobbitt catches me staring and winks. It turns out that the star of “John Wayne Bobbitt Uncut” and all these voluptuaries were refugees from a private party that the fire marshal had closed down.

An extraordinary night, but most evenings at Sanctuary offers enough interesting visuals to distract people from their plates. On the Bobbitt evening, the food is respectable, considering. Lamb chops are lightly smoked, seductively lamby, served with a compote of apples and fresh mint and a sort of spaghettini pancake. Grilled, garlic-encrusted pork loin is also good, presented with caramelized plantains and a wonderfully complex black bean puree.

Some weeks later, on a Saturday night, we can’t get a table until 10:30. By that time, the music is deafening; we talk during the infrequent breaks. The waiter practically has to shout in our ears.

The valiant waiters do their best despite the chaos, explaining specials, bringing new wine glasses or extra plates before we have to ask. The menu has changed substantially since our last visit--and not for the better. Ahi tuna sashimi is draped over a salad of Asian greens drenched in salty soy and sweet vinegar. Leathery vegetable potstickers look as if they were flattened by a truck. Southwestern beef tartare is garnished with bright red tortilla chips and dabs of guacamole, but where’s the flavor?

A new dish of Hawaiian prawns with buckwheat soba in a peanut sauce has possibilities--if it weren’t so dry and gummy. But the wild mushroom ravioli is dreadful, a single huge ravioli made from pasta that’s stiff as cardboard (the ricotta filling, however, is decent enough).

A thin piece of halibut encrusted in sesame seeds looks like a scrap of Harris tweed, but the fish is overcooked, and the sesame-seed crust sticks to the teeth. A tall filet of beef is beautifully cooked, but its potato galette is soaked in a dark, sweet Port sauce. I love the plate of sauteed spinach, cooked so minimally it’s more a warm salad of emerald spinach leaves. Maine lobster, served with drawn butter and a timid cilantro aioli, is fine, if a bit small for $28.

I rather liked the baked apple and ice cream sandwich from the original menu. Desserts from the new menu (and new dessert chef) are more ambitious in concept and decoration, not always to good effect. Tiramisu is now a parfait, layered into a tall, skinny glass with creme anglaise. A tiny chocolate mousse cake sitting on a lake of good raspberry coulis may be the best of the lot. If you have a severe sweet tooth, you may like the buttery brioche filled with caramelized Fuji apples. But stay away from the architectural cheesecake, two stubby pastry “towers” filled with a sweet mascarpone mixture.

After four visits to Sanctuary, I’ve revised my expectations downward. I’ve had a good time there, but the food leaves a lot to be desired, especially for the money.

I can see how it could get discouraging. No matter how hard the kitchen works, nobody is really paying any attention to the food: The scene is just too compelling. Still, at least sometimes, Keller is turning out much better cooking than you’d expect in this kind of frenetic setting.

As we leave, a small crowd outside pushes against the velvet ropes. We can’t let anybody else in, the muscle-bound guardian at the door tries to explain. Yet they clamor. Sanctuary?

Sanctuary, 180 N. Robertson Blvd., Beverly Hills ; (310) 358-0636. Dinner only. Closed Sunday and Monday. Smoking in lounge and piano bar only. Dinner for two, food only, $54-$94. No corkage.