He’s Not Pulling Any Punch Lines : Comedy: Andy Kindler has turned his act into a crusade, confronting what he considers the grand evils of show business.

Andy Kindler isn’t afraid to name names. In a town where honesty is not always a career-enhancing policy, this decade-plus veteran of stand-up comedy is on a truth-telling mission. And if that means that some of Hollywood’s shining stars and power players end up reduced to comic fodder, so be it. Risking the wrath of industry Goliaths, Kindler has gleefully taken on the job of giant-killer.

“Michael Ovitz, Michael Ovitz, I love Michael Ovitz,” he’ll crow mid-act. “Yeah, I’ve got all his albums.” Then, with a mischievous smirk: “Come on, people--what’s all this talk about Michael Ovitz? What has he ever done except take 10% from people who have actually done something?”

Armed with comic timing that recalls the Borscht Belt and a sense of absurdity worthy of Beckett, Kindler confronts what he sees as the grand evils of show business--shamelessness, greed, hypocrisy, oversized egos and lousy sitcoms. But Kindler isn’t simply a put-down artist, he’s an exasperated gadfly who loves show biz enough to be driven to fits by entertainment he doesn’t find entertaining.

His impression of Jay Leno is simply a high-pitched, mush-mouthed squeal spurted out in the meter of one-liners. He gets Burt Reynolds down with a tongue literally thrust into cheek, a swagger and such screwy, no-punch punch lines as “I got a divorce. My wife got the house . . . and I got an apartment. Hmm.”

His concise take on a “Network Executive in 1939”: “Hey look, I don’t like Hitler either, but he’s scoring very well with the 18-49-year-old men who hate Jews.”

Kindler works the stage like a slight, well-groomed force of nature. He struts about as his rants become hilariously digressive, making rubbery faces to milk a line. But for greatest emphasis, Kindler will stand stock-still, pitched forward against the mike stand, staring into the middle distance as if reading off some cosmic TelePrompTer. “I am the truth machine,” he’ll bellow, albeit with a weary resignation that suggests the truth isn’t all that hot a property here.

“I feel completely fearless when I’m on stage,” says the 39-year-old comic at rest, tucking into a bowl of matzo ball soup. “And also totally fearful. There’s the fear that I’m not making a very smart career move sometimes, but there’s the stronger belief that these things need to be said. I’m tired of demographic appeal being more important than talent. I want to fight against that. I despise ‘High Q Ratings.’ And I hate the way Hollywood constantly creates excitement over nothing. Why does Alan Thicke keep getting a new show? I object to that. I feel compelled to talk about these things.”

Kindler’s attacks don’t leave the sour aftertaste of mean-spiritedness, mainly because he’s as self-deprecating as he is angered. He’ll begin a set at the Improv with “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and when I say ladies and gentlemen, I mean that in the most fake, show-biz way possible. I am completely disconnected from my feelings tonight, so you’re in for a treat.”

While on the road during the late ‘80s--boom years for comedy clubs--the Queens, N.Y., native developed both a love for his craft and an aversion to the business around him. Particularly distasteful were the comics who seemed to churn out the same gags over and over just for the paycheck. His revenge has been to eviscerate hack comedy as part of his own act.

He’s gone so far as to stage pseudo-seminars on how to properly execute horrible comedy (“The planned mistake always works well: ‘I came in from outside and put my coat on the hooker . . . did I just say hooker? Because if I did, I’ve got six minutes of material that I’ve been doing for 15 years.’ ”)

In recent years, as he’s gotten increasingly inside “the biz,” the more riled and outspoken he’s become. When he describes his misadventures taking on a soulless writing gig or working on a commercial, Kindler’s comedy takes on the feel of manic reports from the belly of the beast.

“I’ve given myself permission to say whatever’s on my mind when I’m on stage,” he says. “My new rule is supposed to be, ‘Refrain from biting the hand that’s currently feeding you.’ But I don’t know if I can keep to it--no matter who I work for or with, there’s going to be something I need to comment on. Then again, I want to be the rebel, but I want to make a nice living at it and I’d like to be extremely popular.” He smiles and shrugs. “Is that too much to ask?”

Perhaps not. Kindler’s enlightened invective is in high demand right now. He’s got a lengthy list of TV credits, including “The Larry Sanders Show” and “Dr. Katz.” He makes his first appearance on the Letterman show this month. He’s working on a half-hour special for Comedy Central. He’s developing his own sitcom at Castle Rock, and he’s started to get some offers for feature film work.

But Kindler still occasionally worries that if enough people hear his act, he may be out of a job.

“My big fear is that I’ll put down so many people, I’ll have to leave show biz,” he says. “I’ll try to get a job at a restaurant and I’ll be told, ‘Sorry, Andy, Viacom has bought up all the restaurants in the country, and they didn’t appreciate your cutting comments about MTV. And don’t bother with any bookstores either--Time Warner runs them and they didn’t like your act either.”