Riordan Has Audience Laughing, Groaning

In the order of things Friday night at the McKenna Theatre on the campus of San Francisco State University, comedian Richard Riordan was sandwiched between Brett Butler, the former star of the ABC sitcom “Grace Under Fire,” and Steve Dacri, a magician billed as “direct from Caesars Palace.”

Riordan was direct from the campaign trail, which has only gotten rockier as the Tuesday primary nears. As a result, his decision to make room for a two-night stand-up comedy engagement on the last weekend of the race--and to work on an act in the bargain--seemed almost “Bulworth”-ian: What was he doing, sharing a bill with “The Karate Kid’s” Pat Morita, Carl “The Great Ballantine” Ballantine, and hotelier-talk show impresario Merv Griffin, when there were precious votes out there to woo and opponents to criticize?

Of course, there were television crews on hand, and the audience, conditioned to appreciate politicians who labor through jokes to expose their humanity, greeted each one-liner appreciatively.

Purists might see the spectacle as more evidence that politicians are co-opting comedy, leveraging an art form once used to expose them. In the 2000 presidential race, candidates George W. Bush and Al Gore stumped on “Saturday Night Live” and the late-night talk shows, and Bob Dole became a part of Comedy Central’s “The Daily Show.”

And now, here were the comedy stylings of Riordan. “Gov. Gray Davis has been destroying this state for the last four years,” he said. “Now it’s my turn.”

Riordan said he had long ago committed to the event, an annual fund-raiser for the college’s athletics department, emceed by his friend, comedian and San Francisco State alumnus Ronnie Schell, who calls the evening “Veterans of Comedy Wars: A North Beach Reunion,” a reference to the San Francisco neighborhood where many comedians built their following in the 1950s and ‘60s.

As for Riordan, maybe the maverick multimillionaire was just doing what he wanted, refusing to betray concerns that a primary race he once owned appeared to be slipping away.

But there was something else at work, too, it seemed: Riordan’s yen for Borscht Belt comedy.

Schell and Riordan are cronies in a klatch of comedians, comedic actors and writers called Yarmy’s Army, a group whose ranks include Bill Dana, Harvey Korman, Shelley Berman and Tom Poston.

They have put on benefits and meet regularly at Jerry’s Deli in Westwood, where they sit in a big room and trade insults, stories and jokes over pastrami on rye and matzo ball soup. The group is named after the late Dick Yarmy, the comic actor whose struggle with cancer prompted the group’s initial gatherings.

There’s a comforting relentlessness in their vaudevillian approach, an appreciation of a less cynical time in comedy.

Riordan said he had written half of his act, including “all of the Viagra [jokes]” (Like this one: “If Viagra works so well, why isn’t Elizabeth Dole the spokesperson?”)

And so, while Riordan might have been expected to deliver a few one-liners and then head back off into the night Friday, he evidently intended to work up a little stage sweat, in his campaign-issue suit and tie.

Mostly, the act involved Schell prompting him with set-ups and Riordan responding stiffly, as if going over talking points. Schell: “You know, I hope you’ve enjoyed the wonderful weather we’ve had here in San Francisco. You know, it’s been very warm, it’s not like. . .”

Riordan: “The last time I was here it was so cold. . .”

Schell: “It was so cold, what?”

Riordan: “Even the lawyers had their hands in their own pockets.”

The crowd groaned a little.

Schell: “How cold was it?”

Riordan: “It was so cold, if you wanted to meet a Jehovah’s Witness, you had to go knock on his door.”

Schell: “How cold was it?”

Riordan: “It was so cold that flashers in Golden Gate Park were just describing themselves.”

“Or just describing themselves,” Schell offered.

Afterward, while the intentionally bad Great Ballantine made the whole audience disappear by blindfolding himself, Riordan held forth out in the lobby with reporters on his campaign trail.

He talked about negative ads and Bill Simon Jr., and then he also talked about comedy. Bob Dole, he said, had the best timing in politics. “Timing is everything, as you know,” Riordan said. “Particularly, I think, non-sequiturs work sometimes better than sequiturs if you have the right timing.

“They say the secret to good writing is to discard your darlings,” he continued. “You know what that means? It means throwing away your best lines.”

“You’re not worried people will think your campaign is ending on a joke?” a reporter later ventured.

Tough crowd.