Pushing parody beyond funny

Parodies of parodies: Funny? Or boring? That’s the kind of topic that might get thrashed around at high decibels on “Crossballs,” one of Comedy Central’s two new media meta-mockeries.

The other, I think, is “The Graham Norton Effect,” the title of which presumably refers to what happens when you translate a popular BBC show into American-esque.

“Crossballs,” which premieres tonight, is a political debate show modeled on already amusing “Hardball” and “Crossfire.” Fox News’ “Hannity & Colmes” can also be counted among its comedic influences. “Crossballs” creators Matt Besser and Charlie Siskel appeared on that show last week and flattered its hosts, calling them “the modern Abbott and Costello.”

Alan Colmes was pleased. “You know, Matt, what’s interesting is that some of the people who appear on ‘Crossballs’ think it’s a real show, which is really similar to the guests on ‘Hannity & Colmes,’ who think it’s a real show.”

The big idea behind “Crossballs” is this: Guests are invited on as “experts” to debate hot-button topics with comedians pretending to be experts. Playing expert is an opportunity few people possess the modesty to decline, and the “real” guests get so caught up in their righteousness they become impervious to the absurdity of the arguments. This, in itself, is funny, but you have to dig through too many layers to get there.

“Crossballs” is the kind of show that couldn’t have existed 15, 20 years ago, mainly because the meta-Dagwood of ironic layers that teeters over us today hadn’t been created yet. Fifteen, 20 years ago, there was no such thing as reality TV. (OK, there was “America’s Funniest Home Videos” and America’s Saddest Home Videos, a.k.a. “Cops,” but that was pretty much it.)

Without reality TV, there would have been no “Joe Schmo,” the series about a guy who thought he was a real reality show contestant but was actually a fake reality show patsy. Without fake reality shows, there’d be no jobs for actors to play real people on fake reality shows.

Which means that today, there would be no comedians primed to play “experts” on “Crossballs.”

(If I don’t get off this ride, I’m going to be sick.)

Tonight’s first “Crossballs” topic: Reality TV. Corey Williams, a (real) professional actor debates Matthew Henson, a (fake) “reality TV bug-eater.” Dressed like an idiot, Henson spouts the kind of deadpan, outrageously scatological inanities that a 4-year-old could identify as intentionally humorous. Not so Williams, who buys the performance hook, line and sinker. He works himself into such a lather defending the dramatic arts that he winds up quoting Shakespeare. (You know which bit too.)

In a later segment, a (fake) wannabe hidden-camera-show mark debates a prank-show casting director. He accuses her of not casting him because he lacks “movie star looks.” He shows her an audition reel, on which he tries to pick up money that’s been glued to the sidewalk and smears shaving cream on his face.

“Hey, I’ve got shaving cream all over my face, ‘Spy TV!’ ”

“I think you have too much time on your hands,” replies the casting director. She has seen it all. Some might say too much.

Media satire is tempting; there’s so much to mock. The problem is that the media do such a good job of mocking themselves, it’s hard to improve on near-perfection. When a guest on “Crossballs” says, “Road rage is a disease and you shouldn’t make fun of it,” it’s no less realistic than if it had happened on MSNBC -- just a little less funny.

With his white-collared shirt, club tie and serious set of lungs, fake host Chris Tallman looks and sounds the part of a conservative windbag but comes off more like a benign frat boy than a viper in a Brooks Brothers suit. But he’s missing something. Something essential. A certain je ne sais that give Chris Matthews and Hannity and Colmes their quoi? And I’m not talking about flying saliva. Oh yeah, it’s the blithe malice.

So, Graham Norton. What a banana. The Irish talk show host with the Tintin pompadour and the gold lame (or glitter, or zebra-striped, or lizard skin) suit kicked off his new talk show, “The Graham Norton Effect,” on Comedy Central on June 24.

His maiden guests were Marlon Wayans, recently of “White Chicks,” and Sandra Bernhard -- nobody knows why. Bernhard congratulated him on leaving the BBC for the big leagues of Comedy Central. Well, as long as Bernhard thinks so. (It didn’t seem like she was joking, and he looked a tad thrown, but only for a sec.)

The campy, vampy Norton, a huge star in Britain, has more or less imported his BBC formula to Comedy Central, but it loses something in the translation.

With its black swivel bucket chairs, globular pendant lamps and Bozo colors, Norton’s set is a cross between “Romper Room,” “The Dick Cavett Show” and an Ibiza disco, so it seems the right backdrop for his throwback raunchiness.

Norton likes to stay as close to the gutter as he can without getting grate marks on his nose. In one bit, he lines up five people on a bed and explains a game in which their lovers and spouses, who are sitting in the audience, will be picked out of the crowd one by one, a tape of how they sound in bed will be played, and then Wayans and Bernhard will match the moaner to the lover on the bed. If that sounds confusing, cringe-inducing and completely illogical, it is.

Another bright, better-executed idea: Buy a “Real Doll” (a disturbingly realistic silicone sex doll), dress her in “something slutty” borrowed from a young woman in the audience, wiretap her, and pose her seductively in a dark corner of a dark bar. Finally, let Bernhard play ventriloquist, and film strange men doing what the dummy tells them.

Norton is less interested in going through the usual celebrity-interview hoops than in playing with his new best famous friends. On his former show, Norton often regaled the likes of Dolly Parton with crank phone calls and weird fan websites. Not much seems to have changed on the flight over. He likes to crank-call the citizenry, string them along, then reveal that he’s sitting next to Dustin Hoffman or Cher. Wow!

But these old tricks are familiar -- and not because he’s done them before. Either his routine is a little stale, or it’s a parody of a stale routine. Which is also a little stale.

And there’s something about the wide-eyed blanket enthusiasm and disingenuousness; something a little pokey, discordant and foreign. The “Effect” of the title must be similar to what happens when small, obscure acts wind up in Vegas. They get a little bloated, and the sequins aren’t as funny anymore.

*

‘The Graham Norton Effect’

Where: Comedy Central

When: 7 and 9 p.m. Thursdays. Repeats 5 and 9 p.m. Friday and 8 p.m. Saturday.

Rating: TV-14 (may be inappropriate for children younger than 14)

*

‘Crossballs’

Where: Comedy Central

When: Premieres at 4:30, 8:30 and 10:30 p.m. today. Repeats throughout the week.

Rating: TV-14 (may be inappropriate for children younger than 14)