Rickles produces giggles at The Canyon
By Cary Ginell soundthink@aol.com

Don Rickles aka 'The Merchant of Venom'

With monstrous, ornate hotels sprouting up on The Strip in Las Vegas, there are very few holdovers remaining from the socalled "Golden Age" of Sin City, when crooners and comics ruled. Vocal kingpins Sinatra, Dino, Sammy and Elvis are all gone as are comedy icons like Alan King, George Burns and Rodney Dangerfield. One of the few still standing is Don Rickles, pioneering godfather of insult comedy, known facetiously as "Mr. Warmth" and "The Merchant of Venom." At his recent appearance at Agoura's Canyon club, Rickles showed that even though he is now 81, time has stood still for his act, which could have been performed verbatim at any time during his heyday in the 1960s and '70s.

The Canyon club itself is an ideal venue for Rickles' act. Like the old-style Vegas nightclubs, it is cavernous, noisy and crowded. Those that chose not to sit at the cramped banquet tables for dinner and cocktails stood in the back. Despite the hefty $58 price tag, patrons standing near me considered it a small price to pay to see a legend in action.

To the strains of his theme song, the bullfighting anthem "The Great Manolete," Rickles came on stage to thunderous applause. Refusing to bask in the adoration of his fans, he went right to work, prowling the stage, glaring out at the audience, looking for victims. He's grayer, paunchier and more stooped than he was, and his paces back and forth across the stage are slower than when he was younger, when he literally ran towards a target.

Rickles' attack style of insult comedy was most prevalent in the tough New York nightclubs of the 1950s, when comics such as Joe E. Lewis learned how to respond to hecklers. Rickles never gives a heckler a chance to say anything. He pounces first, reducing his adversaries to quivering (and often laughing) bowls of jelly.

His act is an anachronism in this day and age of political correctness. Where most performers would think twice about using ethnic stereotypes in their act, Rickles shows no favorites- he insults everybody. Jews, blacks, Asians, Mexicans, Poles, Russians, gays, overweight people, bald people- everyone and anyone is fair game to him. It has become so ingrained into his onstage personality that his audiences expect it and revel in it. Considering the comedians currently in vogue, Rickles' language is mild.

Throughout his career, Rickles has tried other facets of entertainment. He's starred in several failed situation comedies, acted in movies such as "Kelly's Heroes," recorded several record albums of his nightclub routine and has now authored an autobiography titled "Rickles' Book," which is currently on the best seller lists. Director John Landis is working with Rickles on a documentary of his life, which is scheduled for release later this year.

But despite all these other ventures, he is at his best when insulting somebody. At various points in his act, Rickles broke into song, accompanied by the noisy big band behind him (they played in two volumes: loud and louder). Singing "I'm a Nice Guy" in his off-key rasp made the audience restless. This wasn't their Rickles. After finishing, he admonished his conductor: "You do well here and you go right into Westlake!" bringing an enormous laugh from the mostly homegrown audience. "This was my dream . . . to play the Canyon club!" More uproarious laughter.

"We love you, Don!" comes a loud cry from the back.

"Yeah? Then why didn't you buy dinner and sit up front?"

Toward the end, Rickles got maudlin, paying tribute to his late friend Frank Sinatra, who he endeared himself to at an early appearance by saying, "Make yourself at home, Frank. Stand up and hit someone." They later became the best of friends. "Rest easy, Frank," Rickles intoned, gazing skyward. He then did a fair impression of James Cagney, sang "Yankee Doodle Dandy" and was gone.

And he didn't even call anyone a hockey puck.