Bill Hicks

Would comic Bill Hicks--at least the Hicks we knew from club and TV appearances--have wanted to be remembered with a one-hour testimonial? It doesn't quite seem in keeping with his unsentimental style, and perhaps it would have been a better tribute to simply air one of his performances, such as his brilliant HBO "One Night Stand" special.

It is a testament to the talent of the late stand-up comic Bill Hicks, who died of pancreatic cancer at the age of 32 in 1994, that documentarians Matt Harlock and Paul Thomas have taken such pains to evoke the arc and impact of Hicks' all-too-brief life and career in "American: The Bill Hicks Story" with such depth, breadth and originality. Their use of deftly animated photo-based collages is so inspired that it lends an aura of giving a third dimension to their tightly integrated interviews and archival materials.

A lot of people on the club scene have been high on Bill Hicks for years. A cult figure in London, he was the subject of a recent New Yorker magazine profile, shortly after he was bumped off the David Letterman show allegedly for being too controversial (which says something about Letterman's putative iconoclasm). Hicks has just concluded a brief Southland run--Tuesday night at the Improv in Brea and Wednesday at Igby's in West Hollywood.

BILL HICKS, the most scathing comedian of his generation, died 11 years ago at age 32, but he hasn't gone away. On the contrary, the mischievously shifting sands of history have granted an eerie afterlife to some of his material -- you can play a recording of a Hicks routine from 1991 or '92 and hear him going after President Bush and the war in Iraq. But Hicks' growing stature as a comedic beacon isn't because of a quirky recurrence of a name and war zone.

William M. (Bill) Hicks, the dark and biting stand-up comedian whose material was excised in October from "The Late Show With David Letterman" because it purportedly touched "too many hot spots," has died of pancreatic cancer. He was 32. Hicks, the subject of two HBO specials and a New Yorker magazine profile who performed regularly in Los Angeles and Orange counties, died Saturday at the home of his parents in Little Rock, Ark., his co-manager, Colleen McGarr, announced Sunday.

Comedian Bill Hicks performed his first stand-up comedy routine at a Baptist Bible camp talent show when he was 13, borrowing freely from Woody Allen's self-deprecating, nebbish routine. You know--jokes like being breast-fed from falsies. But now Bill Hicks is "dangerous." That's how the alumnus of the so-called Texas Outlaw Comics is being billed these days. It also, not coincidentally, is the title of his debut comedy album released last spring.

He's been called everything from "a foul-mouthed moralist" who uses outrageous material to make serious points about the human condition to "a satirical comedic poet" who "gets into people's minds and, like a bright flashlight, exposes the dark and dusty corners." Bill Hicks--who performs Friday at the Coach House in San Juan Capistrano--is without question a comedic provocateur whose all-black stage attire suits his equally dark humor.

When Calendar runs a piece acknowledging the passing of a significant artist or entertainer--like comedian Bill Hicks, who died of pancreatic cancer Saturday at age 32--it's typically authored by a writer with particular expertise, not a member of that person's management team. Along with my partner, Colleen McGarr, I managed Hicks for the better part of a year, but before going into management a half decade ago, I spent several years covering comedy for The Times and other publications.

BILL HICKS, the most scathing comedian of his generation, died 11 years ago at age 32, but he hasn't gone away. On the contrary, the mischievously shifting sands of history have granted an eerie afterlife to some of his material -- you can play a recording of a Hicks routine from 1991 or '92 and hear him going after President Bush and the war in Iraq. But Hicks' growing stature as a comedic beacon isn't because of a quirky recurrence of a name and war zone.

Guy shambles out on stage, takes in the applause. "How you doing, folks? You gotta bear with me. Uh, I'm very tired. Very tired of traveling." He lights a cigarette. "And, uh, very tired of doing comedy. Very tired of staring out at your vacant faces looking back at me ..." Some fidgeting in the audience. " ... wanting me to fill your empty lives with humor you couldn't possibly think of yourselves. Good evening." An explosion of laughter. That's a howdy from Bill Hicks, the start of his set.

Guy shambles out on stage, takes in the applause. "How you doing, folks? You gotta bear with me. Uh, I'm very tired. Very tired of traveling." He lights a cigarette. "And, uh, very tired of doing comedy. Very tired of staring out at your vacant faces looking back at me ..." Some fidgeting in the audience. " ... wanting me to fill your empty lives with humor you couldn't possibly think of yourselves. Good evening." An explosion of laughter. That's a howdy from Bill Hicks, the start of his set.

Would comic Bill Hicks--at least the Hicks we knew from club and TV appearances--have wanted to be remembered with a one-hour testimonial? It doesn't quite seem in keeping with his unsentimental style, and perhaps it would have been a better tribute to simply air one of his performances, such as his brilliant HBO "One Night Stand" special.

When Calendar runs a piece acknowledging the passing of a significant artist or entertainer--like comedian Bill Hicks, who died of pancreatic cancer Saturday at age 32--it's typically authored by a writer with particular expertise, not a member of that person's management team. Along with my partner, Colleen McGarr, I managed Hicks for the better part of a year, but before going into management a half decade ago, I spent several years covering comedy for The Times and other publications.

When Calendar runs a piece acknowledging the passing of a significant artist or entertainer--like comedian Bill Hicks, who died of pancreatic cancer Saturday at age 32--it's typically authored by a writer with particular expertise, not a member of that person's management team. Along with my partner, Colleen McGarr, I managed Hicks for the better part of a year, but before going into management a half decade ago, I spent several years covering comedy for The Times and other publications.

William M. (Bill) Hicks, the dark and biting stand-up comedian whose material was excised in October from "The Late Show With David Letterman" because it purportedly touched "too many hot spots," has died of pancreatic cancer. He was 32. Hicks, the subject of two HBO specials and a New Yorker magazine profile who performed regularly in Los Angeles and Orange counties, died Saturday at the home of his parents in Little Rock, Ark., his co-manager, Colleen McGarr, announced Sunday.

A lot of people on the club scene have been high on Bill Hicks for years. A cult figure in London, he was the subject of a recent New Yorker magazine profile, shortly after he was bumped off the David Letterman show allegedly for being too controversial (which says something about Letterman's putative iconoclasm). Hicks has just concluded a brief Southland run--Tuesday night at the Improv in Brea and Wednesday at Igby's in West Hollywood.

When Calendar runs a piece acknowledging the passing of a significant artist or entertainer--like comedian Bill Hicks, who died of pancreatic cancer Saturday at age 32--it's typically authored by a writer with particular expertise, not a member of that person's management team. Along with my partner, Colleen McGarr, I managed Hicks for the better part of a year, but before going into management a half decade ago, I spent several years covering comedy for The Times and other publications.

Bill Hicks wants to travel back in time and get to know the father who deserted him when he was 7 years old. Michael Darrow Baker has a longer journey in mind--back 4 billion years to the Precambrian Age, before life on Earth began. Though many believe that time travel is out of this world, neither Hicks nor Baker are passively waiting for scientists to come up with a device capable of bursting through the time barrier. Instead, the two San Fernando Valley residents are doing their part by publishing a slick newsletter every other month called Travels in Time in hopes that it will spur a major breakthrough in time travel.

He's been called everything from "a foul-mouthed moralist" who uses outrageous material to make serious points about the human condition to "a satirical comedic poet" who "gets into people's minds and, like a bright flashlight, exposes the dark and dusty corners." Bill Hicks--who performs Friday at the Coach House in San Juan Capistrano--is without question a comedic provocateur whose all-black stage attire suits his equally dark humor.

Comedian Bill Hicks performed his first stand-up comedy routine at a Baptist Bible camp talent show when he was 13, borrowing freely from Woody Allen's self-deprecating, nebbish routine. You know--jokes like being breast-fed from falsies. But now Bill Hicks is "dangerous." That's how the alumnus of the so-called Texas Outlaw Comics is being billed these days. It also, not coincidentally, is the title of his debut comedy album released last spring.