Parents like Mort Sahl. My mom really likes Mort Sahl. At first glance, the number of balding heads and hearing aids in Mort Sahl's audience is daunting. One wonders what kind of night one is in for. But he comes with good recommendations--Morn's got taste, she married Dad, after all. Sahl was host of the Academy Awards, the world's most watched television program. He was our parents' Billy Crystal, Whoopi Goldberg and Robin Williams. It'll be great to get a cross-generational perspective on humor, right?

As Mort Sahl walks on stage, you are overcome with a mixture of dread and fascination. You realize you know who he is--he's loud Uncle Mort whom you only see on Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July. He knows everything, he knows he's funny and successful, and he tells you all about it. Until he's had a few drinks in him, he will insist on displaying his wit, connections, and catalogue of anecdotes, while you wonder how long the holiday will take. Ultimately, you begin sneaking illicit shots to make him tolerable. Too bad they don't warn the Gen-X-ers of this in the program beforehand.

He opens the morning's edition of the New York Times and begins reading headlines of the day, complete with quips and off-the-cuff observations. A scorecard at the end of the first five minutes shows that exactly one joke was funny. To look at all the gray-haired ladies splitting their sides with laughter, however, makes one wonder if maybe his humor is an adult thing, like knowing how to fill out a tax form. Mort Sahl's audience loves him.

Every once in a while Mort pulls one out that is moderately amusing. "Hail to the Chief, President Bill Clinton. Long may he waiver." But the points he scores are withdrawn when he attributes to his wife the apocryphal remark about Pat Buchanan's speech at the 1992 Republican Convention sounding better in the original German. It's funny--too bad we've heard it before. Meanwhile, that elderly audience keeps on laughing.

Admittedly, it's nice to see a polysyllabic comic whose topic is politics rather than the mundane, but his brand of political humor borders on frightening. Sahl's staying power can be attributed to the fact that he remains neutral on political issues. Perhaps it's to a comic's advantage to have, as he declares, "No Values." Hearing him attack both conservatives and liberals with equal glee, however, sets one on edge. The lack of moral center ultimately distracts. How can he be funny if I can't figure out which angle this joke came from? The same Jewish joke told by a rabbi and by the Grand Wizard of the KKK has different connotations.

Sahl is a self-declared expert on three things: Politics, Women, and Movies. His politics are disturbing. At the very best, he said nothing memorably offensive--or for that matter, memorable--about women. Boy oh boy, does he like to talk about movies. He gets such a kick out of telling you how many he's been a part of and how many famous folks he rubs elbows with. He's contributed to the scripts of such winners as "Regarding Henry," "My Year of Living Dangerously," and that cultural gem, "The Firm." (The exciting mail fraud bit was all his idea!) You bristle every time you hear "X, a real fascinating guy. I know him well." Of course you do, Uncle Mort.

I tried so hard to be generous, just as every Independence Day I restrain myself from playing with sparkle too close to Uncle Mort's suspiciously fluffy hair. I just could never bring myself to laugh as hard as everyone else. They looked like they were having such a good time, too.

It's plain that Mort Sahl was, for his day, taking risks and doing a radically different brand of comedy. Legends like Woody Allen still pay him homage. He can play three weeks at the Pudding, and then on to Broad way precisely because he was astounding and has a following that remembers him so. Sadly enough, like many trailblazers, his genius just doesn't translate to the next generation. Maybe we are spoiled by sound bites and the manic energy of today's comics, but watching an old guy prattle on for an hour-and-a-half is what boosts the suicide rate around the holidays. We feel so guilty. We know we should like you. Yes, we owe a great debt to your genius and hard work. But please, Uncle Mort, pass the whiskey.