Sarah Silverman--with her gummy smile, coltish stance, and clear voice which bubbles up from deep within her chest--wants to come on like a huggable shock comedienne, yet she's more performance artist than stand-up personality. Cleverly and carefully (one may say 'precisely') dropping taboo words into her stories, Silverman gets laughs by pretending to lead the audience in one direction and then undercutting those expectations with a surprising low-keyed zinger. Silverman doesn't overwork a punchline--which are often nestled in the context of her stories anyhow--although she returns to older topics too often. Also, she relies far too much on pseudo-cute facial expressions and aw-shucks body language to soften the blows of her words, though the topics (9/11, the Holocaust, AIDS, vaginal sex versus anal sex) are tiptoed through in a facetious yet frisky manner. The fantasy edits, imagining Sarah in different manners of celebrity, work well, better than the purposefully-wooden prologue and epilogue with friends. Still, one expects to laugh more with such touchy material. Silverman is so laid-back and blasé, it's clear to viewers she is giving them a made-up creation. Other shock comics manage to make audiences feel as if they are hearing something true, but this personality that Silverman is displaying (playful, naughty, grounded, unaffected) is unabashedly artificial. This is entirely deliberate on Silverman's part, yet is tends to render her act phony: smoke and mirrors prodding at the national funny bone. *1/2 from ****
