Craig Ferguson

Chances are, Craig Ferguson will get a laugh out of you before he ever says a word at The Venetian this weekend.

Could be you're already a fan of his late-night show, ready to give it up the minute you see him.

Could also be due to his leaping around with the two guys he often dances with on "The Late, Late Show" -- the sharp-dressed black dude and the little guy in bondage wear -- while serving up a bug-eyed, air-flute solo.

Take that, Cirque du Soleil.

When Ferguson does speak, a lot of what the 48-year-old says is smart stuff balanced with the silly, some of it obscurely warped. If they remembered long enough after the first of his two Venetian weekends, a lot of ticket-holders probably hit the Internet to see if Fabio really did get hit by a goose while riding a roller coaster.

But it's all delivered with Scottish raffishness, none of it Dennis Miller-snarky or condescending. Ferguson even spends one segment practically apologizing for a late-night host's burden of mocking celebrities.

When his own boss, David Letterman, found himself in a sex scandal, Ferguson made us squirm a bit in sympathy with his predicament -- "like doing a Rubik's Cube in a burning building" -- of figuring out what to say about it on his own show.

Women want to take Ferguson home, and men want to drink with him. Only they can't, because he had to quit. In one poetic summation of how he divined he was a true alcoholic but only a recreational drug abuser, the comedian determined he "wouldn't leave an open bar to go to a drug dealer's house."

Still, if they invented a time machine that only allowed two people to be transported back to the Sands in 1960 to hang with the Rat Pack, I'd lobby hard for Ferguson and Ron White to get the ride. Ferguson even did a sly homage to Buddy Hackett by promising to tell a joke at the beginning, and not getting around to it until the end.

Since Ferguson started working Las Vegas in 2006, his act has become less autobiographical and more a reflection on his current state of fame, including accounts of the awkward fallout from jokes about Kevin Costner and Kate Winslet.

Because he's an actor, too, Ferguson's accents and too-much-Redbull body language pumped up weaker material: the Scottish aversion to talking about sex, or a re-creation of his old biology teacher's unleashing two toads to do what comes naturally.

But explaining how Siegfried & Roy prove the existence of God (it would take a while, and I couldn't do it justice) comes as naturally to Ferguson as lip-syncing to Britney Spears, and that's a hard combo to beat. The man's got range.

On-time arrivals get some amiable bad attitude from opening comic Randy Kagan, a good contrast to Ferguson's drinking-buddy affability. Kagan has Las Vegas ties and told the crowd Ferguson helped him break a long-standing weed habit: "I've never been to Vegas not high, and guess what? It looks the same."

Contact reporter Mike Weatherford at mweatherford@ reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0288.