Brad Garrett

Brad Garrett has a 6-foot-8 advantage on the competitive comedy scene. If his club struggles on nights when he's not there, he can simply be there more nights.

Only Garrett and his accountant know how that pencils out compared with work given up at The Mirage or larger theaters on the road.

But this much is safe to say: Ticket-buyers would not be as impressed if, say, Improv founder Budd Friedman decided to headline his own room.

"Robert is dead, ma'am," Garrett informs a patron about his sitcom alter ego. He's been replaced by Fred Gwynne channeling Don Rickles: "The Civil War called. They found your diary."

But "Everybody Loves Raymond" still holds sway with the tourists. When show opener Kathleen Dunbar set up a routine by saying a young guy hit the Megabucks for $40 million at the Excalibur, the crowd lets out a collectively envious "Oooh."

And when the big guy comes to burn them with old-Vegas insult comedy, the place is packed wall to wall, with extra chairs brought in and people sitting at the bar.

As it stands now, Garrett is billed about four times a month in the Tropicana comedy club he put his name on in June. (He returns Wednesday and Thursday, then Dec. 1-2 and 27-29; no dates are locked in for November.) Garrett also claims to show up unbilled now and then, sometimes greeting patrons at the door.

Just by luck, the Tropicana's Miami-vice remodeling so far stops short of his doors. As you make your way past construction walls to the club that was long The Comedy Stop, signs that promise "We're changing everything" square off against the "Master barber" shop, the last remnants of the '70s-era casino easing the way into this retro experience.

Garrett stoops under the low ceiling and grand old chandeliers, pacing in front of the red velvety curtains and a blown-up logo for his club: "You probably didn't realize my (expletive) career was over," he says, gesturing to the logo. "It's either this or 'Jews on Ice' at the Stratosphere."

Much like his years at The Mirage, Garrett's set is organized around the theme of "Embrace your stereotype, because they exist." There's a large dose of self-loathing to balance hostilities toward Asian blackjack dealers and the man in the turban at the airport.

Self-deprecation also personalizes the subtopic of divorce: Men will always walk into a trap, and nothing's going to change that.

He is almost entirely apolitical, making the one exception stand out: a run about the mosque at ground zero controversy. Garrett calls for some simple zoning: "You can't build a titty bar next to an elementary school, and you can't build a mosque next to the Trade Center."

(Yes, I understand a mosque already has been in the neighborhood for 40 years. E-mail Garrett, not me.)

But just as much of it visits the same airplane and genitalia jokes as the less-famous comedians on the bill. Somehow, club comedy from a famous guy just seems funnier. Dare we say, larger than life?

There is added consumer value when Garrett is there, because all three of the regularly billed comedians still perform, making for nearly a two-hour show on this particular night.

Garrett and club manager Tony Camacho strategize that it will instill trust in the brand, encouraging people to come back even when the big guy isn't around. Last weekend's usual headliner, Kevin Jordan, showed that to be a smart move. And this weekend's, veteran pro Bruce Baum, should reinforce it.

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