Photo: HalfAdams Photography; Photo Illustration: Jamie Divecchio Ramsay

Any comedy showcase that kicks off with a true story about an 18th century woman killing baby bunnies, shoving them into her hoo-ha and giving birth to them later is a promising start to an evening of laughs. Unfortunately the sold out Janeane Garofalo/Marc Maron double-header showcase at Lakeshore Theater last Friday didn’t always live up to such a highly-set bar.

The 2.5-hour show began with bits from local opener Dan Telfer (who I can’t thank enough for haunting my brain with images of helpless creatures crammed into a Victorian-era beef jacket), then quickly jumped into Maron’s set. For those unfamiliar with Maron’s humor, it’s angry, cerebral, at times raunchy, and accented with a touch of despair. Think Woody Allen meets George Carlin, with a bit of a hangover and roid rage thrown in. The 45-year-old comedy veteran touched on subjects ranging from his inability to masturbate in front of his four cats, to his desire to dress as Jesus, head to the nearest shopping mall and yell “You’re just a clown at my birthday party” in the face of the on-duty Santa. What’s distinct about Maron is that he’s not there just for laughs. In between one-liners like “Yarmulkes are there so God doesn’t lose his people in a crowd,” Maron openly discussed his recent divorce from comedian/author Mishna Wolff, describing himself as a “panicky, angry, needy man” and a “heart-broken asshole.” In Maron’s troubles lies his charm. Even those who don’t like the guy’s jokes have to admire his fortitude.

Janeane Garofalo, the comedienne/actress/activist/general badass, took the stage after Maron. Garofalo, who appears so calm and collected on film, comes across as neurotic and ADD on stage; sometimes in a charming way, sometimes in a confusing way. Shifting topics with lightning speed, Garofalo began her intimate, hour-long set with a story about getting “betainted” due to an unfortunate application of hand sanitizer to the va-jay-jers. She then read an official US customs form aloud, gracioiusly welcomed any teabaggers (the political kind, not the ball-exposing kind) in the audience, and hailed the hotness of on-screen forensic experts while lamenting the presence of cameltoes at crime scenes. While she had some outfuckingstanding material—highlights included illuminating the relationship between Catholicism and finger-banging and an explanation that one simply can’t survive the rapture, a zombie attack or an impending ape uprising while wearing flip-flops—the show jumped subjects so quickly, it felt more like an alcohol-fueled conversation with a ranty friend than a comedic performance.

It’s possible that Garofalo was unfocused because the crowd was too. While a few people yelled “show us your tits” during Maron’s set (a request he obliged), one obliterated/drunk girl interrupted Garofalo mid-sentence to engage her in a one-on-one conversation. <rant> I don’t know who these people are who think it’s OK to scream moronic bullshit during a show ,but I do know that I fantasize about seeing them swallowed by rabid bears, and I’m pretty sure I’m not alone. </rant>

Though the show was disjointed, Garofalo and Maron both still hold one major trump card over the vast majority of working comedians: their material is honest and smart. Both weren’t afraid to delve into sensitive territory—Maron’s aggression and two divorces, Garofalo’s battle with alcohol and a tired libido—and neither shied away from rigorous self-criticism. While it wasn’t the most gut-bustingly funny show I’ve seen, it was one of the most emotional and thought-provoking. Especially the part about birthing dead bunnies.