GROUNDLINGS PUT THEIR SATIRIC TALENTS ON TV

The woman looks distinctly like Shirley Jones, the produce-section setting (and supermarket logo) looks suspiciously like Ralphs. But appearances can be deceiving.

“Why do you shop at Freds?” the perky “Sharley Jons” asks two men pushing grocery carts.

“Well,” says the first, “it’s those low prices and high standards.”

The second customer’s thoughts? “Sometimes I go to Freds with my wife--and we breed,” he wheezes.

Welcome to “The Groundlings Love L.A.,” a half-hour satire extolling the joys of life in Los Angeles. Recently, 10 members of the troupe (which since 1974 has established itself as one of the most popular and consistent comedy-improv groups in town, operating out of a self-built 99-seat theater on Melrose Avenue) brought their popular stage act to the sound stages of KCET, where a sampling of live and taped material was presented for an invited audience. Set against a giant map of the Los Angeles area, the show is set to air at 7:30 p.m. Feb. 14 as an entry in KCET’s coming “The California Stories.”

A generally calm spirit pervaded at a pre-taping supper, as group members cheerfully assessed their change of venue--and medium.

“To a certain extent this has been adapted for television,” acknowledged show director Tom Maxwell. “Some things have been trimmed (colorful language, brand names), other things are being done on location: ‘Freds’ at a supermarket, an RTD piece at a bus stop.”

“We tried to make it in a more television mode, take it away from the strictly proscenium setting,” added KCET producer Julian Fowles. “And we’ve embellished what they usually do: with a better set, interesting props. It has to really be realistic and tangible for a television audience. You can’t suspend disbelief as you would in a theater.”

Doug Cox and John Moody’s “partially scripted material” opened the show. “Whenever we do anything scripted,” Cox had noted earlier, “we never stick to the lines; we sort of play around with them. It’s OK because you’re doing it with people you trust.”

Next came Tim Stack (in a tribute to Pico Boulevard) playing Guy DiSimone, a supper-club singer who likens himself to Frank Sinatra. (“That’s why the lady, that’s why the chick is a tramp.”)

“This character’s whole motto is ‘Close your eyes, you’ll think it’s Sinatra,” Stack said prior to the taping. “What we did in the song was spoof every Jerry Herman tune ever written--and put it all on Pico.” The original inspiration, he added, “was my girlfriend coming home from a terrible day, and what made it even worse was having to drive down Pico at rush hour. I decided to write a song about it.”

Following the pre-taped “Freds” piece (with Stack, Cox and Lynne Stewart) came “All-Abuse Radio,” featuring Don Woodard as a pop radio psychologist badgering unseen caller Tress MacNeille and “Carpool,” with commuters Cox, Moody and Kathy Griffin.

“It’s not an improv,” Griffin explained beforehand. “We’ll get suggestions from the audience: the city we start in, the city we go to and the company we work for. But most of the jokes--the freeway situation, how there’s a 7-Eleven on every corner--are built in.” As for the audience’s input, she said that “we’ll take anything, as long as it’s not dirty. We’re desperate.”

Next up was a taped piece (with Joan Leizman) as Dodger Joan, hawking “Pap Smear Night” at the stadium--and “Loan Call,” which found a caller (Stewart) having her billing question shuttled from one unhelpful employee to the next: a Spanish-speaking operator, a slow-spelling Asian and a tart black woman in accounting (who bullies lagging replies with “Interest rates are falling, girl.”)

“That actually happened to Tress (MacNeille, who performs the multiple voice-overs off-camera),” noted Stewart (who, with MacNeille, was “ almost selected for this season’s cast on ‘Saturday Night Live’ ”). Although she’s had a career steeped in improv, Stewart mused, “I can see how people think what we do is so frightening. I know I’ll watch other improvisers and think, ‘How do they do that?’ Then I think, ‘Hey, I can do that.’”

“Hollywood Party” was the apropos setting for Robin Schiff’s put-down of Tinseltown snobbery.

“How are you?” her character squeals to a new arrival. “You must have lost a million-billion pounds. I thought so. Are you still at Disney?” (Her character, too, Schiff said, is based on a real-life acquaintance, “although, of course, it’s an exaggeration. But people across the country probably think that this is what Hollywood is like anyway.”)

Next up: Jim Jackman’s manic, crowd-pleasing take-off on “Great Moments With Mr. Lincoln.”

“Everyone’s been to Disneyland and seen it,” Jackman said earlier. “You could care less about Lincoln, but it’s a robot , and he moves, talks, all that stuff. So I do the robot--and I screw up.” His whiz-bang, mechanical undoing of the sonorous Lincoln, Jackman added, is both gratifying and dismaying: “I’m always scared on-stage. Scared that I’m not going to make it.”

Part of that has to do not only with his demanding role but the heavy preparation. “I have to get my wart on, my eyebrows. I have to get batteries in my (independently powered) shoe, the paper in my hand. I’ve got to put on special pants, because I have a phony leg (a part of the act). Put on the phony leg, the shirt, the collar, the beard, the hat, one shoe, one sock. . . . “

After the show, Woodard assessed his feelings about the taping. “I’m happy with the way it went,” he said, “but it did feel different from the regular (theater) audience. You’re playing to the camera, and the stage is situated so that you’re literally talking over people’s heads. With a good audience, you get a lot of energy. With a bad audience, you tend to work a little harder. But this was different, because sometimes you didn’t even realize they were there.”