ON THE BARK.(stand-up comedy)

Late one Saturday night in January, at Ha! Comedy Club, on West Forty-sixth Street, Peyton Clarkson learned what it was to bomb. Peyton, a blond, blue-eyed twenty-three-year-old from Alabama, had been performing at Ha! for only a month and a half, but he'd had so many "spots" onstage--about twenty five-minute performances a week--that he'd already gained more experience than many young comics get in a year. Still, there's no substitute for public humiliation.

Peyton is soft-spoken in person but energetic and swingy when he's onstage. Like a lot of aspiring comics, he'd always been the class clown; at Auburn University, he was considered the funniest guy in his fraternity. After graduation, Peyton went to New York to become an actor. During the day, he waited on tables at a restaurant in Trump Tower and went on casting calls. Every night, on the way home from his second job--running the discount-ticket lottery for "Rent"--he would pass Ha!

The comedy world is a small one, and Ha! has a reputation as a home for starting comics, most of whom find their way there by word of mouth. Ha! also hosts an open-mike night once a week, during which hopefuls can audition for the club. The first time Peyton went, he got such a bad attack of stomach cramps that he left before his turn and ran the two blocks home, to Forty-seventh Street; the second time, he made it through his set and was told that he was good enough to bark--to distribute flyers to passersby and get them to come to the club. In return for getting two people to a show, Peyton would have a five-minute set.

Ha! has two stages. The main one, on the ground floor, is larger and is considered tougher, because the audience members feel more anonymous; the farther away people are from the comic, the more comfortable they are shouting out or creating their own private parties. In the lounge upstairs, Peyton had never lost the audience. The room is more intimate, with high barstool tables lining two of the walls, and lower tables surrounding a tiny stage. On this January night, though, the proximity worked against him. Even his boyish comedic style--a naive pose with lots of gesturing and miming--failed to elicit the protective feeling he often gets from an audience.

"This motherfucker ain't gonna be funny," a woman said before Peyton even reached the stage.

"My name is Peyton Clarkson," he began.

"This motherfucker's stupid," the woman said loudly. Peyton glanced at her boyfriend, hoping that he might shut her up, but he didn't say anything.