Rickles is back! (Hey, what hockey puck said he went away?)

The Rickles renaissance continues with a terrific new documentary, "Mr. Warmth: The Don Rickles Project," which has its television premiere at 7 CT tonight on HBO.

There's old school, and then there's Don Rickles.

At 81, the foremost insult comic of his or any other generation, who made his name in Las Vegas and on countless appearances on Johnny Carson's "Tonight Show," is still packing them in at casinos across the country. If you haven't seen him lately, he looks like a lizard in a tuxedo — hairless, with large folds of neck skin, he prowls the stage slowly, his eyes darting around constantly, looking for prey. "Are you Chinese? Filipino?" he will ask audience members. "Japanese? I spent three years in the jungle looking for your father."

There is a bit of a Rickles renaissance going on this year, with an as-told-to memoir (Rickles' Book) and a terrific new documentary, "Mr. Warmth: The Don Rickles Project," which has its television premiere at 7 tonight on HBO.

HBO couldn't have picked a better time to show "Mr. Warmth." Monday marks the return to the airwaves of Don Imus, the radio shock jock who was dumped earlier this year by CBS and MSNBC over remarks he made about the African-American women's basketball players at Rutgers. (Imus won't be heard locally for now, though Dish subscribers can watch the simulcast on RFD-TV.)

Whereas "Imus in the Morning" represents today's modern put-down culture, one that is fueled by racial, gender, class or — especially now — political resentments, Rickles is an equal-opportunity kidder from an equal-opportunity era. Unlike Imus, when Rickles says he means no harm, you believe him. You can ask his victims. Among the numerous supporters seen in the film are Sidney Poitier and Bob Newhart, two of the nicest people in show business. Barbara Rickles, his wife of more than 40 years, is uniformly described by friends as a saint (though this is largely for putting up with Don and, when she was alive, a demanding mother-in-law). Anyone who has seen an extended performance by the so-called "Merchant of Venom" knows that moment will come, when the restless pacing stops and Rickles stands alone on stage, drenched in sweat, telling his audience that what the world needs now is love.

But here's the amazing thing about "Mr. Warmth." It isn't a nostalgic walk through old videotape, where now-dead entertainers laugh entirely too hard at Rickles' hockey-puck routine, like some old "SCTV" sketch. I know I've laughed harder at a film than I did watching "Mr. Warmth," but I can't remember when. The director, John Landis, got Rickles' permission to film his nightclub act (apparently the first such request he's granted), and interviewed Rickles extensively, as well as a who's who of American entertainment: Chris Rock, Debbie Reynolds, Harry Shearer, Larry King, Regis Philbin, Roseanne Barr, Martin Scorsese, Steve Lawrence, Sarah Silverman, etc.

I'd like to quote some of Rickles' jokes, but (a) this is a family newspaper and (b) they aren't really jokes. Rickles says that he's an attitude comic, not a punchline comic. He has a persona that fills up a room, in both senses of the word. But it's hard to describe, and even a lot of the subjects here have trouble. Richard Lewis, the comedian, claims that Rickles is "fearlessly honest." Actually, all those put-downs have the reverse effect of showing how dishonest it is to stereotype a Japanese-American, or anyone else, based on their ethnicity.

Landis, who directed "Animal House" and "The Blues Brothers," is a comics' director, so it's not surprising that he lets the comedians pay tribute to Rickles in their own way. Robin Williams notes that Rickles is the "jester" who brings down the high and mighty, then Williams quips, "Without the hump, your wife is a very attractive woman," which sounds like one of his lines, not Rickles'. Newhart, one of the star's closest friends, is at his stammering best describing what it's like to sit in the audience while Rickles takes a break to sing a couple of numbers with the band. ("Don, d-do you know what people are doing when you're singing?" Newhart recalls telling him. "They're making travel arrangements.")

There's old video, too. We see the cigarette-box incident from the 1970s "Tonight Show," which resulted in Carson raiding the set of Rickles' sitcom "CPO Sharkey" in mid-taping. We see Rickles breaking up Ronald Reagan at the 1985 second inaugural gala ("Am I going too fast for you, Ronnie?"). My favorite is the Eastwood clip. John Landis met Rickles in 1969 as an 18-year-old gofer on the set of "Kelly's Heroes," where Rickles co-starred with Eastwood. Thirty years later, at an American Film Institute gala honoring Eastwood, Rickles got up and said, "Clint, I say it, nobody else has said it, and I say it from my heart: You're a lousy actor."

Again and again Rickles demonstrates what Poitier calls "that little boy" who comes out to make trouble. He does a priceless impromptu impression of Larry King sitting at a restaurant. Granted, you have to think a Larry King routine is even worth the effort, but I count myself among that crowd.

And so does Jimmy Kimmel, who grew up in Las Vegas and says here, "No one makes me laugh harder than Don Rickles." Penn Jillette, magic artist and Vegas fixture, says the most eloquent thing in the film when he describes seeing Rickles perform live for the first time. "Pleasing the audience was the most important thing in the world," Jillette says. "But, he would not compromise in any way to please them. A very important, very complicated idea and in a certain sense, the definition of art."

There are things revealed here that even I didn't know. Carson's longtime producer Peter Lassally says that Johnny, who always came prepared, would not have material written in advance of a Rickles appearance. Landis, who said he has seen Rickles perform at least 50 times, said at least one-third of his act is different every night. I can't imagine what it is like to have six decades of insults floating around in my brain, let alone the talent to summon any one of them at an instant, at an age when many of us would be lucky to remember when we're supposed to see the doctor next.

Rickles started out in strip clubs telling jokes between dance numbers, discovered the insult and worked his way up. It was a steady but slow climb. He did a Roger Corman B-movie and a lot of beach-blanket films. (He also showed his acting chops in films spanning from "Run Silent, Run Deep" to "Casino.") Years of work in mob-controlled Las Vegas paid off. Frank Sinatra became his friend and champion. Rickles' Book opens with the famous story of the struggling comic, before he married Barbara, asking Sinatra to come over to his table to impress his date. When Ol' Blue Eyes came over, Rickles yelled at him: Frank, can't you see I'm with a girl here?

He became a headliner. Then he appeared in countless TV sitcoms in the 1960s and 1970s, ruled the roost of the "Dean Martin Roast" specials, did all those "Tonight Shows," become one of a handful of Las Vegas icons and, of course, entertained your kids as the voice of Mr. Potato Head from the "Toy Story" films.

It's a career of restlessness and ambition, and some darker force driving both Rickles and his comedy. At age 80, he can still recall his mother, whom he adored: "She would say to me, 'Why can't you be more like Alan King?'" On a recent conference call, a certain TV critic from the Midwest had the nerve to suggest that Carson and the rest of America forgot about Rickles for a time there in the 1980s, and Mr. Warmth got a little touchy: "Listen, I don't know where you get your information, Aaron, I realize you're in Kansas City, but I was constantly on Johnny's show."

He gives back the love, but it's because he was loved by the best, and don't you forget it. It's part of his act, but this documentary suggests it's also a big part of who he is.

"We kid about stars like you, Bob," Rickles once said during a "Dean Martin Roast" of Bob Hope. "Why? Because you're old and washed up."

In his ninth decade, Don Rickles seems to be making sure that if someone ever says that about him, he'll know they're just kidding.

***

Also tonight: So Don Rickles is your dad's idea of a funny person, not yours. Fine. Comedy Central's got you covered as well, as three of its signature comics -- Dave Attell, D.L. Hughley and master schvitzer Lewis Black -- ring out the old year in “Last Laugh '07,” airing at 9 p.m. CT on the funny channel. The special gets off to a rough start, as Attell didn't get the memo to come with topical jokes, but Hughley and Black pick up the slack. Later, all three comedians return to the stage to field questions from the audience.