Farce"" comes from the Latin farcire, to stuff--and this bag of visual gags is so overstuffed that there's little space to take a breath for a laugh. The comic turns deal with such gruesome matters as the movement of bodies in various stages of dysfunction--the most notable being that of stroke victim Jacob whose deathwatch mobilizes his gormless family. There's wife Ruth who is on the phone checking on her catering order for the coming shiva; the daughter so ugly that she's always worn a veil until true love pounces in a funeral home; an expendable son given to frequent vomiting and dreams of taking over Jacob's bankrupt store; and another son--his house is continually blasted by rock throwers because he's a lousy basketball coach--who adopts a lordly ghetto playground ace named Captain Fuck. Jacob had planned an insurance bonanza via arson with the aid of a demented war buddy who hums down the highways toward his secret mission in a motorized wheelchair. Without the light touch of Westlake, or the intellectual content of Feiffer, this parade of Lampoon-styled wheezes is strictly for that audience.