t 5:30 on Friday morning John Rizzo, a 45-year-old journeyman comic from Bridgeport, Conn., boarded a train to New York, sat for two hours in transit, then ran across Midtown during the morning rush and ended up pacing in a dark room for nearly seven hours waiting for his moment (or two) to shine.

And he was one of the lucky ones. Mr. Rizzo, you see, was one of 15 comedians and sketch-comedy groups who were asked back as finalists on Saturday night, after two days of open auditions held on Thursday and Friday, for the U.S. Comedy Arts Festival, the annual comedy talent showcase in Aspen, Colo.

The auditions, held at the Comedy Garden, a club beneath the arena at Madison Square Garden, drew some 270 aspiring and perspiring comics of all ages and experience, each looking for a shot on the bigger stage. Held on a first-come first-bomb basis, the auditions even attracted a handful of die-hard comedians who began lining up in front of the garden the night before to guarantee a chance to perform.

Once inside, the auditioners had a mere two minutes onstage to impress a panel of five judges who included producers from the festival; comedy executives from ABC and a downtown comedy showcase called PS NBC, as well as a representative from HBO, which sponsors the festival.

"We kept getting complaints that it was all politics, that you couldn't get seen unless you had a manager or agent," said Judi Brown, the senior producer for festival talent. "We thought this was a good way to let the talent speak for itself."

And speak they did, telling hours of jokes on every imaginable — and many unprintable — topics.

"I could never be bulimic because I'm a procrastinator," said Stephanie Blum. "I eat, and then I'm like, `Ah, I'll throw up tomorrow.' "

Ms. Blum, who is in her mid-30's and has been doing comedy for six years, drove herself and her 3-year-old son, Noah, to the auditions on Friday from their home in Hartsdale, N.Y. (Noah didn't audition, only watched his mom.) "I called and said, `Can I bring my son?,' and they said, `Sure, we'll watch him,' " she said. "I said, `Do you know what a 3-year-old is like?' "

Like most of the comics who auditioned, Ms. Blum said she had come to try to raise her profile in a business with a surplus of talent. (Or maybe just a surplus. Rim shot!)

"It's really hard to be seen or get into the city clubs," said Ms. Blum, who usually performs on Long Island or in New Jersey. "I hope this helps."

Festival officials weren't offering any promises. Of the 15 acts chosen to come back and perform in a showcase at the Comedy Garden on Saturday night, perhaps one or two might be invited to final auditions in early December, festival officials said. A similar audition process is also going on in Los Angeles, where some 600 would-be Seinfelds showed up for open auditions in October.

Considering the competition, it was not surprising to find that the mood on Saturday night was a combination of manic energy, forced cool and raw nerves. In the club about 250 people (presumably a lot of them friends and family) packed close to the stage and dutifully obeyed the two-drink minimum. (Considering the amount of laughter, many people drank more than their share.)

Backstage various means of mental preparation were under way. One sketch-comedy group, five men in their 20's called Elephant Larry, did jumping jacks to warm up, as the comedy duo of Arnie Burton and Jay Russell looked on.

"We're not really part of the comedy world," said Mr. Burton, who is an actor by trade.

"Except we're really funny," said Mr. Russell, another actor.

Elsewhere Mr. Rizzo, dressed nattily in a gray suit and vintage tie, nervously smoked a cigarette at Play-by-Play, a bar adjacent to the Comedy Garden. A former shoe salesman, Mr. Rizzo is a regular on the regional comedy circuit, playing about 200 shows a year and driving his beat-up Chevy Cavalier some 3,000 miles a month to make his living at places with names like the Yuk-Yuk Hut and Giggles.

"I'm a road monkey," Mr. Rizzo explained. "I'm paying off my car with jokes."

After waiting and finally auditioning late Friday afternoon — he was comedian No. 90 that day — Mr. Rizzo drove to a club in Andover, Mass., called the Comedy Palace to do a 45-minute set for $500.

"They would have given me $1,000 for the weekend," he said. "But I would lose five grand to do this."

Onstage at Comedy Garden the host, Greg Giraldo, sped through introductions, which ranged from young unknowns like Melissa Rauch, a comedian who told jokes about her Jewish grandmother, to somewhat-known faces like Howard Feller, a onetime regular on television with Jon Stewart who specializes in the brand of deadpan obscure humor made famous by Steven Wright. (Mr. Feller had auditioned just like everybody else.)

"My house exploded yesterday," Mr. Feller said. "I mixed pasta with antipasta."

One of the last to perform was Mr. Rizzo, who said he was an "old-school, physical" comic who did a lot of "goofy, silly" material.

True enough, Mr. Rizzo hit the audience — "I'm nervous, you nervous?" — with a barrage of material about everything from his bad looks to his childhood toys to his ethnicity. He shrugged his shoulders, he grimaced, he imitated a crippled Slinky.

And he left to a big round of applause and the reality of an hourlong drive back to Bridgeport. At the bar he smoked another cigarette and accepted congratulations from Mr. Giraldo, a couple of Garden ushers and a comely young female fan.

What does he make of his chances of going to Aspen?

"I think they're as good as anybody else," Mr. Rizzo said. "No better, no worse."