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Contents
 

Is the Pope Catholic... Enough? -- Feature for New York Times Magazine about Mel Gibson and his connection to an ultraconservative Catholic splinter group.

He's Taking a Walkabout on the Wild Side -- Brief profile of Steve Irwin, host of "The Crocodile Hunter." This was one of the first major media stories written about Irwin, who was just as hyper and cartoon-like on the phone as he is on TV.

People Just Strange Enough to Be Real -- Feature about two new documentary programs including "First Person," the half-hour interview show created by the great Errol Morris.

Jaleel White ('Don't Call Me Urkel') Grows Up -- Cover story for TV section about former child star and his struggle to rid himself of the "Urkel factor." I went in skeptical, but couldn't help but like the guy.



People Just Strange Enough to Be Real
  People Just Strange Enough to Be Real

Mar 19, 2000

A university professor who designs slaughter houses. A Sunday school teacher who believes his wife is a witch. An academic who becomes obsessed with giant squid.

The characters who populate ''Counterculture Wednesdays,'' a pair of reality-based programs shown on Bravo, are not the sort of people who usually appear on television. Oddballs, eccentrics and obsessives are the stars of ''First Person,'' a series of portraits by the documentary filmmaker Errol Morris, and plain old folk are the lead characters in ''Talelights,'' a hitchhiking travelogue conducted by the network journalist Jay Schadler. Taken together, the programs offer a rare look at people whose consuming fascinations and complicated lives are just strange enough to be real.

The subjects of ''First Person” include a woman who cleans up crime scenes, a C.I.A. agent known as a master of disguise and a cryonics activist who froze his mother's head in the hope she would someday be revived (and reassembled). Mr. Morris, whose theatrical work includes ''The Thin Blue Line'' and Mr. Death, says he thinks of the series as a sort of nonfictional ''Twilight Zone.'' The point, Mr. Morris says, is to find deeper meaning in stories that often sound torn from the tabloids. ''A friend of mine once said that for me to be interested a story it had to involve questions you'd encounter in a first year philosophy course,'' he says.

And while Mr. Morris takes obvious pleasure in the oddness of his subjects -- he couldn't resist, for instance, titling the episode about the cryonics activist ''I Dismember Mama'' -- he hopes the series isn't viewed as a freak show. ''It isn't oddity for the sake of oddity,'' he says. ''If there isn't some emotional depth, if there isn't a real character involved in thoughtful stuff, I'm not interested.''

In fact, Mr. Morris says he has a great deal of affection for many of his subjects. This is perhaps most apparent in his profile of Temple Grandin, the autistic professor who has designed a third of all slaughter houses in the United States. ''What this half hour has attempted to do is look at Temple not as a person with such-and-such a disease, but to look at her as a person period,'' he says.

Mr. Morris has completed 11 of the programs and says he has ideas for at least 50 more. ''I'd like to do all kinds of different stories, including stories that are not at all freaky in nature,'' he says. ''I'd like to do people who are well known, even people who are involved in perfectly respectable occupations.''

In the program ''Talelights,'' Jay Schadler lets his diverse subjects choose him -- by picking him up on the side of the road. Mr. Schadler began interviewing motorists while hitchhiking three years ago on assignment for the ABC program ''Prime Time Live.''

''I stuck out my thumb outside my house in Plum Island Massachusetts and 10 days later I wound up at Santa Monica Pier,'' he says. ''I came back with this incredible archive of authentic voices and real people. In network news, we give so much lip service to that, but this was the real thing. I wanted to keep doing it. In fact, it was the only thing I wanted to do.''

Introducing himself and asking permission ''to take pictures'' as he slides into the front seat, Mr. Schadler gets footage with the help of a tiny camera mounted on a suction cup that fastens to the interior of a windshield. He has encountered teenage orphans, single mothers, a racist truck driver and a homeless comedian. The experience has been nothing less than revelatory.

''I've been doing network news for 20 years and I've never come across a better way to listen to peoples stories,'' he says. ''I found out how amazing real people really are. I do believe the most interesting, twisted wonderful stories are just around the corner and in our lives. They're the story of your neighbor and your friend. I've discovered there are no ordinary people.''



Jaleel White ('Don't Call Me Urkel') Grows Up
 

Aug 22, 1999

Jaleel White is uneasy talking about the character he played for nearly 10 years on network television. In fact, he'd rather not talk at all about Urkel, the little polka-loving dweeb from ABC's "Family Matters." The character's name alone -- goofy and guttural, an instant buzzword for all things nerdy -- makes him wince visibly.

''I let him die,'' Mr. White, 22, said one recent morning on the patio of a Beverly Hills hotel. ''I've got a mental tombstone for that character. I've got lots of flowers around it, but that boy is dead.''

Still, it won't be easy to erase the memory of the character, who surely ranks as one of television's more vivid sitcom creations.

Jaleel White had made appearances on ''The Jeffersons'' and the pilot of ''Saved by the Bell'' before auditioning at age 12 for a guest spot on the ABC program, appearing before producers in tight suspenders, trousers cut off at mid-shin and an enormous pair of plastic eyeglasses that framed his darting, googly eyes. He moved around the sound stage in jerks and jolts and spoke in a voice so high-pitched and nasal that it hovered several registers above that of anyone else who dared inhabit the same scene. Urkel was born.

The guest spot grew into a starring role, leading the Friday night sitcom to an astonishing nine seasons on ABC and CBS, ranking alongside ''Seinfeld'' for longevity. At the peak of the program's popularity, this Cosmo Kramer for the schoolyard set had a breakfast cereal, an ABC special and legions of fans. When the end finally came in 1997, long after Mr. White had grown out of the twiggy five-foot frame in which he began, ''Family Matters'' vanished with hardly a peep, its final episodes broadcast in the Nielsen dead zone of July.

Two years later Mr. White is returning to prime-time television in a most unlikely package. Few will recognize him in the opening scene of his new UPN sitcom, the cannily titled ''Grown-Ups.'' The getup is gone, as is the voice. Instead we meet a bulked-up fellow in a tank top and Air Jordans who shoots hoops and makes quirky asides to a pudgy sidekick. As J. Calvin Frasier, a frustrated junior manager in a corrugated-box company, Mr. White is playing the sort of young man who, if faced with the Uber-nerd Urkel, would be likely to administer a quick and expert wedgie.

But even with the gym-enhanced physique, Mr. White knows he will have to work hard to make audiences forget about the part that made him famous. ''Until you break your Vinnie Barbarino, Mork mode that's what you are,'' he says of the television roles at the beginnings of the careers of John Travolta and Robin Williams. ''The bottom line is that the studio machine had a lot invested in Urkel,'' he says. ''They sold that character for a decade. You think you can go out and break that in a year? No way.''

Studio executives at UPN don't mind one bit if the scent of Urkel clings to the buffed-up White. Peter Noonan, president of entertainment at UPN, says that while the association may not do much for the struggling network's ''cool factor,'' Mr. White had nothing to be embarrassed about.

'Watching him play that part over the years was like watching Jerry Lewis or Groucho Marx, or dare I say Charlie Chaplin at times: it was perfectly realized,'' Mr. Noonan said. ''Urkel was a very successfully rendered character and a lot of people have a lot of affection for him.''

Mr. White is not one of those people. Shortly after ''Family Matters'' was canceled, Mr. White told a reporter, ''If you ever see me do that character again, take me out and put a bullet in my head and put me out of my misery.''

That bitterness grew from his feeling, long before the show ended, that he had wholly outgrown his inner Urkel, Mr. White said. In his senior year at the University of California at Los Angeles, he is a film student and avid jock, closely following pro and college basketball and hanging out with Anfernee Hardaway, backcourt for the Phoenix Suns. His speech is fast and colorful -- ''Some mango would be the bomb,'' he tells a waitress at the Four Seasons Hotel -- and his abilities as a performer, he says, extend far beyond geekdom.

And while he enjoyed the perks of starring in a long-running network show, Mr. White said he was more than happy to leave behind the life of the child star. ''You never get credit for what you do: you get chalked up to being cute or cuddly,'' he says. ''And you're never treated like your adult counterparts. They come along and get production deals and do other shows. And with a child, it's like, 'Send him a bike.' ''

Is it any surprise that the man behind Urkel just wants a little respect? To make sure he gets it, Mr. White said, he told UPN that he would appear in ''Grown-Ups'' only if he could also produce, working alongside the series creator, Matthew Miller. At first the involvement of the former child star was not exactly greeted with enthusiasm by Mr. Miller, a 27-year-old screenwriter who had sold ''Grown-Ups'' as an hourlong dramedy, a sort of ''Ally McBeal' for guys.

''I got a phone call telling me that 'Grown-Ups' was getting picked up, but as a half-hour, multi-camera show starring Urkel,'' said Mr. Miller. ''I immediately hung up the phone. That was my big artistic stance. It lasted about 15 minutes.''

Mr. Miller said his doubts eased when Mr. White came in for a reading. ''He's totally charming,'' Mr. Miller said. ''His timing makes it so easy to write for him. You just give him the suggestion of a joke, and he nails it.''

Mr. White hopes that audiences will feel the same way once they see him performing a regular guy role, in pants that fit. He's counting on many viewers' not making the Urkel association at all.

''A lot of times parents will see me on the street, grab their kids, pull them over and say: 'Look, look! Urkel!' he says. ''And the kids just look at me, like, 'Huh?' I can't tell you how happy that makes me. At this point, it's very rewarding not to be recognized.''




 
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