OUR MAN ON THE INSIDE? WHAT IT'S LIKE TO TRY OUT FOR A HUMILIATING PUBLIC ORDEAL.

Byline: David Kronke TV Critic

For CBS' upcoming summer program ``Big Brother'' (tagline: ``TV has never been so real''), 10 guinea pigs - er, sorry, contestants - will be chosen largely on the basis of their ability to irritate one another.

Subsequently, they will be stranded in a house with but two bedrooms and one bathroom, in which hot water (and, no doubt, toilet paper) will be strictly rationed.

They'll have to grow their own vegetables and slaughter their own chickens if they want to eat. They'll not be allowed to speak to friends and family or, even, leave their narrow environs.

They won't be allowed access to newspapers or TV or anything that might give them an idea of what's going on elsewhere on their planet (should global-nuclear warfare occur, they'll be the last to know they're dead meat). They'll have their every embarrassing behavior, their every idiotic utterance, captured by cameras and disseminated to America via network television and the Internet.

They'll become symbols of a land's narcissism and an emerging national hunch that one's life doesn't count unless it takes place before TV cameras. They'll become regular jokes on Leno and Letterman, and once their travails have concluded, they are likely to slouch back into obscurity.

All this begs the question: Just what kind of freaking moron would even consider participating in this legalized torture?

To find out, I showed up at the auditions at KCBS, application in hand, a little after 7 p.m. last Wednesday. Since I had my application already filled out, I immediately jumped to the front of the line of 25 or so people. I spoke to some of the other hopefuls as they exited the process.

Richard Lenchner, a clinical psychologist/disc jockey/professional street dancer (honest!), explained his rationale for wanting to be on the show.

``I'm used to putting other people under scrutiny. I watch people on my couch - it's only fair to let people on their couches watch me.''

Given his varied careers, he added, ``I'm great at meeting strangers - I thought that my life is so interesting, it'd be good for TV. How many other doctors do you know who are also hip-hop performers?''

``Dr. Dre?'' I offered.

``He's not a licensed medical doctor,'' Lenchner pointed out.

In addition to a two-minute taped audition, aspirants must contribute two photos and fill out an 11-page questionnaire.

The questions run the gamut, from ``Have you ever been to a nude beach?'' to ``Have you ever had a restraining order issued against you? If so, tell us about it (include dates).''

That one, of course, comes in the wake of Fox's abject humiliation over the whole ``Who Wants to Marry a Multimillionaire?'' snafu, where the moneyed man in question had apparently caused some grief to a former girlfriend. I offered as my answer, ``Let's just say I've never been handed one.'' I figure, they've hired some private investigators; let 'em earn their keep.

Other queries:

Q: ``Have you ever had an interesting job?''

A: ``TV critic; hence, no.''

Q: ``What is your favorite movie?''

A: ``Network.'' (For those with a limited sense of film history, ``Network'' is an Oscar-winning satire from 1976 decrying media excesses which have all, in the quarter-century since the film's release, become tame by TV2K standards. In other words, it was simultaneously anticipating a show like ``Big Brother'' and finding it absolutely reprehensible.)

Q: ``Who is your hero and why?''

A: ``Edgar Allan Poe, because he freed the slaves.'' (Note: I know, I know, but the one other time I was up to be on TV, I was turned down because the producer said I was ``too erudite,'' and I didn't want that to be an issue here).

Q: ``Describe your perfect day.''

A: ``Waking up amidst nine other strangers under heavy, virtually insane surveillance and exchanging superficial pleasantries as these chuckleheads irritate me with their inane chatter and doing a slow boil until about 7 p.m., when I reach for my AK47 and silence the nattering brood. Why 7 p.m.? So the folks at the local TV news can make it for their 11 p.m. broadcast.'' (I concede it might give them pause for concern, but I think I prove I'm a team player with my thoughtful gesture toward the TV news media.)

Lisa Nowicki, who was ``doing the usual receptionist/temp routine'' until her break at stardom comes (she has her own 24/7 Web site at aspiringactresses.com), said she showed up even though members of actors unions were specifically discouraged from auditioning.

``People are going to come no matter what they say,'' Nowicki reasoned. ``I've already been interviewed by Channel 2 and now, by you - that only helps actors. Any crazy thing that an actor can do, they will.''

The lack of privacy did concern her, she admitted: ``Where would I do my yoga? In the mornings, I need to be very quiet and light my candles and be able to do my yoga.'' She added that the fact that she has her own intrusive Web site demonstrates she could handle ``Big Brother's'' demands; if she won the $500,000 prize for being the last contestant standing (after viewer votes eliminate contestants that fall from their favor), she said, she'd ``make a film with all my unemployed friends to help us get a start.''

Another aspiring performer was waiter Andrew Moran, who said the close living quarters didn't faze him: ``I'm living with five people in a two-bedroom apartment now, and that's not a problem.''

Moran described the show as ``a three-month powwow - the people who do this will have to be smart. The people who were on `MTV's Real World' were really stupid. This show is the most interesting thing I've ever heard of - it's like a piece of real life is being taken out and put on a pedestal for audiences to view.''

Moran said he responded to the question ``What types of people would you choose to have living with you in the house?'' with: ``nine women.''

Chris Matthews, a student attending culinary school, and Felicia Walker, a leasing consultant and writer, applied together. Walker said being holed up for three months with utter strangers couldn't be any worse than the past year of her life. ``I have nothing to lose - I was nearly paralyzed in an accident and almost had to file for bankruptcy.''

Matthews declared that if selected, he wouldn't provide any sort of sensationalist confrontations. He said, ``Take away the hype, and what's left? Yourself. I'm not gonna give 'em what they want - I'm gonna get what I want out of it for me.'' The $350-per-week pay for contestants, he said, is better than he's done in other jobs.

Rosalyn Earl, a student at California State University, Long Beach, said she would hate to sacrifice the ability to hang with her boyfriend, but admitted that L.A. Lakers superstar Kobe Bryant figured prominently in answers on her questionnaire. What would Earl bring with her to the ``Big Brother'' house? Kobe. How would she use any fame she got from ``Big Brother''? To meet celebrities like Kobe.

(Unwittingly, Earl may have hit on a dirty little secret - celebrities have created an American caste system, since they only seem to commune with other celebrities; the rest of us dregs have to consort with other dregs.)

Noting that the house would likely be populated with some antagonistic personalities, Earl said, ``I'm usually a nice person, but if people act like a-holes, I'd be an a-hole back. They (the show's producers) would get their confrontation.'' I admit I agree.

I answered the question ``List three (3) items you would take with you into the Big Brother House if allowed and why'' thusly:

``1.) Books, so I wouldn't have to interact with those other bozos. 2.) A pamphlet of inspirational verse, so that I can comfort others in an irksomely superficial fashion in times of woe. 3.) A garrote: Just in case.''

But I made, to my mind, a convincing pitch as to why I belonged on the show in my audition tape. I explained the dramatic concept of the ``Greek chorus'' (coming, I explained, from ancient theater from some ancient land - Greece, I believed) and, since I was addressing illiterate TV executives, explained the literary conceit of meta-fiction (roughly, a narrator's own self-consciousness while telling a story).

I further declared that, as a TV critic, I could review the show as it took place and thereby create a new genre - meta-non-fiction. And, since the show's creative conceits tended to drag it from the narrow definition of ``reality,'' my commentary on the series' very ``irreality'' would restore its truthfulness and integrity. Plus, there'd be one at least nominally good review they'd be assured.

If I get called back for the next round of auditions - and, heavens, given such compelling answers and arguments, don't you think I will? - we'll keep you posted.

CAPTION(S):

4 photos

Photo:

(1 -- cover -- color) Watch out - Big Brother is coming in the form of a new reality TV show. David Kronke investigates.

Eye and Big Brother logos - CBS 

(2 -- 3) Paul Romer, above, executive producer of CBS' ``Big Brother,'' stands in an opening for a one-way mirror that will enable filming of the house's inhabitants, in rooms such as the one shown below, with remote- control cameras.

(4) Construction efforts continue on the CBS lot for the massive, enclosed set for ``Big Brother,'' which will be taping all day, every day, for three months.

Hans Gutknecht/Staff Photographer