By Linton Weeks
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, June 18 1996; Page B01
The Washington Post

Does a jazzy melange of entertainment and politics make for provocative pillow talk?

Bill Maher, the host of cable TV's "Politically Incorrect With Bill Maher," a nightly show on Comedy Central, enjoys putting that question to the test. For 30 minutes, Maher--rhymes with "star"--moderated a quirky, eclectic quartet of guests as they wax on about politics, people, and popular culture. The guest list has looped from Sen. Arlen Specter to Roseanne to Cokie Roberts to comedian Carrot Top. But the ringmaster is Maher.

As the presidential campaign steams up this summer, there's one thing you can be sure of: more and more Maher. He's become so popular among young viewers, in fact, that ABC has bought his show, and beginning in January he will be on every weeknight following "Nightline," mano a mano with Leno and Letterman.

The question is this: Can Maher bring together disparate influences--serious newspeople, airhead actors and off-the-cuff comedians--successfully enough to keep Ted Koppel fans awake for another half-hour?

In town last week to promote his new book, "Does Anybody Have a Problem With That?," Maher got a taste of the differences between entertainment and politics, between Hollywood and Washington.

He entered the Monocle on Capitol Hill at lunch time lusting for fish and steamed spinach. His table wasn't ready. "In L.A., I'd get a table like that," he said, snapping his fingers. "There's a different idea of celebrity in this city."

People weren't approaching him, he said, the way they do in places such as Atlanta. "This is a shy city," he explained. "I can see people staring at me, but they are reticent."

Finally, a friendly waiter sidled over to Maher. "'Politically Incorrect,'" he said. "I watch it all the time." Maher shook his hand. Other than a lone staffer from Specter's office, no one acknowledged Maher's fame.

So when his own stone-faced waiter told Maher that he couldn't have spinach because it wasn't on the menu, Maher was mightily miffed. He called the friendly waiter over, explained the dilemma and whispered, as if he had seen a beautiful woman across the room, "Do you think you could hook me up with some spinach?"

The friendly waiter said he thought it could be arranged. Maher said he'd be eternally grateful. Maher ordered a Jack Daniel's and Diet Coke and waited to see if got his spinach.

There is, as Maher said, a different idea of celebrity in this city. And a different understanding of politics. Not better, necessarily, just different.

And that chasm--between Hollywood and Washington, entertainment and politics--is the foundation upon which Maher has built his show. Now in its fourth year, "PI" is the most successful original program on Comedy Central, a joint venture of Time Warner Entertainment and Viacom that reaches more than 38 million American homes.

Maher begins each segment with a highly scripted monologue.

On conservatives: "Conservatives know what they want, and they never forget it. Except for the time Reagan went to the Vietnam Memorial and shouted, 'Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!'"

On immigrants: "The Statue of Liberty...people read that thing and think it's a law. It's not. It's a lovely sentiment. I read things on public urinals. That doesn't mean I take it to court."

Then he brings out his four guests and they chat about current affairs. At its best, "PI" is a lively, surprise-packed forum--a hip version of David Brinkley's show. At its worst, it's mindless cocktail party palaver--McLaughlin for mall rats.

If Maher can make the chemistry work at ABC, his name will be made. If he can't, his name will be mud.

The question is whether such an edgy show can survive in the network mainstream.

"I have no illusions about the show," Maher said. "I'm very aware that the media, en masse, may not embrace it."

But he insisted he has no plans to change it or to do another type of show on ABC. "I like being the 'Politically Incorrect' king."

In town not just to hawk his hot seller but also to film ad promos for "Indecision '96," Comedy Central's coverage of the political conventions, Maher did everything he could to live up to the name of his act.

At the Christian Science Monitor building to tape a radio interview, he stopped by the bathroom on the third floor. When he had trouble opening the door to the men's room, he just walked into the ladies'.

For a man who hosts a show about politics, even tangentially about politics, he has a lot to learn about his nation's capital.

"Is that the Lincoln Memorial?" he asked, as the Gray Line tour trolley he'd boarded moved on to the Arlington Memorial Bridge.

"Isn't John Kennedy buried here?" he asked when the bus paused at Arlington Cemetery.

But he did know how to act like a king. Just before stepping on one of the red, open-air trolleys in front of the Capital Hilton, he instructed his limousine driver to follow the trolley, in case he decided to abort.

He sat in the very back seat, his grayish-blond hair blowing in the breeze, and pointed to an Indian restaurant on Connecticut Avenue. He said he once worked a comedy club in that building. Maher also recognized a hotel in Georgetown where he stayed for six weeks in the early 1980s while filming the cult classic "D.C. Cab," starring Mr. T.

On his way to the Monocle, he spoke of his life. He was born in New York and raised in River Vale, N.J. He never read comic books. He majored in English at Cornell. When he graduated, he began doing stand-up comedy in New York. In 1983, he moved to Los Angeles. He acted in movies such as "Pizza Man" and wrote "True Story," a novel about comedians. "PI" premiered in the summer of 1993.

After lunch, the limo carried Maher to a photo studio on Eighth Street SE near the Marine barracks. Food, fizzy water and air conditioning were waiting. So were a beehive of folks from Comedy Central and "PI" regulars comedian Al Franken--whose own book, "Rush Limbaugh Is a Big Fat Idiot," continues to sell well--and Arianna Huffington.

Comedian Chris Rock's plane had been delayed and everybody was pretty much bummed out about it. But the cameras rolled, shooting promo stills and a video spot called "Strange Bedfellows." Franken, in pajama top and blue jeans, crawled into a patriotically decorated bed with a nightgown-clad Huffington for the commercial.

Later, all attention turned to Maher as he mugged for the lens. Makeup maven Lori Klein watched him like a mother--touching up his hair, telling him not to lean too hard on his hand and checking his teeth for stray pieces of steamed spinach.

Copyright 1996 The Washington Post Company