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Most of the time, however, the conversation on The Arsenio Hall Show is just what you'd expect from a talk show that bills itself as a party: lots of small talk, much of it boring. Hall's show-biz gush rivals Merv Griffin's or Rivers' at their most unctuous. His treatment of guests is overly deferential, his questions stultifying softballs. ("Let's talk about pet peeves," ran a setup for Kirstie Alley.) The talk on Carson's Tonight show may be programmed and artificial, but at least it gives the illusion of a real conversation. Hall seems tied to preset questions and often appears disconnected and unresponsive. Too many comments elicit a blank "mmm-hmmm," followed by an awkward silence.
But, hey, do his fans care? At a time when most talk shows have moved into controversial issues (Phil, Oprah, even Rivers) or anti-talk-show parody (Letterman), Hall has returned the genre to its original raison d'etre: old-fashioned, unapologetic stargazing. His innovation has been to set the show-biz plugs to a bracing rock beat. And if you prefer a little more substance with your MTV flash, boy, are you stuck in the '80s.
Hall bridles at the criticisms his show has received. "One critic accused me of fawning over second-rate talent. How dare he! In the ghetto the game is respect. If I book you, I'm committed to you. I'm an entertainer, not a tough interviewer. My philosophy is to leave my ego at the door and get the best out of my guests." Yet Hall concedes that his interviewing skills need work. He is currently being coached by New York City-based media consultant Virginia Sherwood. Among her tips: ask more follow-up questions and avoid overusing words like interesting.
The press's fixation on race nettles Hall even more. Though he takes pride in giving exposure to many black performers ("I have a commitment to correcting the wrongs of TV history"), Hall insists he is doing a show for everybody, black and white. "I'm out to bring the ghetto to the suburbs and the suburbs to the ghetto. I want ((rapper)) Tone-Loc and Major Ferguson, Fergie's dad, on the same couch. Most white people have never been to a party at a black person's house. I hope they say, 'This one looks nice -- maybe I'll try it.' "
In addition to his tiff with Spike Lee, Hall has been embroiled in a feud with Willis Edwards, president of the Beverly Hills-Hollywood chapter of the N.A.A.C.P. When Hall's show began, Edwards complained publicly about the scarcity of blacks in key behind-the-scenes positions. (Hall's producer and director, as well as the vice president of his production company, are all white women.) According to Hall, after making the statements Edwards asked for a $40,000 contribution to his organization, a request that Hall told a reporter "sounds like extortion to me." Edwards denied asking for money and slapped Hall with a $10 million slander suit.
No wonder Hall sometimes feels besieged. "My manager told me not to be angry, but I am," he says. "I give 110%. I resent the fact that ((for some white critics)) I have to be whiter to be a star. And then there are the jabs from my own people, the implication that I have to be unfair to whites to make + blacks happy. I am angry. I'm on a tightrope, and people are punching me from every direction."