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By Joyce Millman

April 19, 1999 |The rap against filmmaker, anti-corporate crusader and political humorist Michael Moore (well, one of the raps) is that he wears his leftie, pro-labor heart on his sleeve. Well, du-uh! You can't do political humor without the politics, and by political humor I don't mean Monica jokes, or phony newscasts, or knee-jerk naughty political incorrectness. I mean politics as in belief, conviction, agenda. You knew where Richard Pryor was coming from, and Lenny Bruce, and George Carlin and the Smothers Brothers. But quick: Is Bill Maher a Democrat, a Republican -- or none of the above? Is Dennis Miller a liberal or a conservative? Does Craig Kilborn really give a damn about anything except how pretty he looks on camera?

Such is the sorry state of political humor on American TV that Moore's latest series, "The Awful Truth," is partially funded by Britain's Channel 4 and airs on the Bravo cable channel, which, in terms of viewership, ain't exactly NBC. Of course, NBC canceled "TV Nation," Moore's previous satirical newsmagazine, even after it won the 1995 Emmy for best informational series, so there you go.

"The Awful Truth," which premiered April 11, is basically a tighter, more focused half-hour version of "TV Nation." Old favorites like the Widgery and Associates opinion polls and the Corporate Crimefighting Chicken are still around, but Moore now introduces segments standing at a microphone on a stage in front of an audience. Moore and his writers only have time for two taped pieces per show and, given Moore's tendency to pound the same nail over and over, that's not necessarily a bad thing. As he did on "TV Nation" (and in his films "Roger and Me" and "The Big One"), Moore confronts authority with a camera crew in tow, a maneuver that's more NBC-era David Letterman than "60 Minutes." As usual for Moore, "The Awful Truth" is half right-on exposé of the powerful and corrupt, and half pointless humiliation of anyone else who happens to get in the way.

Moore's ingenuous schlub in a baseball cap routine is pretty well-worn (some might even say suspect) by now, and the guy has certainly taken his lumps from critics who accuse him of being a self-promoter and thin-skinned, but those are peripheral quibbles. More to the point is that, with two films and a series to his credit, you'd think he'd know when to edit a piece before its sharpness disintegrates into mere prank-pulling, and before it erodes the dignity of the Joe Average victim of corporate avarice he's ostensibly trying to help.

In one of the April 11 stories, Moore took up the cause of Chris Donahue, a Florida man with complications from diabetes whose HMO, Humana, denied coverage for the pancreas transplant he needed to stay alive. The footage of Moore and Donahue staging a mock funeral (complete with bagpipes and mourners) in front of Humana headquarters, and running up against the brick wall of corporate indifference in the form of an unyielding public relations flack, deftly brought together guerrilla theater, muckraking journalism and political satire. But why did Moore have to identify Donahue as "husband, father, dying guy" in his narration, and let the camera linger jarringly on Donahue's tears? (For the record, Humana reversed its decision after Moore's visit and paid for Donahue's transplant.)

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