Make Way for the Sellevangelists

By GINIA BELLAFANTE ;

Only a few years ago, viewers of very, very late-night TV were treated to a mock talk show more entertaining than most of the real ones. The host of the show was Lyle Waggoner, and its purpose was to tout a purchasable cure for impotence. Here was celebrity hawking at its historic low: an infomercial for a bogus product endorsed by a TV "star" whose glory days (as The Carol Burnett Show cast member who most resembled George Hamilton) came during the Nixon Administration.

The Lyle Waggoners of the world still populate the TV marketplace. But lately they have been joined by a panoply of bigger names, from Angela Lansbury (who appears in an infomercial for children's videotapes) to Kathleen Sullivan, the former CBS This Morning anchor who not only weighs in for the cameras in a series of ads for Weight Watchers but also attends their meetings in a Weight Watchers Super Start program infomercial. Mel Harris joins Victoria Principal to pitch skin-care products; Dionne Warwick offers us psychic phenomena; Ali McGraw hawks more beautifiers, all in program-length commercials. This month Joan Rivers converted her daytime talk show into a new program combining gab with salesmanship, aptly titled Can We Shop. Even Roseanne and Tom Arnold have found time for a potentially lucrative sideline: in April they will begin appearing on a new home-shopping channel called ViaTV, promoting their line of his-and-hers large-size clothing (including the Roseanne After Eight collection).

Why are celebrities -- certifiable ones, as well as members of the over-the- hill gang -- struggling less and less with the stigma of selling? While stars like Laurence Olivier and Candice Bergen have always fronted for high- profile products (and others, like Michael Douglas and Jack Lemmon, do uncredited voice-overs on commercials), a growing number of celebrities are entering the traditionally shadowy universe of direct marketing. "More so than ever, we have clients coming to us saying, 'I want to do an infomercial. Find me the right one,' " claims Rick Bradley, a talent representative at the William Morris Agency who pairs celebrities with the right program-length ads. (Among his clients: John Tesh and Connie Sellecca, who appear in an infomercial for a series of videotapes that promise to improve your romantic $ relationships.) Says Steve Howard, president of Williams Television Time, an infomercial-produc tion company: "In the old days you had to beat down the door as the ugly stepchild of advertising. Now celebrities are flocking to us."

They are flocking, of course, primarily for the money. A star can make up to $100,000 for shooting an infomercial, in addition to royalties that can reach 5% of gross sales. With a hit product, the money gushes quickly. The Perfect Smile tooth whitener plugged by Vanna White, for example, generated more than $20 million in revenue during its first four months on the air.

The once smarmy image of infomercials, moreover, is starting to improve. Three years ago, in an effort to avoid government regulation, the makers of infomercials issued guidelines that asked manufacturers to substantiate the claims of their products. Stricter rules and an influx of such yuppie-swank companies as Volvo and Braun to the $750 million infomercial business have resulted in the marketing of fewer gadgets ending in the suffix o-matic. In addition, Barry Diller's purchase of QVC has given the entire home-shopping industry an element of cachet. Diller was introduced to QVC by his friend Diane Von Furstenberg, who sells a line of women's clothes on the channel, and he is luring other upscale designers, among them Karl Lagerfeld, who has expressed interest in selling his chic apparel on the network.

Much of the home-shopping world still has a bargain-basement aura. Rivers, who has sold $60 million worth of clothing and jewelry on QVC, hawks everything from breadmakers and hair bows to books on faith healing on Can We Shop. She also brings on other celebrities to promote their wares: Dolly Parton appeared as one of Rivers' first guests to shill her own line of "goof-proof" Revlon cosmetics, for which the singer has also completed an upcoming infomercial. Rivers sees herself as the pioneer of a new genre combining selling with show biz. "This is entertainment in big letters," she says. "You're not getting close-ups of snake chains; in a few years there are going to be 35 shows in this format."

Not all the new celebrity hucksters embrace their role so readily. Lansbury, the star of Murder, She Wrote, cites loftier goals for her promotion of a series of videotapes of Beatrix Potter stories. "Children today are denied the luxury of innocence in their childhood," she says. "I wanted to sell these tapes. Show your children this, I thought, don't show them Ninja Turtles. Start them off with little allegorical tales, not those violent cartoons and movies."

Sullivan, who has been out of the public eye since being relieved of her morning anchor duties in 1990, is more defensive about her return -- looking significantly chubbier -- as a Weight Watchers salesperson. "I got into journalism to bring people insights," says Sullivan. "I can do the same thing with this. To give people a sense of personal success is something I am thrilled about."

Whatever the rationalizations, stars still face the fear that entering the electronic marketplace will result in image destruction. "There is no question," says William Morris' Bradley, "that once people get out of the fields they are good at, they worry about their peers labeling them as sellouts." Sullivan admits she has felt the "wrath of my colleagues" for her new campaign. "I've been called every name in the book," she says.

Ultimately, no one wants his or her reputation cheapened. And that is why some celebrities, even those with reputations that weren't exactly highbrow to begin with, are still reluctant to do infomercials. For example, who is the celebrity most sought after to appear in an infomercial? She has posed topless for Playboy, Vanity Fair and Rolling Stone. But Cindy Crawford still says no.

With reporting by Jeffrey Ressner/Los Angeles