Pungent 'Flavor'

VH1 series returns rap star to spotlight -- but is edgy spoof an update of Stepin Fetchit?

LOS ANGELES -- This time six years ago, Flavor Flav, the flamboyant clock-wearing member of the groundbreaking rap group Public Enemy, was living in a low-rent apartment near Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. He was scalping baseball tickets for extra cash, battling a long addiction to drugs and racking up arrests for driving without a license.

These days, life is looking a lot brighter. His reality series, "Flavor of Love," a ghetto-fabulous spoof of the dating series "The Bachelor," has been a colossal hit for VH1. The show's first-season finale in March drew nearly 6 million viewers, making it the highest-rated show in the cable channel's history. More than 3 million people tuned in to watch the second-season premiere in August.

No one seems to be enjoying the success more than Flav, as he is known to one and all.

"I'm the king of VH1," he crowed over a surf-and-turf dinner at a soul food restaurant in downtown Los Angeles. "Your man Flavor Flav is doing his thiiiiing."

That thing has made the show as polarizing as it is popular. On blogs and at the office, on message boards and in op-ed columns, viewers are both riveted and repelled by "Flavor of Love."

Fans of the show call it a harmless guilty pleasure and its star a lovable and unlikely Romeo. Critics have accused the show of trafficking in racial stereotypes and have called Flav everything from a sellout to a modern-day Stepin Fetchit.

"Anytime we mention 'Flavor of Love' on our show, the phone lines start blowing up," said Donnell Rawlings, a New York morning radio personality on the popular hip-hop radio station Power 105.1. "Good or bad, our listeners love talking about Flav. They can't get enough of it. You've got beauties and you've got the beast, and it's become one of those shows you must watch every week."

On "Flavor of Love," 20 contestants vie for the rap star's affection while living with him in a mansion in Encino. Instead of roses, they are given oversize clocks when they're invited to stay at the end of each show, and the winner is awarded a personalized gold dental grille, a jeweled ornament for the teeth.

The women, who look like castoffs from a bad rap video, dress provocatively (the shorter the skirt, the lower the neckline, the better their chances), engage in raunchy make-out sessions with Flav and, when given the opportunity, profess undying devotion.

"You could be across the room, and I can feel you," Krazy, the rare white face on the show, said in a recent episode. (Flav, whose real name is William Drayton, has trouble remembering the contestants' real names, so he gives them nicknames like Deelishis, Toastee and Bootz.) "My heart is so big, and I'm such a compassionate person, and I see the same thing in you." Krazy then broke into song. "I will be with you forever," she crooned -- off-key.

Occasionally, the women even trade blows. This season's premiere began with two women brawling over a bed and ended with one contestant racing to the bathroom after a meal that didn't agree with her.

Offensive or just odd?

To Michael Hirschorn, the executive vice president for original programming at VH1, the reasons millions of viewers tune in every Sunday night are clear. "The accidental appeal of the show was the play between 'Are these women for real or not? Are these women there for him, or are they there because any fame is completely intoxicating?' " he said. "Instead of covering that part of the show up, we decided to make it integral."

Asked whether the show was exploiting racial stereotypes, Hirschorn, who is white, said he didn't think so. "I would also say I'm not in the position to make that judgment." But, he pointed out, "the show is disproportionately popular among black viewers, and the comedy is very inclusive."