RAINN WILSON
Must Freak Showman

The girl behind the register is speechless. A man in glasses and a leather jacket stands before her, wielding a green musical toy. ''I was a saxophone, clarinet, and bassoon player growing up,'' he says, ''but it all starts at the recorder, my friend.''

Rainn Wilson — a.k.a. the world's most deluded paper salesman, Dwight Schrute from NBC's corporate comedy The Office — has come to this tchotchke store in Vancouver, where he's shooting the family film Mimzy, to buy a guitar for his 18-month-old son (Wilson is married to writer Holiday Reinhorn). But a wind instrument has diverted his attention, and now he's trying to get this teenage cashier to request a song so he can prove that Dwight's ''mad recorder skillz'' (fans may remember when he serenaded Michael on his birthday with William Joel's ''The Longest Time'') aren't mere Hollywood special effects.

''Whaddaya wanna hear? Gimme anything.''

She looks at him like he's just asked her to make a PowerPoint presentation on Dunder Mifflin's profit projections. ''I don't listen to the radio,'' she sniffs. He keeps pushing. Finally she comes back strong: ''Mock Abduction'' from Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring. Any pride-possessing person would wave a white flag. Instead, Wilson raises the recorder to his lips and prances around wild-eyed, trilling his way through a cacophonous concoction of notes. After a closing flourish, he smiles proudly and says: ''Close, right?''

''It was interesting,'' she says, tapping buttons on the register. In this store, if you play it, you buy it. ''That comes to 10 dollars and 26 cents.''

Apparently, someone has a few more people to win over in his quest for North American domination. But know this: When it Rainns, it never bores. With his accessibly eccentric turn on The Office as a deer-hunting, beet-farming, promotion-craving assistant (to the) regional manager, the 40-year-old supporting actor may just be TV's most lovable crypto-fascist sycophant. (Evidence: NBC.com has sold over 14,000 Dwight bobblehead dolls.) Building on his collectible-figurine momentum, Wilson will costar with Luke Wilson and Uma Thurman in the July comedy My Super Ex-Girlfriend, about a jilted superhero seeking revenge. Rainn may not have his cape yet, but he's starting to make a name for himself as Breakout Boy. ''It's [his] total commitment,'' raves Office-mate Steve Carell. ''Vanity and comedy don't go well together, and Rainn isn't vain in any sense of the word.'' So it seems. ''I would describe my look as lantern-jawed, rugged, and chiseled,'' muses Wilson. ''Oh, wait — that's Mark Harmon. I'm gangly and freakish. Put it this way: My looks go hand in hand with the characters I usually play. It's all in the hair.''

As proof, he smooshes back his locks, fiddles a bit, and...wow. ''See that? I think I'm a pretty normal guy, but I can make myself look very odd very quickly. People [who meet me] say, 'Omigod, you're not weird or goofy at all!' I'm like, 'Thanks. Really?' And they're like, 'Yeahhh...' And I'm like, 'Cooool...' And they're like, 'All right...''' He trails off. ''Something like that.''