Lifestyles of the Kitsch and Semi-Famous

The WB Entertainment president Jordan Levin prefers to see Surreal less as sad exploitation than as a campy, nostalgic romp through everyday existence. ''That's the hook for this show, the idea of taking the interest that exists for Behind the Music and The E! True Hollywood Story and using that to put a spin on a genre of reality programming that young people know very well.'' M.C. Hammer embraces the old-school lesson plan. ''We're at a time where everything old is new again,'' says the formerly puffy-pantsed rapper. ''So you look at these people -- they remind you of an old brand you can trust, and it's comforting. It brings back great memories, and you get a chance to see us right now.''

While the not-so-super seven reside in a tricked-out Real World-style pad (once owned by Glen Campbell) that's been transformed into a postmodern fun house filled with kitschy collectibles like Lewis' 1985 People's Choice Award and a framed, handwritten note to Feldman from Michael Jackson, Surreal Life lacks the constant bitching and hissy fits that mark MTV's veteran voyeur soap. For one thing, no one is getting voted off or losing big cash prizes like on Big Brother. For another, these inhabitants are much too media savvy: Ask any Surreal Lifer about his or her housemates, and you'll get lots of generic adjectives like ''great,'' ''cool,'' and ''fun.'' Indeed, the common career woes have led to a sort of underdog bonding. ''We're all in the same boat,'' says Feldman. ''We're people that have been put on the opposite end of the block for one reason or another. And it's very, very refreshing to be able to go, 'I'm not the only one.'''

This is not to say they're sitting around reenacting scenes from the Hammerman cartoon (although that might be a good idea for another reality show); fortunately for viewers, there is some tension to be had. Neil, as mellow a fellow as he may be, is starting to tire of Feldman's tendency to control every conversation. ''Corey lives by his own life standards, which doesn't have anything to do with mine at all. I'm pretty laid-back and just kinda go with the flow, where if there ain't drama happening, I don't know if he's happy,'' says the rocker. ''But there's a lot of stuff with Corey going on right now with the wedding. That will drive anybody nuts.''

Yes, the wedding. Since entering the house, Feldman has set a date with his fiancee, college student Susie Sprague, and in the publicity stunt to end all publicity stunts, their nuptials will take place on the show's final day. Feldman is ecstatic, and not just about the extra camera time. ''Warner Brothers has decided to pick up this tab for me,'' he explains. ''They're talking about spending $100,000 on this wedding. That's monstrous! I'm not in a position right now to just lay down 100 grand on my wedding.''

Back at their Hollywood Hills abode on day 5 of their stay, the gang is in full rehearsal mode for the big talent show. Feldman runs through a ballad from his recent solo CD Former Child Actor, while Carteris -- who as the ticket-sales fund-raising champ selected the Mattel Children's Foundation charity to receive the $1,900 -- perfects her kazoo rendition of ''When the Saints Go Marching In.'' Hammer, who promises to debut a new ''character'' for the performance, is busy working the grill, while Neil, who once urged listeners to shout at the devil, is penning a ditty titled ''Surreal Life Blues'' (there's a line about ''No money or cell phones -- things you gotta have''). And then there's the 2001 Playmate of the Year, who is break-dancing while wearing a cheerleader outfit and Wonder Woman panties. This bears repeating. The 2001 Playmate of the Year is break-dancing in a cheerleader outfit and Wonder Woman panties.

The hour draws near. Seven former stars who have seen the spotlight come and go are ready to once again unleash their unique talents for an intimate, fairly enthusiastic (and in some cases simply confused) audience of 100-plus people. More important, though, are the millions of television viewers who will eventually be watching (which is why we're not going to spoil the results of this backyard extravaganza). This is their moment -- again. ''I think every one of us in here has to defend ourselves in some way,'' says Feldman, ''and this is us saying 'Here we are, standing strong, and this is what we are today.''' The stage is waiting. It's show time.