Candid Camera

It was, perhaps, inevitable that Fox Broadcasting Co. would come up with Totally Hidden Video (Channel 29, 8:30 tonight). A Candid Camera for the '80s, it follows a tradition of voyeuristic television programming that Fox has established during its relatively brief existence. Totally Hidden Video presents a series of hidden-camera pranks. In tonight's debut episode, for example, a man in a Mexican restaurant is plagued by a mariachi band, playing at full blast, which will not leave the poor fellow's table.

Several years ago, as part of a Candid Camera stunt, Allen Funt got permission to stop traffic on a Bethel Township road leading into Delaware. Funt's crew told drivers that Delaware was full and that they could not go in until someone left. Reece Thomas, a longtime resident and president of the township planning commission, says some people fell for the ploy. The incident may be one of the few claims to fame for this still somewhat rural community. Although development has come to the township, today's drivers can still watch horses roaming in pastures, pass old stone fences that divide private property from the roadway, and be amused by the old traffic signal at Naamans Creek Road and Foulk Road, which hangs from a wire in the center of the intersection.

The mariachi band was real, but the man who sat forever at his restaurant table while the band hounded him with strums and trills was an actor following a script, and now Totally Hidden Video co-producer Larry Hovis is out of a job. Hovis was fired after Fox Broadcasting Co. officials determined that three of the segments planned for the first broadcast of its Candid Camera copycat, which premiered Sunday, were bogus. His biggest mistake may have been hiring actor Steve North, a friend of Candid Camera creator-producer Allen Funt's son, as the man forced to endure endless mariachi music.

Allen Funt showed the way, but nobody followed. Not right off, at least. When the Age of Television flickered to life in the late 1940s, Funt was there with Candid Camera , the show he created and hosted. Using a hidden lens, Candid Camera recorded the frustrated response of ordinary people to absurd situations that Funt and crew had secretly set up: a mailbox that talked, a car with no engine, a "restroom" door that opened onto a closet, an elevator that moved sideways.

"Smile - you're on 'Candid Camera' " - it's a phrase as much a part of TV history as "Heeee-ere's Johnny!" TV history repeats itself tonight as "Candid Camera" returns as a series on CBS. Hosted by Peter Funt, son of "Candid Camera" creator Allen Funt, and by actress Suzanne Somers ("Step by Step"), the series goes where all its previous incarnations have gone before: onto the highways and byways of America, looking for the gullible, the strange and the just plain silly. Funt, a former reporter and magazine publisher whose father, now 83, first hosted the radio show "Candid Microphone" in 1947, talked this week about hidden cameras and what they mean to him. Did you always want to go into the family business?

"He's got a video camera," someone says. An alert from one police officer to another? A spectator's remark? Difficult to say. But what is clear is that Gibson Ivery Jr. did, indeed, have a video camera and that he used it at the Greek Picnic in Fairmount Park on Saturday to record what appears to be two officers taking swats with their nightsticks and a third aiming a couple of kicks at a man lying on the ground. "He's got a video camera. " These days, who doesn't? About 3.6 million of them were sold last year.

Special programming has pre-empted the usual Tuesday night battle between Moonlighting and Hill Street Blues, and in its place is a battle is between the third part of Amerika and the last - maybe - episode of Remington Steele. CANDID CAMERA: THE FIRST 40 YEARS (8 p.m., Ch. 10) - When somebody gets a really good idea, it lasts. If you doubt the truth in this cliche, you have only to watch Allen Funt tonight as he celebrates the 40th anniversary of Candid Camera. Even though the show was created in television's infancy, the sneaky enjoyment of catching people "in the act of being themselves" is still with us. Funt's guests include his longtime partner in crime, Fannie Flagg, along with Paul Newman, Kristy McNichol, Emmanuel Lewis and George Burns, but the real stars are sure to be the parade of hilarious moments Funt has compiled.

Forget the Olympics. Never mind triathlons and iron-man contests. When it comes to sheer physical tenacity, courage in the face of overwhelming odds and seemingly incomprehensible stupidity, nothing beats "Endurance," the outrageous Japanese game show. Picture a fraternity hazing organized by the Marquis de Sade, and you've visualized what "Endurance" contestants have to put up with. How about dunking your head under water while angry catfish nip at your face? What about being forced to eat some of the grossest food imaginable, the unmentionable innards of unnamed animals?

Allen Funt was one of TV's true visionaries. He realized how flustered we all get when the rules are suddenly changed without warning. And how funny we look when we're the only one not in on the joke. Simple, universal, hilarious. Candid Camera used hidden lenses to capture that priceless reaction and the show ran - forever. In 2003, Ashton Kutcher was savvy enough to adapt Funt's concept for our modern tabloid era, when celebrities have been deified. The result, MTV's Punk'd, made well-known young performers the hapless victims of elaborately arranged pranks and videotaped the results.

Allen Funt was one of TV's true visionaries. He realized how flustered we all get when the rules are suddenly changed without warning. And how funny we look when we're the only one not in on the joke. Simple, universal, hilarious. Candid Camera used hidden lenses to capture that priceless reaction and the show ran - forever. In 2003, Ashton Kutcher was savvy enough to adapt Funt's concept for our modern tabloid era, when celebrities have been deified. The result, MTV's Punk'd, made well-known young performers the hapless victims of elaborately arranged pranks and videotaped the results.

In repressive regimes, it may be standard procedure for police to handcuff civilians and smash their cameras because they snapped photos and video of cops doing their jobs. But this isn't Iran. Thus, it's good to hear from Police Commissioner Charles H. Ramsey that such egregious rights violations are the polar opposite of official Police Department policy in Philadelphia. Even though Ramsey never should have had to say it, he recently issued a department directive that made it clear police officers cannot take away the cameras of citizens who merely record their activities.

Allen Funt showed the way, but nobody followed. Not right off, at least. When the Age of Television flickered to life in the late 1940s, Funt was there with Candid Camera, the show he created and hosted. Using a hidden lens, Candid Camera recorded the frustrated response of ordinary people to absurd situations that Funt and crew had secretly set up: a mailbox that talked, a car with no engine, a "restroom" door that opened onto a closet, an elevator that moved sideways.

The sheer volume of Web-cam photos snapped by the Lower Merion School District to track school-issued laptops indicates how oblivious school officials were to students' privacy rights. An investigation by the district found that nearly 56,000 images were taken after tracking software was turned on, usually when a computer was reported missing. Henry E. Hockeimer Jr., the attorney hired by the district to lead the inquiry, said the photos did not capture students in embarrassing poses.

SURVEILLANCE cameras all over the city would be a fabulous idea. They could even mount empty boxes on some of the poles, but should put flashing or revolving blue lights on all the boxes, not only on those with portable cameras. Naturally, Larry Frankel of the ACLU thinks the idea stinks. He probably goes home to a suburban house, in a gated community, and doesn't have to worry about things that us ordinary citizens do! Being free to enjoy my neighborhood, and city, are the real American civil liberties that I'm interested in, and I don't care who is looking over my shoulder.

TV CAMERAS are brutally unforgiving - especially during high-stakes election debates. They amplified the angst on Nixon's brow, the inexperience in Quayle's eyes, and the vulgarity of Gore's visage. How will Democratic presidential candidate John Kerry hold up under the spotlight tonight? Beneath the Christophe-coifed hair, unnaturally taut skin and artificial tan, there are some naked attributes Kerry cannot conceal: His spite. His haughtiness. His condescending core. John Kerry detests his opponents.

Sock it to red-light runners. More than 40 cities in America have installed surveillance cameras at dangerous intersections to catch drivers who run red lights. Philadelphia should be the next. State Rep. George Kenney (R., Phila.) wants to pursue an idea first broached by Councilman Frank Rizzo: installing cameras at dangerous intersections where locals tend to regard red lights not as the law, but as a suggestion they can choose to ignore. This is a city packed with runners of red lights, stop signs and whatever else gets in their way; these drivers often have no auto insurance to compensate the people they harm when they violate the rules of the road.

Churches say it's wrong to have sex before marriage. Adults tell teens it's wrong to have sex before marriage. Even the Bush White House advocates pre-marital purity. But here's the problem: Know how many people out who do not follow that advice? Millions. Surgeon-General David Satcher is more interested in dealing with reality and its medical consequences than in pushing ideals. His recent report on sex in America doesn't sugarcoat the facts or their effects - some of them quite grim.

"He's got a video camera," someone says. An alert from one police officer to another? A spectator's remark? Difficult to say. But what is clear is that Gibson Ivery Jr. did, indeed, have a video camera and that he used it at the Greek Picnic in Fairmount Park on Saturday to record what appears to be two officers taking swats with their nightsticks and a third aiming a couple of kicks at a man lying on the ground. "He's got a video camera. " These days, who doesn't? About 3.6 million of them were sold last year.