Timidity is at the very core of television, which remains as inoffensive as possible to keep as many viewers as possible. Even when programs veer into controversy, boundaries are carefully observed.

There's a narrow range of political debate, although it's hard to tell for all the screaming on TV talk shows. Shows that seem racy or profane turn out to be morality plays at heart; the bad guys--and it's assumed we all agree on what's good and bad - always lose in the end.

You want real daring, bluntness, outrageous opinion? Go read an alternative publication, right- or left-wing. Go listen to the radio. Don't bother turning on the TV set, where the status quo is handmaiden to commercials for cars and cola.

Except, except...here comes Michael Moore, variously described as guerrilla, maverick or rogue filmmaker, to put a little static in the picture. "The Awful Truth," which airs at 9 p.m. EDT Sunday on Bravo and repeats at 10 p.m. EDT Friday, is a 12-week series in the style of Moore's documentaries "Roger & Me" and "The Big One."

As in his films, his aim is to stick it to the big guys and give a lift to the little ones. He also wants to make us laugh and think at the same time. That in itself is revolutionary.

"Media exist to reinforce the status quo, to reinforce people's fears and prejudices and to guarantee that citizens will not rock the boat," Moore said in an interview. "It is meant to sedate people, to numb their minds."

"The Awful Truth" is no dose of Prozac; viewers risk being delighted or offended by its naked satire.

The first episode offers a skit in which Moore, accompanied by a band of performers dressed as Puritans, invade the nation's capital to show independent counsel Kenneth Starr and Congress how to conduct a better and cheaper "witch hunt."

In another segment, Moore champions the cause of a man who, we are told, will die without the pancreas transplant his HMO refuses to cover. Moore's tactics include a rehearsal funeral, casket and all, staged in front of the company's headquarters.

Future bits: A chorus of people who have lost their larynxes to smoking serenade tobacco executives and lobbyists; Moore attempts to give software magnate Bill Gates a weed trimmer for his lavish estate; Moore plays matchmaker for Hillary Rodham Clinton, figuring she'll be available in January 2001.

Moore's trademark baseball cap and gleeful expression give him the look of a kid who just smacked a ball through the crabby neighbor's house. Ask him to apologize, and he'd probably hand you a bat and ball. He seems as comfortable in his subversive skin as he is in that all-American cap. The economic recovery, for example, he dismisses as the property of the rich.

The average schmo is "living on five Master Cards and three Visas and paying the minimum balance from month to month.....The whole recovery is financed on personal debt on the backs of working people of this country."

That the system has cleared air time for a harsh critic doesn't surprise Moore.

"There's this incredible flaw in capitalism which says we must make as much money as possible, no matter what. Even if we have to put a guy on TV who we completely disagree with and who is opposed to everything we stand for," he says.

"There's that old saying: The capitalist will sell you the rope to hang himself with. That is such a beautiful description."

Moore is not relentlessly downbeat. He has kind words for corporate-owned Bravo for providing a home for him and other independent filmmakers. And he expects viewers to enjoy "The Awful Truth" even more than be enlightened by it.

Some say Moore's take on economics is unfair and simplistic.

"If you want a sermon, you should go to church," he says. "If you want a political rally, you should join a party. First and foremost, my responsibility is to entertain the people watching the show and to make sure they have a good laugh for a half-hour.

"If they can have that laugh at the expense of people causing a lot of havoc in their lives, like corporate America or these politicians, great."

The filmmaker plays stand-up comic in "The Awful Truth," introducing the pre-taped segments and doing shtick for a lively Chicago theater audience. He downplays his skill as a comedian but concedes he easily handles the hecklers.

"I love hecklers, though," Moore said. "I AM them."