Next on Ricki: talk show hosts who make instant millions - includes related article on Ricki Lake

Is Ricki Lake, the actress turned television host, the Oprah Winfrey for Generation X? Only in its second season, Ricki Lake has surpassed Donahue and Geraldo in the Nielsen ratings, making it the fastest-growing daytime talk show ever. Broadcast on 208 stations across the country, it debuts in London this fall. And it has received the ultimate compliment: It is being copied. Lake-like talk shows featuring Tempestt Bledsoe of The Cosby Show and Joan Rivers's daughter, Melissa, are in the works.

To some young viewers, Ricki Lake is just one more piece in their pop-culture puzzle along with other staples such as grunge rock, Melrose Place and MTV. Others take her more seriously, incorporating the morals Lake rattles off at the end of each show into their value systems.

"Ricki is awesome," says Suzie, an 18-year-old high school dropout from Queens, N.Y., who is attending a Ricki Lake taping for the first time. "She knows how people my age think, and she feels our problems. She cares."

"It's the best show there is," agrees Zarekeia, a teenager with a gold nose ring, "because you can learn from it and have fun watching it, too."

Lake, 25, lives in Manhattan, where the show is taped, and is married to Rob Sussman, a political illustrator. Part of her early adult years were spent in Baltimore, acting in films including Hairspray and Cry Baby, for cult director John Waters. She also had a recurring role on the critically acclaimed TV series China Beach. Most recently, she played the daughter of a serial killer in Waters's black comedy, Serial Mom.

Lake is certainly a natural-born talk-show host. The set of Ricki Lake has bright-orange brick walls, and the stage is trimmed with sunflowers. Designed by Eugene Lee, who also created the set for Saturday Night Live, it looks like a downtown loft: funky enough to be hip, homey enough to make Lake's guests feel comfortable while spilling their guts.

Before a typical day's taping begins, the camera operators shoot close-ups of the 175 or so audience members. To everyone's amusement, computer technicians distort audience members' faces as they appear on the overhead monitors.

Kim Agle, the show's coordinating producer, warms up the audience and lays down the ground rules: No gum chewing, and "if we have any drug dealers here, please turn your beepers to the vibrating mode." A joke. Those not snickering comply.

And then, mirabile visu, "Ladies and gentlemen, Riiiickiii Laaaake!" The audience goes bananas. Today, Lake sports the layered look -- blue blazer and skirt with white accents over black leggings, plus T-shirt and vest. She is haute couture in black platform heels. "Do you like the hair?" she asks, pirouetting so the audience can see her new coiffure. Yeessss! "Do I look smaller in person?" referring to her 5-foot-4-inch frame, which is about half the 250 pounds it once was. Yeessss!

Audience members had mailed in postcards requesting admission and were selected by the producers -- with special attention to ZIP codes for ethnic diversity. Guests receive no money, though they are flown to New York, provided accommodation and chauffeured around town in limos. To achieve their 15 minutes of fame, Lake's guests must first tell their sagas to an answering machine reached by dialing 1-800-GO-RICKI. They then audition for the producers over the phone.

The topic today: friendship. One guest, a woman named Ofima, weighs about 200 pounds. She is so short that her feet dangle from her chair. She is wearing an oversized baseball jersey emblazoned with Bugs Bunny, and she cries during most of the show, even during breaks. Another, Maurice from Flint, Mich., wears an orange jumpsuit accented with a pound or so of gold jewelry.

Lake is charming, but during the next few minutes, as she flubs the opening three times, it becomes apparent that the star can turn her charm on and off as if she were flicking a switch. "My earpiece isn't working," says Lake, standing in the audience after one false start, to Gail Steinberg, her executive producer stationed offstage. Lake wears the earpiece because the audience whoops so loudly she can't hear her guests.

On the fourth take, the show is off and running. "You do everything together," Lake says to the camera. "You knew nothing would ever come between this great friendship. Then he walked into the picture and ruined everything. You think he's a jerk, and she thinks he's great. He tells her you're crazy. Friends who want to tell their best friends, 'I hate who you date, so lose your mate!'"

Ricki Lake takes no prisoners. The stage manager continuously flashes her a large cardboard sign that reads MOVE ON. In fact, each group of troubled guests gets only 10 minutes of fame before another group is brought out. The pace is so frenetic that by the show's end, even the camera operators -- aided by seating charts -- are confused.

The first guests, a brother-and-sister team named Kim and Stephen, fight constantly. Stephen is upset that Kim's boyfriend is a jobless moocher who monopolizes her time. Stephen runs down the dirty laundry list on his sister's boyfriend, who is offstage; in short, the guy's a loser whose idea of a busy day is getting a cup of coffee with borrowed change at Dunkin' Donuts.