COMMENTARY : He Certainly Isn’t the First : The comedy of Martin Lawrence has caused some controversy of late. But, we’ve been here many times before. Why is the star of Fox TV’s ‘Martin’ being singled out when so many have already been blue?

Check out most any social gathering involving the under-30 crowd these days, and you’re likely to hear such exclamations as “You so crazy,” “Wass up?” and “You go, girl!” punctuating the conversation and eliciting peals of laughter. It’s no accident, of course.

Since the first comic performance, one measure of a comedian’s popularity has been how readily his or her signature lines have been accepted in everyday speech and offstage joking. The stage banter of the 19th-Century minstrel characters Tambo and Bones, for instance, produced puns and riddles (“Why did the chicken cross the road?” and “Why does a fireman wear red suspenders?”) that became a part of the culture and even today remain popular among children.

Similarly, many of the funniest or most poignant lines introduced by African American comics have become commonplace in black street talk. Among them are quips by comics from Moms Mabley (“Ain’t nothin’ an old man can do for me, ‘cept introduce me to a young one”) and Mantan Moreland (“Feets, don’t fail me now”) to Flip Wilson (“The devil made me do it” or “What you see is what you get”) and Richard Pryor (“I got to have eight hours sleep . . . and a bowl of Wheaties” or “I went down there looking for justice. That’s what I found, just us. “)

Not surprisingly, then, nowadays African American social chatter and repartee often echo lines by the fast-rising and, of late, controversial comic Martin Lawrence. Most were popularized on his Fox Television sitcom “Martin,” where as Martin Payne, the zany deejay at WZUP (as in, “Wass up”) radio in Detroit, Lawrence has attracted an avid following that cuts across racial lines.

The show revolves around problems and misunderstandings arising from Martin’s attempt to establish an honest relationship with his girlfriend (they’ve considered moving in together in recent episodes) while maintaining the macho image expected by his two single buddies. That scenario allows the elastic-faced Lawrence to exploit the broad, physical humor at which he excels.

On “Martin,” Lawrence combines the manic physical style displayed by Jimmie Walker on “Good Times” and the charm and exuberance of Flip Wilson with his own brand of hip-hop posturing, lunacy and bravado. That bravado, however, only barely conceals the vulnerability and sensitivity that have led one writer to call the comic a “teddy bear on caffeine.” Lawrence adds another dimension to the irreverent, cocksure humor popularized by Eddie Murphy in the ‘80s. His ability to expose the softer, lovable side of his macho homeboy character accounts for much of the show’s popularity, particularly among young people. It has ranked as one of the top five shows among viewers age 12 to 17 and has even ranked near the top among viewers 11 and under. “I’m huge with the under-5 crowd,” the 29-year-old Lawrence has joked.

But much like Redd Foxx (who in NBC’s “Sanford and Son” made the lovable but irascible old junkman Fred Sanford a household word during the 1970s but never abandoned his blue stand-up act), Lawrence is not content with cornering Nielsen ratings among the Pee-wee Herman set or in Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood. While hosting “Russell Simmons Def Comedy Jam,” an HBO showcase for black comedians that often strains to surpass its own reputation for outrageous, in-your-face ribaldry, Lawrence touted it as the show “where we black comedians” could open up.

And, when free of network TV censors, Lawrence usually casts off all restraints. For a sample of his unadulterated work, pick up “Martin Lawrence Talkin’ Sh-t,” his debut comedy album, which was released last fall and quickly climbed to a Top 20 ranking on the R&B; charts. The album, recorded before audiences in Los Angeles and Philadelphia, ventures into the same terrain mined by “Def Comedy Jam” performers. Drugs, homosexuality and sex are frequent topics, and shock often seems as important a goal as wit.

Moreover, like many young comedians, Lawrence relies on themes explored by his comic mentors. He never quite eludes the shadow of Richard Pryor. Bits about getting high on “herb,” his short-lived boxing career, the difference between black and white women’s sexual preferences and even the hip, streetwise intonation that Lawrence sometimes affects make you think you’re back in the ‘80s, live on Sunset Boulevard.

And a riff on pre-coital hygiene harks back to Foxx’s old party records. These echoes of the past notwithstanding, Lawrence insinuates enough of his personal style into the performance to prove that he’s a comic force to be reckoned with.

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That’s impressive, since Lawrence--like such older African American comics as Dusty Fletcher (“Open the door, Richard”) and Pigmeat Markham (“Here come the judge”)--is foremost a physical comedian. Watching him, even when he’s reprising a familiar routine, adds another dimension to his humor. He is a master at duplication and parodying the postures and gestures (the hunched-shouldered bounce step and patterned hand movements) associated with the macho attitude projected by black youth in the ‘90s. With his beguiling smile and an arsenal of facial expressions that might have incurred the envy of actor Lon Chaney, Lawrence is as adept at re-creating today’s homeboy presence in his stand-up routines as Pryor was at enlivening the hustlers, winos and junkies that peopled his routines.

But while Pryor is a satirist who heightens his humor with mime and eerily accurate enactment of his characters’ physical movements, Lawrence generally approaches comedy from the opposite direction. In the venerable tradition of the stage clown, Lawrence’s humor derives most often from the exaggerated physical action that accompanies and punctuates his jokes and observations. The cartoonish characters that people “Martin” and the show’s youthful following reflect the harlequin-like bent of Lawrence’s comedy style.

Not that clowns appeal only to children. Charlie Chaplin, one of America’s most celebrated comedians, always insisted that despite other descriptions of his work, “I remain one thing only and that is a clown.” Moreover, many of the greatest African American comedians--among then Bert Williams, Dusty Fletcher, Mantan Moreland and even Flip Wilson--have based their humor more on comic antics than verbal wit.

Lawrence, of course, is part of another well-established comic tradition: blue humor. And that tradition’s roots probably extend back to shortly after man’s first utterances. In terms of African Americans, explicit humor can be traced at least from early 20th-Century toasts and ballads like “The Sinking of the Titanic” or “Shine” to the party records of artists like Rudy Ray Moore and such shows as “Def Comedy Jam.” As Lenny Bruce, Redd Foxx and Richard Pryor have found, however, it can be troublesome for performers who seek mainstream acceptance.

After his impromptu jests about oral sex and female hygiene (material that is rendered more explicitly on his comedy album) during his “Saturday Night Live” monologue in February, Lawrence found himself embroiled in controversy. Despite his disclaimer--”It was not my intent to insult anyone. . . . I enjoy finding the humor in everyday life”--NBC banished him from future appearances on the network. In addition, Miramax Films postponed the scheduled March release of his concert film “You So Crazy” when the Motion Picture Assn. of America refused an appeal to change its NC-17 rating to R. The Samuel Goldwyn Co. announced this week it has acquired the film, and will open it--unrated--April 27.

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Despite the controversy and setbacks, Lawrence still promises, “I’ll go down as one of the greatest comics, ever!”

For most performers that boast would quickly be dismissed as mere hubris. But with Lawrence we might well give the claim some thought.

In the ‘80s, Eddie Murphy emerged as the bridge between Richard Pryor’s blues-based humor and the in-your-face comedy of the hip-hop crowd. Martin Lawrence has crossed the bridge. As “Def Comedy Jam” producer Stan Lathan asserts, Lawrence “is like a mirror of the current hip-hop generation,” but that designation has its pros and cons. At his least creative, his comedy mirrors mediocre rap that settles for reworking well-known R&B; classics by superimposing staccato hip-hop beats, defiant gesticulation and prosaic, insistently profane verbiage. At his best he is a riveting physical comic and clown whose female impersonations and send-ups of machismo are hilarious.

At present, seemingly mired somewhere between the blue and the banal, Lawrence seems confused and discontent. Perhaps, like the characters in “Alice in Wonderland” that he lampoons in his stand-up act, he needs to find a missing part. To move beyond the caricature that defines “Martin,” what he needs most is a satiric voice that complements his astounding array of comic facial expressions and his mastery of the physical style of African American comedy, but is not so mercilessly laced with gratuitous profanity.

I wouldn’t bet against him finding it . . . soon.