He rebounded in a new arena-prime-time TV-as the star of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, a       post-Cosby sitcom with a nod to The Jeffersons: movin' on up with a hip hop twist. Then,
through sheer force of will, Smith made it to the big screen in 1992, debuting in Where the Day
Takes You as a wheelchair-bound street kid. His role in the Whoopi Goldberg comedy Made in
America (and the screams of teenage girls on the set) led to his landing the plum role of Paul, the
sad, confused con man in the critically acclaimed film version of the Broadway hit Six Degrees of
Separation. In the process, Will Smith's screen persona grew exponentially, acquiring layers of
resonance devoid of the street-corner histrionics usually demanded of young black male actors.

As Smith copes privately with the dissolution of his marriage to a woman who shunned the
amusement-park glare of the klieg lights, his public persona enters the high-stakes world of
shoot-'em-up, make-'em-laugh, big-bank movies. And he may have just found his Axel Foley-the
role that will give him a defining big-screen image. Produced by the Don Simpson/Jerry Bruckheimer
team behind Eddie Murphy's Beverly Hills Cop series, Bad Boys stretched Smith in ways he's never
been stretched before.

"With all that jumping and shooting when you're making an action movie, you realize that it's a stunt,
not a trick," he says. "And it brings out all that testosterone. I saw how the situation brings that stuff
out in people. Everybody has an action hero in them; everyone wants to kick in a door and shoot
somebody." On the other hand, he says, "I knew it had to be as real as possible, because what
makes you an effective superhero is that you don't want to be. Like Bruce Willis in Die Hard-the last
thing he wanted to do was run over that glass barefoot. People can't relate to a guy who just jumps
in front of bullets."

Martin Lawrence knows that too, considering the potshots he's taken in public over the past
year. Coming on the sitcom scene more than two years ago as Martin Payne, Lawrence
instantly became the quotable cock of the walk with a bop in his step. He was the leading
man in Martin (the funniest post-hip hop black show on the air) and did double duty as the host of
the successful Def Comedy Jam.

But somewhere along the line, Martin lost its stride. Year No. 2-the 1993-94 TV season-was
supposed to be the one in which its star, Martin Lawrence, Blew Up, bringing his candid ghetto
realness to the moviegoing, record-buying masses with his first concert film, You So Crazy, and
comedy album, Talkin' Shit. Things didn't quite work out that way. The endearing wannabe who
played Bilal (a.k.a. Dragon Breath) in the House Party movies seemed to morph into a
larger-than-life, self-made superstar from the 'hood, whose comeuppance was-like Tony
Montana's-just around the corner.

First, there was his battle with the Motion Picture Association of America over the NC-17 rating
they'd slapped on his concert film, You So Crazy. Of course there were race issues here (why a
brotha gotta get the NC-17?) and censorship issues (why a brotha gotta get told what to say?), but
what got lost in all the hoopla was that this comedic performance didn't meet the high standards he
had already set for himself. Neither did his next notorious public moment.

Last winter, on his first Saturday Night Live hosting gig, Lawrence brought Def Comedy Jam to
Lorne Michaels's crib. It was a debacle. Spraying the small stage with the scent of his insecurity and
nervousness, Lawrence littered his opening monologue with scatological references that play fine on
cable but shocked NBC's brass. He subsequently found himself at the center of a media storm
regarding his not-ready-for-network language and subject matter, which ultimately led to his being
de-scheduled from an appearance on Jay Leno.

Looking back at the whole situation, Lawrence believes he was "set up" by the SNL people ("They
kept telling me, `Do what you do.' And I did.") and admits to a certain nervous energy that informed
his antics. He also says that after so many black folks came out to see him at Radio City Music Hall
in New York earlier that year, he anticipated playing to a more racially mixed studio audience. Yet
ultimately he chalks the disaster up to youth, to being intimidated by the history and mythology of the
once-cutting-edge late-night dinosaur. But for a minute there, it looked like Martin Lawrence was
about to be taken out like just another sucker MC.

Lawrence wasn't going to let that happen. He laid low after enduring those storms, held back on
public appearances, broke up with his then girlfriend, actress Lark Voorhies, and concentrated on
Martin-which was still being talked about, although two years into its run the funniest thing people
were saying about the show was that it wasn't funny anymore. (And exactly where was Sheneneh,
anyway?) Lawrence also started looking for a movie script that would have a "buddy-buddy feel to
it, but something that was real, that would be good for my audience and work for other audiences as
well." Which was probably a good move for him: That way he wouldn't have to carry the burden, or
the risk, alone-as he did in his concert film and on SNL.

He found Bad Boys, a movie that was, ironically, originally slated to star former Saturday Night Live
clowns Dana Carvey and Jon Lovitz. In the box-office-friendly blend of action and comedy, perhaps
Martin saw the opportunity-in his first starring role on the big screen-to follow that other foulmouthed
black funnyman who found fame on TV. Eddie Murphy, the post-Pryor model of black comic as
household name, had already primed the box office for Lawrence and his generation's brand of raw
good humor. Maybe Martin Lawrence too had found his Axel Foley-a role that could establish him
as a cinematic franchise with Badder Boys and Even Badder Boys to follow. As creative and fluid as
his work can be, Martin's savvy very much includes keeping the business plan in full focus.
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