It was tempting to dismiss the call out of hand. The pitch, after all, was for Guthy-Renker Corp.—an infomercial outfit, the people responsible for introducing Tony Robbins and his annoying "personal power" self-help snake oil to hordes of insomnia-ridden television viewers.
     For some reason, however, a lightbulb went on. The column is called "On TV," and these things aren't just on TV, they're all over it. Some cable channels and television stations, including network-owned outlets, even run them in high-visibility time slots—half-hour commercials for amazing cleansers and some coot with the energy of a lion because he knows how to shove fruit into a blender. Heck, local independent KCOP-TV carries six straight hours of infomercials Saturday starting at 6 a.m.
     While many of these productions are schlocky, the better ones resemble the talk shows seen in daytime and late-night television and are probably no less inane. They have come to provide a haven for aging actresses, fading stars as apt to win the lottery as land a juicy part on a prime-time series or a feature film.
     If infomercials seem somehow unsavory, other dubious forms of advertising already permeate television content, with thinly veiled product tie-ins oozing from every pore. Consider the sponsored kickoffs, halftime shows and first-half stats on display during the college football bowl season, where many games played to near-empty arenas—existing primarily to provide signage opportunities for Nokia, Tostitos and something called Gallery-furniture.com.
     In short, television has made clear it can't be too highfalutin regarding infomercials, making it reasonable to hear out the folks at Guthy-Renker—a privately held enterprise that rakes in more than $400 million annually, part of a $4.5-billion industry its brochures more politely dub "direct-response" marketing.
     Greg Renker, who founded his company with partner Bill Guthy in 1988, certainly seems to feel no compunction to bow his head when the "real" TV people pass by. Of course, that could be because Guthy-Renker puts $100 million a year in the pockets of television stations, who appear content to take the money and run, abdicating any effort to actually find programming to occupy those time periods.
     "It always comes down to money, and we're paying more than ever," Renker noted. "It's been just a huge windfall" to TV stations.
     Renker is equally unabashed about the company's goals, which hinge on motivating TV viewers from "total complacency and disinterest" to the point where they will pick up the phone and purchase something—products, he hastens to add, that must deliver on their promises or risk tarnishing the whole direct-response game.
     In an ironic twist, the actresses and celebrities capable of getting those phones to ring have often watched as their own lines grow depressingly silent, forgotten by an entertainment industry offering few actresses over 40 reason to get out of bed and put on makeup themselves.
     Guthy-Renker looks for these recognizable faces, people who have "comfortably, in a trusting way, entered the American home on television," as Renker put it. In other words, someone who can sell you on a product in the same way they sold you on a joke or tender moment.
     Nor do actresses such as Victoria Principal, Judith Light and Connie Sellecca—who once rode the prime-time airwaves atop "Dallas," "Who's the Boss?" and "Hotel," respectively—appear to view headlining in infomercials as cause to hide their faces in shame.
     Indeed, Guthy-Renker notes somewhat gleefully that actresses with whom the company joins in these ventures frequently make more money from fronting infomercials—Principal hawking the skin-care program Principal Secret, Light pitching Proactiv Solution acne treatment—than they reap from the entire run of a hit series.
     Principal has earned tens of millions from her 10-year association with Guthy-Renker, garnering a percentage of every product sold in the Principal Secret line. Beyond that, these showcases are televised hundreds of times each week, keeping such actresses visible to millions of people.
     "This gets them a job, it gets them paid, it gets them back on the air. . . . I don't think the negative connotation is there anymore as much," said Rick Bradley, an agent at the William Morris Agency who specializes in the direct-response area.
     The question for actresses who suddenly find roles scarce, Renker added, comes down to a balancing act: "What do you do next? If you jump at [appearing in an infomercial], is it going to harm your career? You can argue that it actually helps."
     Yet do actresses who once commanded magazine covers really want to be famous for listening patiently while a group of women discuss their pores? Wouldn't Dionne Warwick rather be remembered for her singing voice than hanging out with her psychic friends? Or can performers afford to fret about such distinctions with so much money to be made, at a time when a guest shot as the mother of Felicity's roommate is otherwise about all that's left to many of them?
     Assuming anyone is truly pondering such questions, the plain facts are the possibility of an economic downturn and trend toward deregulating broadcasters suggest the future will find more infomercials filling the airwaves. Splashy syndicated programs have mostly failed, making television stations less enthusiastic about committing time and resources to launching the next Roseanne or Martin Short talk show.
     Infomercials, by contrast, are uniquely suited to capitalize on a recession. As the economy softens, advertising rates drop, making it easier for marketers to buy air time. Stations grab the cash and save money they'd otherwise spend on promoting new series. Stay-at-home TV viewing increases because people are trying to spend less.
     "There are some upsides for us," Renker said.
     Upsides both for Guthy-Renker, and perhaps some actress you haven't seen much of in a few years—someone once regularly invited into your home who shows up now only in reruns.
     Be patient and such a star may come beaming back into your living room. Of course, to ensure that she stays there, keep a credit card handy, and be open to the idea that a cleanser you've never heard of just might be able to make you look five years younger.
     Brian Lowry's column appears on Wednesdays. He can be reached by e-mail at brian.lowry@latimes.com.