Channel Changer

Still, his is hardly your standard by-the-bootstraps story. Hudlin's mother was an educator. His father, who died in 1998, was an insurance agent who served as president of the Chamber of Commerce, ran the local community college -- and turned down an invitation to run for mayor.

"My family was very educated; we have people with PhDs," says Hudlin over lunch at an upscale midtown Manhattan brasserie. He pauses, and then adds this caveat, as if to establish his 'hood bona fides: "But we collected grease on a stove. Both my parents were real products of the Depression: Real, real hard work, never throw something away that you can use again."

From an early age, he knew that he wanted to be a filmmaker. As a kid, he spent hours drawing comic books and hanging out at the community arts center that Dunham created in the heart of the ghetto, studying martial arts while his mom took dance classes. Films entranced him: Bob Fosse's "All That Jazz," Charles Burnett's "Killer of Sheep." But it was Ken Russell's rock opera movie "Tommy" that clinched it for him: the surreal rush of music and imagery.

With visions of directing a funk opera starring George Clinton and Parliament-Funkadelic, he headed off to Harvard, where he majored in visual and environmental studies, a multidisciplinary honors program that combined film, photography, graphic arts and architecture. After college, he joined up with his older brother Warrington, a Yale grad who was working as an independent filmmaker.

"I was doing work that was important, but not commercial," says Warrington, co-founder of the Black Filmmaker Foundation. "He said, 'What you're doing is good, but it's about time to make some money.' He always had a much stronger commercial instinct."

But Hollywood is notoriously fickle. After his film successes, Hudlin turned to TV, directing shows including Bochco's "City of Angels," "Bernie Mac" and his good buddy Chris Rock's "Everybody Hates Chris." Rock says he was a little surprised when Hudlin took the BET gig.

"He's got good taste," Rock says. "There's the Reggie who thinks like a director, and the Reggie who thinks like an exec. On the one hand, he's got real artistic taste. And then on the other hand, he's got real pop taste, 'This'll sell, this'll work.' "

'Ching-Ching'

Cold, hard commerce is in the house.

From up on high in the Hammerstein Ballroom, in a box reserved for corporate muckety-mucks, Hudlin sits, head bobbing to the beat, taking in the cross-pollination of hip-hop and fashion, of industry and art. There are dudes lining up along the front row, doing the retro rap thing, all flattops and neon, looking just like Kid 'n Play did when Hudlin directed them in "House Party." Hudlin spots them and laughs.

Here, at the taping of BET's "Rip the Runway," booty-shaking is in short, and tasteful, supply. Instead, cash is the theme du jour. Pharrell, backed up by N.E.R.D., is rapping about "hundred-dollar bills" while models sporting ruffled Zac Posen evening gowns prowl the catwalk, affecting a studied indifference.

Then there's Missy Elliott, plugging her new single, chanting, "Ching-ching, getting paid over here," as models sporting duds from her fashion line bounce around the runway. From there, Flo Rida takes to the stage, name-checking Nelly's line of Apple Bottom jeans while models strut and preen, sporting, um, Apple Bottom jeans.

Over the course of the night, Snoop Dogg and Nelly, accompanied by their entourages, make their way up to the box, to pay their respects to Hudlin and Lee. To kiss the ring.

At the end of the day, it's all about doing business.