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By RICHARD COVINGTON nearly 30 years ago, documentary filmmaker Frederick Wiseman shocked audiences with an unflinching exposé of the brutalities of a Massachusetts hospital for the criminally insane. Only recently has the long-standing ban on the film "Titicut Follies" been lifted in the state. Since his first film, the former law school professor has turned his dispassionate camera on American institutions, trailing through high schools, welfare offices, a monastery, zoo, near-death care unit, fashion runways and the American Ballet Theatre. Wiseman is one of the leading proponents of cinéma verité, or direct cinema; his films have no narration, music or titles. His subjects condemn or exalt themselves on their own, in full knowledge of what they're doing, without coercion or persuasion. Whatever acts of generosity, horror, triumph and mind-numbing boredom surface, the viewer is left to interpret for himself: Wiseman explains nothing. Wiseman's latest film, his 29th, marks the first time he has ventured beyond American subjects. "La Comédie Française" puts the oldest continuous theatre company in the world under the Wiseman microscope. Created in the 17th century by Louis XIV, the Paris-based theatre troupe is the preeminent exponent of French theater, a national institution charged with the delicate task of simultaneously upholding tradition and staying on the cutting edge. Unlike any other company in the world, its members are elected for life. Wiseman's "La Comédie Française" will be aired over the PBS network on September 1 and shown in competition at the Venice Film Festival on September 4. It airs in France and Germany in December. I spoke with Wiseman at his summer home in the Maine woods. With his black hair curling behind his ears and his thick, arching eyebrows, the 66-year-old filmmaker has an elfin look of playful, permanent irony. His protruding eyes seem exactly suited to a man who shot 126 hours of footage for the French film and spent a year editing it down to a meager three hours and 40 minutes running time. How did you come up with the idea for doing a film on the Comédie Française? I got the idea about five or six years ago. In the fall of 1993, I met with (the company's chief administrator) Jean-Pierre Miquel. He said "OK, but you'll have to get permission from all the cardinals." He wasn't necessarily suggesting that he was the Pope, but that there were a lot of independent power bases at the Comédie. I had to get the OK from the stagehands, the electricians and so on. You had to get individual permission from all the various members? Yes. How many groups were there? I think there were 24. So I spent three months there in the winter of '94 just hanging around, which is something I had never done before. Usually, I hang around for two or three days at the most, sometimes only a day. But for January, February and March of '94, I went to the Comédie Française every day in a low-key way. I met people, had beers with them and went out to lunch. They knew the film was under consideration? Oh, yeah. There was a notice that went out that I would be there, that I was thinking about making a movie. At the end of three months, I would indicate whether I wanted to make the movie and they would indicate whether it was OK with them. I went to performances, I went to meetings, I hung out in the Green Room, basically all the things that you see in the movie. There are 450 people who work there and I met a large proportion of them. At the end of the three months, I said I wanted to make the film and the administrator consulted with the groups and the word came back that there was no objection. So then we formally entered into a contract. I started December 1, 1994 and shot through the third week of February in '95. It took me about a year to edit. Next: Love and social class, French-style