HOLLYWOOD'S ALTERED REALITIES SNARE CELEBS, VIEWERS

If nothing else, the recent series of high-profile Hollywood drug busts
have given the lie to the old assumption that self-destructive criminal
behavior stems solely from poverty and desperation.

Golden Globe-winning actor Robert Downey Jr. and the Emmy-winning creator
of The West Wing, Aaron Sorkin, have proved just as helpless, just as
pathetic in the grip of addiction as any destitute denizen of the inner city.

These latest victims of the entertainment-industry drug culture join a
lengthy dishonor roll of adored and pampered public figures who faced
well-publicized struggles with substance abuse -- including such manifestly
talented TV stars as Kelsey Grammer, Tim Allen, Matthew Perry and Brett Butler.

It's easy to understand why a hopeless kid in a brutal slum might feel the
need temporarily to transform his nightmarish reality by altering his
consciousness through drugs or drink. But if you're at the pinnacle of
show-business success -- with wealth, sex appeal, creative clout and
mass-audience adulation -- what is it about your pleasant and profoundly
privileged life that you so desperately need to escape?

A thoughtful article in Entertainment Weekly recently pondered that
perplexing question. Journalist Benjamin Svetkey leaned heavily on the
notion that Hollywood celebrities become vulnerable to devastating
addictions precisely because they live in a world that assures them that
they needn't worry about the restrictions and dangers that afflict ordinary
mortals.

"People want to be your friend; they're interested in giving you what you
want," says a formerly addicted screenwriter who declined to give his name.

"But if you want to get off drugs, the enemy of recovery is (the belief)
that you are right and special."

In other fields, however, top achievers claim that sense of "specialness"
without the pervasive drug problems currently associated with Hollywood.
Billionaire business leaders, prominent politicians and even professional
athletes (where Darryl Strawberry's sad situation represents an exception
rather than a trend) enjoy many of the prerogatives of Tinseltown stardom
without the widespread substance abuse associated with stars of television
and motion pictures.

The difference reflects the contrast in consequences: In most arenas of
competitive endeavor, a repeatedly publicized drug problem will severely
damage, or even destroy, your standing within the profession. In Hollywood,
on the other hand, a trip to the Betty Ford Center or another rehab program
can actually garner sympathetic attention from your colleagues and even
from the public. Many industry observers predict that the shocking
cocaine-and-psychedelic-mushrooms arrest of the producer of The West Wing
will intensify public interest in his show and could well boost its ratings
during the next season.

In a deeper sense, the persistent connection between show business and
drugs reflects the unique demands of dramatic entertainment. Actors earn
our respect by their success at pretending to be someone else. Their
ability at projecting an artificial personality -- or multiple
personalities during the course of a career -- draws praise for their range
and depth as performers. Drugs connect to this creative endeavor with their
promise of altering everyday reality and helping the user discover
different, unexpected aspects of his character.

Substance abuse also mirrors the uneven rhythms of the entertainment
industry -- with the blindingly intense rush of performance only
occasionally interrupting slow, taxing periods of preparation.

Of course, the chronic risk-takers who work in the inherently unstable
atmosphere of Hollywood become addicted to this process, and any other
endeavor can seem pallid and predictable in comparison.

In selling mass-media entertainment to society at large, the show-business
conglomerates also peddle some of the same attractions and distractions as
drug dealers. Substance abuse, for all of its dangers, provides an
exhilarating opportunity to break through to another world -- a world of
more vivid colors and richer intensity. Movies and TV appeal to the public
on the same basis -- especially so during today's era of adrenaline-soaked,
thrill-ride cinematic entertainment.

Producers also hope to hook the audience with the sort of abiding addiction
that will keep them tuning in week after week or going back to the
multiplex for repeated screenings of a favorite motion picture.

Author and social critic Marie Winn understood something profound about our
chronic dependence on televised escapism when, about 20 years ago, she
dubbed the tube "The Plug-In Drug."

No one would suggest that addiction to TV or motion pictures could compare
in destructive power to the grip of cocaine or heroin or ecstasy on chronic
users. Yet the temptingly available alternate realities offered unceasingly
to consumers of pop culture, and the illusion of godlike power energizing
its producers, bear an unmistakable resemblance to the allure of the most
powerful narcotics.

Even though the major studios may dabble for a while with hard-hitting,
even chilling views of the drug trade (such as the four-time Oscar winner,
Traffic, or Johnny Depp's underappreciated Blow), the industry and some of
its most prestigious stars continue to project a tolerant fascination with
addiction.

Experts in drug treatment suggest that rehabilitation can only prove
successful once the addict hits bottom and recognizes that he's powerless
to control his situation. Since it remains highly unlikely that the
entertainment industry will ever crash and burn as a community, or
recognize limitations to its own power, addictions of every sort will
doubtless remain an integral element of life in Hollywood.

Film critic Michael Medved, the author of Hollywood vs. America, is the
host of a nationally syndicated daily radio talk show. He also is a member
of USA TODAY's board of contributors.