NOT INHALING IS NOT AN OPTION

Ben Elton's theme in High Society might be briefly described as "Everything
goes to pot eventually." Or coke, or heroin, or speed.

That is, we're all slaves to drugs, even those who've never touched them,
because of laws that only breed corruption and hypocrisy and wasted human
potential.

The other possible slant on that sentence is summed up in the Second Law of
Thermodynamics, or perhaps that line about the best-laid plans of mice and men.

High Society's protagonist, parliamentary back-bencher Peter Paget, says
Britain has lost the war on drugs, and the only thing to do is negotiate a
working peace.

To that end, his Private Member's Bill--the summit of a heretofore
unremarkable career--proposes complete decriminalization of all illegal drugs.

He is predictably abused and ridiculed at first, until the optics gods
start smiling on him. Suddenly he's a hero, a visionary, Churchill reborn.

But no sooner have the talk show hosts and editorial writers begun falling
at his feet than it all goes very pear-shaped, very fast. Paget's wife
learns he's been sleeping with his parliamentary assistant, Samantha.
Worse, when Peter gives Samantha the boot, a journalist with a grudge
against Paget coaxes the details of the affair from her, including the fact
that the two of them took drugs together.

Paget's downfall is just an evening edition away.

High Society is all formula, as slickly indestructible as a kid's plastic
sled, flying over the most jarring bumps without a pause.

It's a little like Bonfire of the Vanities made into an NBC sitcom.

Everyone is better-looking and wittier than they have any right to be, and
Elton only lingers on most things for as long as it takes to get a laugh.

We can describe the characters in our sleep: the bratty rock star, the
tarty socialite, the long-suffering wife, and so on.

Plus, the least interesting part of the book--the argument for
decriminalization--gets the most attention.

That is, the argument is interesting, but Elton doesn't seem to trust it to
speak for itself, so he musters up a cast of supporting witnesses.

There's one teenage girl rotting in a Thai prison after a short-lived stint
as a drug courier, and another railroaded into whoring for smack, but it's
hard to care, because they're really only there to make sure everyone gets
the message.

Ghita, a Croatian stripper, appears just long enough for some quick
sermonizing on her trade: "The drug economy fuels it all, pays the wages,
dopes the girls ." The other main subplot, dealing with some corrupt cops,
jostles for space atop the same soapbox.

Yet the book's not just bearable but fun. The story may be familiar, but
it's been pulling in audiences lo these many centuries.

Paget starts out as a decent enough guy, no worse than most of us, but his
brief taste of power both turns him into a hopeless prick and spells the
end of him. When he gets it in the teeth, it's both gratifying and unnerving.

Elton knows how to keep things moving smartly, too, so you don't have time
to get bored. There are moments of absolute comic virtuosity, like rocker
Tommy Hanson's conversation with a tattoo artist who refuses to put "Twat"
across the back of Tommy's head (they compromise on "Victim" in German
Gothic script).

Ben Elton has been in his business for a while, and he's astonishingly
prolific: he's done books, plays, movies, TV shows and stand-up specials.
Some may know him from his time as a writer for Blackadder and The Young
Ones, and still more might remember his most recent novel, Dead Famous,
which sent up reality TV just as doing so was becoming highly popular.

In other words, he's got a fair idea what he's doing, and he seems to enjoy
doing it. You may roll your eyes from time to time, administer an imaginary
lecture or two, but you'll keep turning pages.

Addicts are an intensely desirable consumer base (as the Canadian
government knows). You can scold and harass them, plaster their product
with gruesome health warnings, banish them to doorways and alleys, jack the
price of their habit every few months or so--and they'll still line up for
more. No wonder Peter Paget's superiors get all swoony at the thought of
taxing every dime bag in the land. So another thing addicts bear without
complaint is sub-par product.

Your dealer can cut his stuff with anything from cornstarch to Dran-O, and
you won't bitch as long as it gets the job done. Ben Elton knows story.

And he knows funny.

And he knows we want it.