In a town that runs on gossip, buzz and the whiff of scandal, there's little Hollywood enjoys more than when someone who's job it is to spread that gossip, buzz and scandal takes a fall.
So when Peter Bart, the editor of the film business trade paper Variety and often called 'the most hated man in Hollywood' was suspended from his post on Friday for contravening journalistic ethics and crossing the boundaries of political correctness with comments made to a magazine reporter, the thrill was acute.
Variety may be almost unknown beyond the world of film, but to the 70,000 or so people who work in entertainment - now America's number one export - it's like a school noticeboard that everyone reads.
As its editor, Bart is a figure of extraordinary power, alternately stroking and scolding, conferring blessings and issuing damnation.
Bart, 69, editor since 1989 and a former studio executive, was suspended for flouting the rules of political correctness. He is accused of disparaging the French, Germans, blacks, Jews, lawyers, agents, actors, publicists, feminists and fat people.
Moreover, the magazine alleges that he sought to sell a screenplay while at Variety and used the paper to praise friends and his own movies without acknowledging his involvement.
In a statement, the British owner of Variety, publishing giant Reed Elsevier, conceded that the editor's comments and conduct may have been 'inconsistent' with the firm's values. Bart denies the accuracy of the reporter's quotes and allegations.
Whatever the outcome, there is no doubt that Hollywood is enjoying the controversy. Because of his position, Bart is feared and respected in equal measure, and the controversy has emerged just as the strange and corrupt edifice of the Hollywood press has started to crumble. Three months ago George Christy, a legendary columnist for Variety's rival, The Hollywood Reporter, was suspended and investigated for allegedly corrupt practices.
But within the clubby world of Hollywood, the sense of shock at Bart's suspension came less from revelations of his comments - he is, after all, a famously mercurial editor who delights in flouting political correctness - but that his comments and liberal use of derogatory terms like 'niggers', 'nips', 'fags' and 'c**ts' have been made public to the 'civilian' world beyond the film business. Within Hollywood, this is hardly news.
'Peter is riding in the general's car - Variety is the general's car. And you salute the general's car even when the general's not in it,' said Peter Guber, former chairman of Sony Pictures. 'I say to him, "Never let go of this job, because the wolves will attack. People are kept at bay by your power."'
However much he may be feared, Variety, and thus Bart, reflects and informs Hollywood's consciousness and establishes the pecking order in type. It's readers don't just review its pages; they dissect what stories are where, who is quoted up high, who is relegated to bot tom. With its trademark 'slanguage' - 'ankled' (fired), 'upped' (promoted), a 'praisery' (PR firm), a 'tenpercentery' (talent agency) - the publication provides the service of keeping score.
Bart is remarkable in a town legendary for its air kisses, false praise and back-stabbing, for being powerful enough to say what he means. He recently described having a conversation with a top executive at Disney as 'akin to poking one's head in an oven'; he said top producer Brian Grazer and director Ron Howard 'exude about as much charisma as Wal-Mart managers', while Star Wars creator George Lucas is 'simply so rich and mythologised that no one professes to be able to interact with him on a normal human level.'
The egos of stars are routinely punctured. 'Perhaps,' Bart wrote last year in a column addressed to Robert Redford, 'there's something in your... head that says, "I'm a star, I take up a lot of ego space; my movies should, too."' He's made the same complaint to Warren Beatty, whom he calls the Priapic Prince. Bart has written several columns about Beatty - even describing the sounds he makes during 'moments of sexual congress'.
Whatever his failings, Bart has also earned the respect of the industry. As a reporter based in Los Angeles, a flattering profile of Robert Evans, then head of Paramount Pictures, led to a job as his number two. In that role he helped usher in what is now widely regarded as the last great period in filmmaking and helped steer dozens of hit films, among them, The Godfather , Harold and Maude, Don't Look Now, Rosemary's Baby, Chinatown and The Conversation.
Even as the future of Bart's career looked in doubt this weekend, his frequent adversaries were turning defenders. 'He's raked me over the coals,' said Harvey Weinstein, chairman of Miramax Films. 'I think he stands up to everybody. He understands what makes great movies. He has great integrity. I think it's a shame he had to take a leave of absence.'
