David Whitley can't help but get pulled along by the fame bandwagon in the movie capital.

'I don't know what it is but there's something about you. You've just got it. With the right people looking after you, you can make it," the old soak says, hauling an escaped globule of telltale drool back in from his lower lip.

A young actor, struggling with a bar job until his big break arrives, has come in for a drink and has sat through an hour of amorous intentions thinly disguised as a career pep talk.

The well-oiled stranger, having racked his brain for a single black actor that may work as a comparison point, is ready for the killer line. "You could be the next Sidney Poitier," he pants. "No! No! Harry Belafonte!"

Anywhere else, this would be a rather odd scene. In LA it seems perfectly normal. It's a city where every stereotype is true. The beautiful people swan down Rodeo Drive with little dogs in hand, everyone working in a service role is really in the movie business and the Eagles burst onto a taxi's radio every time you hit the freeway.

As the guide of the Starline Tours of Hollywood route says: "Well, we could make it all up but we honestly don't need to."

In recent years, LA has smartened itself up. Top-class restaurants, expensive highbrow museums and world-class art galleries are supposed to be the big drawcards but most visitors would happily forsake all that for the chance to gawk at Barbra Streisand's front gate.

Among them are Eric and Kevin from Montana, who are actually in town for an art exhibition. They have big, sheepish grins on their faces outside the ticket booth, however. "We had to do something disgustingly tacky while we were in town," Eric says.

As with anything so self-evidently awful as a tour of celebrity houses, there is only one way of dealing with it: embrace the madness, unleash a window-rattling "hell yeah!" every time a C-lister's hedge is pointed out and try to convince the rest of the bus that every Average Joe jogging past is really George Clooney or Brad Pitt.

As shameful as it is to admit, the tour is thoroughly enjoyable. It veers down Orange Grove Avenue (or Elm Street as it's best known to horror fans), past Wayne Manor from the Batman films and the ATM where Hugh Grant made a withdrawal just before his meeting with Divine Brown was so rudely interrupted by the Los Angeles Police Department.

The houses of Beverly Hills, Bel Air and the Hollywood Hills are predictably plush, and the sheer concentration of star power is a little overwhelming. Passengers barely have time to take in the old Osbournes house before being hit with the homes of Sean Connery, Dr Phil and Robert Wagner.

Each drive-by comes with trivia titbits galore: Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes have 17 separate security cameras; Steve Martin lives opposite Monica Lewinsky's parents; there are 18 bedrooms in the Disney mansion. Will Ferrell has left his bins out; Charlize Theron across the road must be fuming.

Being surprised by something you thought you'd probably hate can become something of a recurring theme in LA. Nowhere is this more true than at Universal Studios. Everything is branded; every ride and show is pushing some product or Universal film. And yet, somehow, it works.

This is partly due to the shows - the insight into sound and visual effects is particularly good - but the studio backlot tour is pure gold. The tram ride saunters through the most filmed location in the world and much of it is instantly recognisable. There's Wisteria Lane from Desperate Housewives, the miniature version of Skull Island from King Kong, the Bates Motel from Psycho, the crashed plane from War Of The Worlds and so forth. Hooray for Hollywood.

Not that the studios are actually in Hollywood, of course. Even so, Hollywood is arguably the most fascinating part of LA; a complete sensory overload of traffic, neon, sights and people who think they're Jack Sparrow. It got much-needed refurbishment a few years ago, with the Hollywood and Highland shopping and entertainment centre being built, and the Oscars getting a permanent home in the Kodak Theatre.

This has led to a captivating mix, with unbearably swish hotel bars rubbing shoulders with absolute dives, and opulent theatres looking out onto tatty shops and courtyards full of out-of-work actors in Spiderman costumes.

Nothing symbolises it better than the Walk Of Fame. There's absolutely no hierarchy to it; just a random free-for-all where the biggest names in cinema history are parked next to names you simply don't recognise. Marilyn Monroe's star sits outside a McDonalds; Charlie Chaplin and Bing Crosby get a lingerie store. They're next to Ken Maynard, whoever he might be.

It's a randomness that is taken up by the Hollywood Museum. It contains attractions such as Hannibal Lecter's cell from The Silence Of The Lambs and Judy Garland's slippers from The Wizard Of Oz. And displays from Quills, Van Helsing and Cocoon, among other films that troubled neither the statuette-engravers nor the box-office record-keepers.

For the proper human zoo experience, however, Hollywood takes a distant second place to the Sunset Strip. Seemingly every bar and club on this five-kilometre stretch of sin is drenched in history. Chateau Marmont was where John Belushi died, the Doors were the house band at Whisky A Go Go, River Phoenix exited stage right at the Viper Room. Today the Strip still heaves with the rich and wannabe famous.

If you end up in the Saddle Ranch bar, you'll be entertained by hotheads trying to prove themselves by riding a mechanical bull. A giant venue (and formerly owned by a cabal of actors including Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper), the Ranch is almost invariably packed to the rafters. Just stand back with a beer and relax as the horror show unfolds. And then, once you've stood back with a few too many of those beers, become a part of it yourself.

Pride and body hurt in equal measure once the bucking bronco has its wicked way, but who cares? After all, in LA, everyone gets to be part of the greatest show on earth eventually.

The writer was a guest of LA Inc.

TRIP NOTES

Getting there: Flight Centre has return flights from Sydney to Los Angeles from $1539. Phone 133 133, see http://www.flightcentre.com.au.

Staying there: The website http://www.discoverlosangeles.com has accommodation options.

More information: The Hollywood City Pass (www.citypass.com/city/hollywood.html) is worth buying for visitors planning to see all the main tourist attractions. For $US49.95 ($56), holders get a tour of Hollywood with Starline Tours and a behind-the-scenes walking tour with Red Line Tours, plus entrance to the Hollywood Museum and Hollywood Wax Museum. A two-days-for-the-price-of-one pass to Universal Studios is available for $US65 ($73), see http://www.universalstudios hollywood.com.