“You can tell a lot about a culture by the people it chooses to celebrate.” Such is the observation made by Judy Davis’s character, Robin, in Woody Allen’s newest movie, “Celebrity.”

It begs the question: Whom do we celebrate in OUR culture? In America, we celebrate virtually anyone who has had his or her proverbial “15 minutes” in the spotlight. In our society, fame confers status. Fame alone.

As a culture, we revere and envy the famous. They seem more real to us than ourselves. Consider the Arnold Schwarzeneggers, Rosie O’Donnells, Madonnas, even the Bill Clintons and Monica Lewinskys.

We cherish them.

Without them, we would be left with the awful responsibility of filling our time in some way that didn’t involve the boob tube — a terrifying prospect. In such an eventuality, literacy might even come back from the hallowed halls of the dead.

There’s little danger that such a prophecy will be fulfilled. Our culture’s love affair with celebrities and the imagined blessings of status is likely to continue unhindered.

We will continue to clamor for autographs. Our hands will ever be stretched toward the hems of celebrity garments.

Color me “heretical,” but I would suggest that these folks are not evidence of the Divine walking among us.

After viewing Woody Allen’s film, I’m reminded that status and stature aren’t necessarily related. In a culture like ours, they’re almost mutually exclusive.

Returning to the original question, who are our celebrated figures? Whom do Americans elevate above themselves? They are congressmen, athletes, artists and, of course, actors. No surprises there.

But we also celebrate murderers, lawyers to the stars, religious nuts and famous mistresses. Consider the Tonya Hardings, Geraldos, O.J.s, Paula Joneses, Charles Mansons and Mark Fuhrmans.

Our celebrities are sometimes heroes, but just as often they are villains or even buffoons, capering about with their pants unzipped for our amusement. Regardless of character, the fact remains we adore them.

Worse yet, we place them on a higher plane of existence than ourselves. They’re somehow better than we are. Before you deny it, picture how you might behave if you saw one of them up close.

Are these people truly any better than you or I?

“Celebrity” demonstrates that they are as out of control as the culture they affect. Furthermore, they are truly miserable.

Leonardo DiCaprio plays a young film sensation who fills his days with alcohol, cocaine, gambling and domestic violence. His relationship with a young starlet is characterized by violent swings from affection to loathing. They fight, and he shouts, “You can’t do this to me, you bitch, I love you!”

Melanie Griffith portrays a superstar actress who stresses her fidelity to her husband… from the neck down. “What I do from the neck up is my business,” she explains, and proceeds to perform fellatio on the film’s frantically promiscuous protagonist, portrayed by Kenneth Branaugh.

The sham of that status is obliterated in this film. The glamour is gone. We’re reminded of the Latrell Sprewells, River Phoenixes, Bob Livingstons, Mike Tysons and Elvises.

The story of Branaugh’s “Lee” provides an allegory for a culture that has lost its moral compass. He wants everything he’s ever seen in the movies!

His lusts are insatiable. The attainment of one goal is only supplanted with the desire for something else. He exists in a perpetual state of longing. He is afflicted by the notion that happiness can only be attained via shagging a different Pamela Anderson supermodel every day of the week.

He forsakes many worthwhile realities along the way.

The problem of this aspect of our culture is this: On that miraculous day that we finally do win the lottery or become a superstar — when we achieve that status we’ve so desperately sought — what we find is emptiness and horror. We overdose, beat our supermodel wives, cheat, go to jail, psychoanalysis or both.

It’s an old axiom, but it bears restating: All of the liposuctioned babes, Rolls Royces, autograph seekers and cocaine in the world won’t bring you happiness. Life offers something more.

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James O’Donnell is a graduate student in painting, drawing and printmaking from Mesa, Ariz.