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IF HOLLYWOOD WERE an adolescent boy, it would be in danger of going blind. The industry's self-love is everywhere in evidence -- from The Player to Swimming With Sharks to Get Shorty. But at least these films don't have a plot that was played out in front of millions of TV viewers. Such is the situation of the ultimate onanistic tale, The Late Shift, the HBO docudrama based on New York Times writer Bill Carter's biting '94 best-seller. Set to debut Feb. 24, The Late Shift follows the boardroom jockeying of the 11:30 p.m. players -- Jay Leno, David Letterman, and a vanload of network suits -- to determine the successor of Johnny Carson's Tonight Show. The talk-show hosts themselves don't appear in the Ivan Reitman-produced farce but instead are portrayed by Puttermanesque doppelgangers who shuttle from meeting to meeting.

Who will watch? Well, surely everyone in the TV business, if only to whine about their portrayals. But to true media hounds, another story is just as intriguing: the backstage machinations of the movie itself. In fact, they could make a docudrama about the making of The Late Shift. They've certainly got the material. SHORTLY AFTER the book came out, Leno left a message on Carter's answering machine: ''Can you get Lorenzo Lamas to play me?'' He was joking. Yet when the $6 million film zoomed into development, the real-life players swamped the production offices with straight-faced casting suggestions. As it turns out, great egos think alike. ''It's amazing how many people wanted Richard Gere to play them,'' says Don Carmody, a Late Shift producer. Not many were pleased when they learned of their actual, less swoon-worthy counterpart. ''Most of them said, 'Why are you casting him? He's not as good-looking as I am. He's too big' or 'He's too fat.'''

Gere aside, Late Show's Paul Shaffer suggested Mel Gibson was his double. Leno, in all seriousness, chose ER hunk George Clooney. (The producers went with Matlock regular Daniel Roebuck.) When asked for his thoughts, all Letterman said was ''I guess Buddy Ebsen wasn't available.'' (Broadway's John Michael Higgins got the role.)

The true casting nightmare was finding someone to fill the Armani suit of Michael Ovitz, Letterman's former agent, the scarily powerful founder of CAA, and now the president of the Walt Disney Co. Michael Douglas and Alec Baldwin expressed interest but ultimately opted out. Many actors figured that the gig would be a Stupid Career Trick. The last-minute victim was Treat Williams. ''Well,'' shrugs Williams, ''I've always got my farm in Vermont.'' It looks as if he's safe for the moment: Ovitz reportedly likes what he's seen. Other execs too are basking in the publicity -- CBS' former VP of programming Rod Perth even makes a cameo, doing a double take with alter ego Ed Begley Jr.

But some principals have been as chilly as the Ed Sullivan Theater. On a recent edition of Larry King Live, Leno huffed, ''We just write jokes, you know? I don't quite get what the story is.'' Letterman called the movie ''the biggest waste of film since my wedding photos.'' He later likened Higgins' portrayal to a ''psychotic chimp.''


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