It's Sunday night, March 8th, New York City, the Cort Theatre: Will Ferrell, as "W," is shifting from foot to foot in a Cro-Magnon swagger, trying to re-enter his act as a woman somewhere in the audience is caught in a giggle-loop of hysterically infectious laughter. As the rest of the house echoes the woman's roller-coasting, belly-busting laughter at a 10 second phase delay for what seems to be the fourth round, the show has effectively stopped. Ferrell, either unable or unwilling to interfere with the very natural force that he himself had just triggered, half-turns away from the audience and cracks up himself. As his head pivots back to face the audience, it becomes obvious he is now too caught in the self-referencing circularity of laughter. He is no longer "W." He is momentarily outside of the role, part of the audience of his own act, dabbing off the tears of laughter with the sleeve of his shirt.
And, in the beautiful serendipity of the improv, it becomes suddenly so clear that it is this very phenomenon - this moment of self-reflection - this ability to laugh at ourselves, that "W" so painfully lacks. As the woman in the audience, the rest of the audience, and the actor himself chase each other in a comical circularity of self-awareness, it crystallizes that laughing at yourself isn't just funny - it is an achievement of Self-Awareness. And the absence of this self-awareness effectively explains the rest of "W": the defensiveness in response to questions and feedback, the self-serving nick-naming externalizations of one's own incompetence, the context-incongruent folksiness...
This is the second "W" I've seen. The first - by Oliver Stone - struck me as too psychodynamically poetic, too perfectly Oedipal. This one - by Will Ferrell - is an unexpected revelation that Ferrell has been, consciously or unconsciously, showcasing his "W" all along. The self-aggrandizing feedback-immunity of the Anchorman, Ron Burgundy; the kitschy Christianity of the baby-Jesus-praying Ricky Bobby of Talledega Nights; the grotesque frat-boyishness of Frank the Tank in Old School; the unbridled tunnel vision of managerial tenacity in Semi-Pro - all these and Ferrell's other comedic achievements seem to gel into a cohesive portrait of a righteous presidential dunce who's contemplating his historical significance through the syrupy lens of self-serving reminiscence.
What can I say? I can't quite say "it'd be funny if it wasn't so true" - because it is true and it is funny. I could fire off a Will Ferrell-style non sequitur: "Diego Luna!" Or I can simply say this: in Will Ferrell's portrayal of "W", the Cort Theatre has finally met its historical Jester.
Pavel Somov, Ph.D. author of "Eating the Moment: 141 Mindful Practices to Overcome Overeating One Meal at a Time" (New Harbinger, 2008) www.eatingthemoment.com
Copyright 2009