By Josh Horowitz
Illustration by Sophie Cossette
(Summer 2007)
Some men see themselves when they gaze at the chiseled visage of Brad Pitt on the silver screen. Some hear themselves when they listen to the charming off-the-cuff quips of George Clooney simultaneously pimping for an Ocean's 11 sequel and ending injustice as we know it in Darfur (an Oscar-winner AND a multi-tasker; couldn't you just die?). And then there are those of us with our feet firmly planted on the terra firma that is this world. We are the ones who see ourselves in the buffoonery that is the collected work of Adam Sandler and Will Ferrell. And, say what you will about us, but at least we know our limits.
That's right. Make no mistake, you allegedly evolved man of 2007, you share a lot more with these men (or at least their onscreen personas) than you'd care to admit. I came to this epiphany about myself this very spring as the box office was being assaulted by the latest works of each of the hugely successful Saturday Night Live alums.
Witness Ferrell's recent portrayal of Chazz Michael Michaels in Blades of Glory. While I share little in his prowess as a top-ranked professional figure skater (truth be told, the last time I was forced on the ice I fell in nine seconds flat - pun intended), that ever- so-mortal roll of belly fat peeking out of his none-too-flattering wardrobe rang true. It rang true in a way that the moment when Pitt removed his shirt in Fight Club did not. As brilliant a post-modern essay on masculinity as that film was, let's face it, Pitt's abs bear as much closeness to yours as your grasp of theoretical physics does to Stephen Hawking's.
You are Will Ferrell! I am Will Ferrell!
Within days of Ferrell's ginormous (see how I got an Elf reference in there? I can't help it! I can't get him out of my head!) comedy, Sandler weighed in with a sobering performance in Reign Over Me. He was a tightly coiled spring of rage and grief prone to explosive expressions of violence. Soon after seeing the performance, a dramatic take on a familiar Sandler character, I realized I had become him as I rode a New York City subway. There I sat, infuriated by delays and cryptic messages from the conductor and contemplated kissing Kevin James as Sandler would in I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry. I gripped the bar in front of me like Happy Gilmore did his clubs. And I nearly bit my tongue in a way The Wedding Singer never would as I came ever so close to screaming a string of unprintable profanities. What had I become? Or was it that Sandler had become me?
I am Adam Sandler! You are Adam Sandler!
They are us. We are them. Accept the inevitable. Embrace it, men! The evidence is too great.
Because Will named his oldest boy Magnus - which is like totally what I would call myself if I wasn't 5'8" (on a good day).
I am Will Ferrell! You are Will Ferrell!
Because I still do silly voices to amuse my friends. Alright, really it's mostly just to amuse myself. And by the way, they all sound the same.
I am Adam Sandler! You are Adam Sandler!
Because if I were a movie star, I'd want live out my childhood fantasies and be a NASCAR champ, an Olympic level athlete, and an anchorman.
I am Will Ferrell! You are Will Ferrell!
Because if I were a movie star, I would cast women way above my league in one romantic comedy after another (e.g., Kate Beckinsale, Winona Ryder and Drew Barrymore).
I am Adam Sandler! You are Adam Sandler!
Because specializing in roles that rely on false overconfidence and bravado doesn't seem like it would be too much of a stretch for me sometimes.
I am Will Ferrell! You are Will Ferrell!
Because I have daydreamed about having the perfect line at the perfect time while beating up an aged television icon ("The price is wrong, beeyatch!").
I am Adam Sandler! You are Adam Sandler!
Because perfection may be useful when you're leading an Impossible Mission Force or asking for your martinis shaken and not stirred, but I'd rather just make someone laugh.
I am Will Ferrell and Adam Sandler! You are Will Ferrell and Adam Sandler!
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