Will Ferrell is like looking into God’s Face

I moved to the USA five years ago, which means 2008 is a big milestone for me. It means that this year I can apply for citizenship. Hopefully one day I’ll cease being a subject of the Queen of England and become a free man (in a theoretical sense, at least).

Becoming American will be a huge challenge. I will have to take a citizenship test and learn more about American history. (To a Brit like me, the Civil War was fought between Roundheads and Cavaliers). I will have to take a written English test too. But toughest of all, I will have to try to learn to understand Will Ferrell.

The American fascination with this man is understandable. Like Adam Sandler or Jack Black, he’s fairly harmless. An everyman. He doesn’t give too much away – his eyes are soulless and his face fairly expressionless. Audiences can project their own fantasies onto his blank features.

Yet to become one with my future countrymen, I must try to find him funny.

So I’m taking a crash course in Will, urged on by students in my acting class who find him hilarious and crack up at the mere mention of one of his scenes (specifically a marriage counseling scene from Old School).

To some people, watching Will is like looking into the face of God and seeing Him smiling back and saying, "You are my most wondrous creation." I find this quite amazing. When I ask fans what they specifically like about the star, their standard answer is, "his flat shouting."

Bear in mind that I was born and raised in the UK, where Saturday Night Live is not the institution we know here. So I really know Will from strained and frankly depressing cameos in Zoolander, Wedding Crashers etc. To fully school me in the joys of Ferrell, a friend has lent me SNL’s Best Of DVD devoted to the man, which I dutifully watched last night.

The verdict: Ferrell delivers impersonations, some cruel (Harry Caray), some obscure, some funny (James Lipton singing the praises of Charles Nelson Reilly); he illustrates another friend of mine’s previously confusing reference to a model saying “I've got two poses to choose from - The Thinker and The Stinker.” He displays an implacable wit and a self-effacing willingness to show his hairy gut on national TV. And that’s about it.

The Will Ferrell onslaught continues: next up, I have Old School to watch. I’m still looking for that spark of genius that makes him worth tens of millions of dollars.

If I can "get" Will, then I'll be one step closer to integrating with American society. Perhaps many of the ills of the world can be traced to people who don't "get" him. But what do I know anyway? I like A Night at the Roxbury.