I’ve figured out their tricks. When a comedian wants to prove his worth in a drama all he really does to convey “acting” is lower his voice, tone the hyperosity level down to “5”, keep his clothes on and frown for two hours. It’s a simple switch of facial ticks. Instead of crane lifting their eyebrows to the comedic heavens, they arch them in to convey sadness and/or regret and/ or whatever emotion they think will look good on their Golden Globe nomination clip. As for the eyes, comics tamp the bulging down 40% so it looks like they are surprised by some dramatic revelation (like being the star of your unwitting TV show, or seeing a picture of a gorilla head on a stick being held by a PA which will later be turned into a glorious CGI creation of pixels and box office non-magic) as opposed to being surprised that Cameron Diaz’s dog just bit them in the nuts. I don’t automatically buy their dramatic license just because they successfully pulled off imitating a dramatic actor, as opposed to actually being one. Half the time I feel like all I’m watching is a cheap, extremely drawn out, unfunny SNL sketch (or comparatively, any sketch on Studio 60).

And so it goes that I begrudgingly went to see Will Ferrell’s dramatic debut, Stranger Than Fiction. Too clever by a fourth, the film is mainly three great performances (Emma Thompson, Dustin Hoffman and the female Gyllenhaal) in search of a Peter Weir movie (I’m not saying I was thinking about The Truman Show, but I did keep hearing Ed Harris’s dulcet tones in my deep subconscious. “Truman, where are you going…”). However, all kidding aside, the film is thoughtful, pleasant, resoundingly and refreshingly pro-art, is mainly about writing (which is great), and generally a nice film to spend some time with. On the other hand, Will Ferrell was a constant distraction every second he was on-screen. I appreciate his effort to be the next Steve Martin, and he was satisfactory in the role, but when you make your living by taking your clothes off and running around in vulgar comedies, I can’t exactly take you seriously playing a boring, buttoned-down IRS agent. I kept expecting him to suddenly start playing jazz flute, or ask where the meatloaf was (fuck!).

My problem is a simple one: why do comics feel the need to prove they can play both sides? You make us laugh, and that’s valuable; why tarnish your value by trying to make us not laugh? Like TV actors pretending to be movie stars, it’s almost painful to watch comedians used to talking out of their asses (literally), or dropping a hilariously timed F-bomb, try to hold the screen by NOT being funny. Why would Will Ferrell abandon his core audience? I get that he feels the need to prove it to himself, but does he really think we can buy him doing a traditional drama less than two months after we watched him wrestle a fake cougar, give praise to the dear lord baby Jesus and make out with Sacha Baron Cohen? The disconnect is just too large to overcome. I wish him the best, really I do, but can’t he and his peers leave the heavy lifting to the Edward Norton’s, Ryan Gosling’s and Matt Damon’s of the world? It’s not like you see Phillip Seymour Hoffman trying to “expand” his range by playing a high-haired pet detective. There’s a line in the acting sand, why won’t people stay on their respective sides?

In honor of Will Ferrell’s maiden attempt to prove he’s more than just a Neil Diamond-imitating, streak-happy funny man, here’s a rundown of the some of the Worst Dramatic Performances by Comedians.

Jim Carrey – The Majestic

This isn’t merely an unfunny dramatic movie headlined by a comic, it might be the most depressing dramatic movie headlined by anyone, ever. And it’s not depressing in that good, touching, well crafted way that makes for Best Picture winners either (Forrest Gump comes to mind). I get that Jim was frustrated by getting snubbed for The Truman Show and Man on the Moon (despite winning Globes for each one), but he went way too far with this piece of ham-fisted Americana garbage. You want to be unfunny Jim, fine, make another Grinch movie, or cast Tea Leoni in another one of your “comedies”. But if you think you’re getting a golden boy by mooning around on-screen in high water pants and lamenting the tragedies of the McCarthy era, you got another thing coming (besides, you’re Canadian, so cram it with your anti-communism Hollywood 10 sympathy). They’ll give one to Ashton Kutcher before they show you love for this type of tripe. And frankly, if this is what you’re going to offer us, I’d rather see Kelso win one anyway. He was quite poignant in The Guardian (and by poignant, I mean he looked constipated. And yet still better than the whole of The Majestic).

Robin Williams – What Dreams May Come

I get it. I do. He finally wins an Academy Award and decides he can’t go back to doofing around in crap like Flubber or Father’s Day. Completely understandable. But making a movie about death, absolutely devoid of humor, is a total breakdown in career management. At least Robin got to crack some jokes about the Unabomber and airplane blowjobs in GWH, but he’s so humorless in this, that even when he’s flying around in the totally painted on blue screen backgrounds, I was wishing for him to fall into some Mrs. Doubtfire shtick (I hate that movie with the passion of a thousand racist Kramer tirades).

And this is exactly the problem I have with comedians doing drama. Just because Robin Williams grows some facial hair and cold turkeys the crack pipe for principal photography does not mean he gave a great performance. He even duped the Academy into thinking they owed him an Oscar because of it! I’m not saying he necessarily deserved one (that’s iffy), or that he wasn’t great in Good Will Hunting (he was), but when your dramatic acting consists of merely lowering your voice, looking grave and telling Jason Bourne it wasn’t his fault over and over, you might want to Google the Lee Strasberg Theatre Institute and sign up for the Spring courses.

Mike Myers – 54

The badass character Top Hat (played by uber-gravelly-voiced Michael Wincott) in the movie The Crow once said this: “My father always said, childhood is over the minute you realize you’re gonna die”. While I agree with that statement for the most part, and think it’s completely badass (natch), I’d like to offer up a different childhood ending moment. There’s just nothing else quite as awkward, disturbing and equal parts squirm and vomit-mouth inducing as watching a drugged up Mike Myers asking Ryan Phillippe if he can “suck his cock”. Cat in the Hat on DVD is never quite the same once you’ve seen Wayne Campbell beg Reese Witherspoon’s toss off for a quick ride on the Lollilove (of course watching Cat in the Hat in any manner is an exercise in Chinese Water Torture).

And while I’m here, seriously, what happened to Michael Wincott? He plays one of the coolest, most bad-ass comic book villains of all time, and what’s his reward? Playing a lametastic villain in a third rate Morgan Freeman thriller (that didn’t even have Ashley Judd in it. I like you, Monica Potter. You gave me some good times in that movie where you romanced Joseph Fiennes and the Dark City guy. But you’re no Ashley Judd. Until I’ve seen you snap off Luke Perry in a made for HBO movie and still come away smelling like roses and cheesy B-movies, I ain’t buying what you’re selling.)? Getting dialogue scraps from a scenery chewing Ron Perlman in Alien: Resurrection? This man should have been the next Malkovich, or at the very least, the next Willem Dafoe. I hope he enjoyed whipping a pre-Jesus Jim Caviezel in that Monte Christo movie, because it’s probably the last memorable thing he’ll ever due on film. I weep for Top Hat.

Jack Black – King Kong

There are in fact people who think Jack Black was great in this film. I call those people “idiots”. It would have been nice if they had been right, though. I’ve been a fan of the better half of Tenacious D since his days in low-rent teen rollerblading epics, where he was accusing people of mixing “too much Drano in their fruit punch”! But come now, there isn’t a soul alive who didn’t think Jables was out of place for every frame of the movie that he mugged up with his muggy face. It got to the point where his performance was distracting me from how bad the actual movie was (which is difficult, in and of itself, considering how frippin’ boring the first 70 minutes are). Speaking of which, who actually needs a King Kong extended edition? Was there really anyone clamoring for 38 more minutes of half-cooked Brody-Watts non-chemistry, Jack Black face mugging antics and repetitive Kong growling? And to think, I used to think the nineteen hour Bored of the Rings extended editions were the apex of gratuitousosity (btw, the making up of that word in my head was more fun than the entire King Kong movie. Mostly cause in my head, during the invention, Jack Black was in a corner holding his nose because I socked him in the face. Try dramatically mugging your way through a bloody nose, ass! Now go rip me a tasty chord and sing me a funny song, clown!)

Adam Sandler – Spanglish

Sandler has always towed the line between barely subdued pathos (think the first half of Punch-Drunk Love) and sudden near-psychotic bursts of violent rage (think any moment of Happy Gilmore or the entirety of The Waterboy). His balancing act creates a rather attractive portrait of dramatic potential, should he find the right avenue to explore his demons. Click was a fairly honorable attempt at that, though a maudlin, middling effort that only wrings audience tears by cutting away from Kate Beckinsale’s desirable posterior and only brings the funny when Sandler is either farting in The Hoff’s face (who didn’t want to see that?) or kicking Samwise Gamgee in his Goonies (lord knows I’ve wanted to do that since his insufferable turn in Rudy), it turned out to be. Spanglish, on the other hand, is a complete disaster. Part of the blame can be put on Spanish actress Paz Vega, who is so wildly attractive that any semblance of reality is shattered the moment she puts the googly eyes on the schlump from Mr. Deeds. But what I think kills his performance, aside from his decision to play the role as a whiny, pussified, low-talking mouth breather, is the scene in the bathroom where he puts the grope on Tea Leoni. Um, Adam, I know you like to cast insanely hot girls as your love interests (Anger Management, not withstanding), but can you please take your grubby hands off of Nora Wilde? She was the angry chick in Bad Boys, show some respect. It’s bad enough you get to make out with every B-list actress who ever graced the cover of Maxim, how about you don’t cop a feel on an actress I actually like and respect. Go back to cold clocking game show hosts, where you belong.

Vince Vaughn – Psycho

I like the Gus Van Sant remake, but for reasons entirely immaterial to the quality of the actual film (that being “lacking”). I like it because it proves that imitation is not the sincerest form of flattery. I like it because it shows that doing an imitation is only a good idea when it’s being done in an extremely broad way (like say Darrell Hammond doing Bill Clinton). I like it because no matter how famous Vince Vaughn gets by playing obnoxious, fast-talking jackasses, I can always point to this movie and call shenanigans on his whole career. People forget because he ruled hard in Old School and Wedding Crashers, but after Swingers broke him big and Spielberg gave him a talent hummer, Vaughn thought he was gonna be the next Brando. Between Swingers (1996) and Made (2001), Vaughn made eight consecutive dramas, each more unwatchable than the next. In that time, instead of introducing us to motor-boating or teaching us about the powers of “earmuffs”, Vaughn was boringly doing illegal drugs in Thailand with Joaquin Phoenix, wearing a licorice suit and traveling into Vincent D’Onofrio’s head with J.Lo, and most disturbing of all, masturbating to then-lipstick lesbian Anne Heche through a peep hole in the manager’s office of the Bates Motel. That was his “addition” to the role made famous by Anthony Perkins. Apparently, jacking off was the one thing Hitchcock forgot to put in his masterpiece. Vince Vaughn is a huge guy with a quick grin and an even quicker vocabulary. He’s practically sculpted by the comedy gods. Why he ever thought he was odd or pervy enough to play a schizophrenic, transvestite serial killer is beyond me. But maybe it’s like he said in Old School, “Well, Columbus wasn’t looking for America, my man, but that turned out to be pretty okay for everyone.”

Psycho taught him a lesson all comics should jot down, that it’s OK to just make people laugh (and since 2002, he’s thankfully, been exclusively doing comedy). The Ferrell’s, Black’s, Myers’s and Sandler’s of the world should take note, lest they be caught yanking it in poorly-conceived and entirely unnecessary shot-for-shot remakes of classic movies (Jack Black in Rear Window = Blech). I know the last thing I want to see on-screen is Ron Burgundy taking himself to Pleasure Town in a movie that’s not supposed to be ironic.

Bangarang!