Welcome back to the Deep Dive. Today, we are
opening a file on a figure who is just so, so
ubiquitous in our culture, so woven into the
fabric of the last, what, 30 years of entertainment,
that I think we've actually stopped seeing him
clearly. He's almost like background noise at
this point. He is. We quote him at weddings.
We meme him on social media. We dress like his
characters for Halloween. We're talking about
the man who made the cowbell a lead instrument
and convinced the world that a grown man could
be raised by elves. We are talking about Will
Ferrell. It's so easy to just caricature, isn't
it? When you think of Will Ferrell, the immediate
association is, well, it's volume. It's shouting.
Yeah. You think of man children, you think of
and let's be honest, a surprising amount of nudity
for a mainstream star. But the stack of research
we have today paints a picture that is I mean,
it's almost diametrically opposed to that surface
level image. We aren't just looking at a comedian.
We're looking at a genuine cultural force who
managed to bridge the gap between sketch comedy,
massive blockbuster filmmaking and. And this
is the part that I think usually shocks people,
high prestige television production. That is
the part that really got me going through the
materials. It's the big surprise. Because we
all know the quotes. We know I'm in a glass case
of emotion. We know more cowbell. But the sources
we have today, the biographical records, the
business history of his production companies,
the archive of interviews, they reveal this central
paradox that I really want to unpack. Okay. Because
when you look at his characters, they are all
just pure chaos. They're unhinged. They're usually
teetering on the verge. of a complete nervous
breakdown but the man himself The man himself
is the complete opposite. And that's really the
hook of today's deep dive. I think we have this
massive contradiction of a man who built an entire
career on instability, on absurdity and total
unpredictability. Yet his origins are, you could
argue, the most stable, the most normal and maybe
the most boring of any major Hollywood star in
history. Exactly. So our mission today is to
move past the anchorman one liners and the elf
quotes. We want to understand the business acumen,
the very. specific comedic philosophy and the
surprisingly poignant personal history of John
William Farrell. We want to know how the sausage
is made or, you know, in this case, how the chaos
is so perfectly manufactured. And we have a lot
to get through. We have the filmography, which
is, I mean, it's massive. But we also have the
business ventures, which literally changed the
Internet landscape. We have sports ownership
and all these little personal anecdotes that
kind of explain why he is the way he is. Let's
start at the very beginning, because usually
when we do these deep dives on comedians, there
is a pattern we almost expected at this point.
Oh, yeah. The tears of a clown trope. The tears
of a clown. Trauma. A broken home. A really difficult
childhood. Using comedy as a defense mechanism
against a harsh world. But Will Ferrell. Will
Ferrell just breaks that mold entirely. He was
born in 1967 in Irvine, California. And we really
need to pause on Irvine for a second. OK. If
you know anything about Southern California geography,
especially back in the 70s and 80s, you know
that Irvine is essentially the dictionary definition
of a safe master plan suburb. It's beige. The
city. That's what I picture. It's manicured lawns
and. Homeowners associations telling you your
grass is half an inch too long. Precisely. It
is aggressive normalcy. And Farrell has actually
spoken about this at length in the interviews
we reviewed. He calls it Mayberry. Wow. He didn't
have to fight for survival. He didn't grow up
in a tough neighborhood where you had to be the
funny kid to keep from getting beaten up. He
had the complete opposite problem. He was bored.
He was just bored. I love that concept. The idea
that his comedy didn't come from trauma. It came
from an utter lack of drama. He specifically
cited that dullness as the catalyst for his entire
creative impulse. He said because there was no
drama in Irvine he had to, and this is a quote,
create it in his head. So his imagination was
his escape. Yeah. His main form of entertainment
was just cracking his friends up to break the
monotony. It's this fascinating inversion of
the standard comedian backstory. He wasn't escaping
tragedy. He was escaping safety. He wasn't running
away from something terrible. He was running
away from something incredibly mundane. But there
was a little bit of showbiz in the blood, wasn't
there? I mean, his dad wasn't an accountant or
a dentist? No, not at all. His father, Roy Lee
Farrell Jr., was a working musician. And we're
not talking about playing dive bars on the weekend.
He played saxophone and keyboards for the Righteous
Brothers. That sounds incredibly cool on paper.
A rock and roll dad touring the world. It sounds
cool to us now, but for a child in the 70s, it
just represented instability. His parents divorced
when he was eight. Now, Farrell describes the
divorce as totally amicable. He was the type
of optimistic kid who said, great, two Christmases.
But the impact of his father's career was, well,
it was profound on his worldview. In a way. He
saw the paychecks that weren't steady. He saw
his dad having to travel for months at a time.
He saw the feast or famine nature of the gig
economy before we even called it that. He saw
a life that was completely unpredictable. And
this is where the young Will Farrell makes a
decision that is just... Hilarious in hindsight,
considering where he ended up. He looks at his
dad's showbiz life and says, no thank you. He
explicitly did not want to go into show business.
It was the last thing he wanted. His rebellion
wasn't to run away and join the circus. His rebellion
was to want a steady job. He wanted a briefcase.
He wanted a briefcase. He wanted to come home
at 5 p .m. He wanted a 401k. He wanted total,
absolute normalcy. And he really, really tried,
didn't he? I mean, looking at his post -college
years, it is just a comedy of errors of him trying
to be a normal, regular guy. Oh, it's incredible.
He graduated from USC with a degree in sports
information. He thought, OK, maybe he'd be a
sportscaster. That's at least adjacent to a real
job, but still kind of in the entertainment sphere.
It's got a structure. It has a structure. Right.
But the attempts at actual regular nine to five
employment were. They were disastrous. The hotel
valet story is my absolute favorite. It feels
like a scene from The Other Guys or something
he would write. It is classic slapstick in real
life. So he takes a job as a hotel valet on his
second day two. He tries to drive a van under
a low beam. Oh, no. He completely misjudges the
clearance. He tears the baggage rack completely
violently off the top of the vehicle. Do you
imagine pulling up to a nice hotel and the valet
has just convertilized your family van? That
is immediate termination. Immediate. And it didn't
get any better from there. He didn't give up
on the dream of the steady job, though. He got
a job as a teller at Wells Fargo. Okay, that's
the ultimate steady job. Handling money. It requires
precision. Total precision. Day one, his drawer
comes up short $300. Oh, boy. Day two, he's short
$280. Was he stealing it? Or... Just bad at math.
No. And that's the funny part. If he were stealing
it, that would at least imply a level of cunning
or a plan. He wasn't stealing. He was just careless.
He was error prone. He was daydreaming. He just
wasn't built for the mundane details of a nine
to five life. It's like his brain was just rejecting
the premise of the job. It was. And thank goodness
for his mother, Betty Kay. She saw this struggling,
steady job failure who was just miserable and
frankly bad at everything he tried. And she gave
him the permission he needed. She basically told
him to forget the steady paycheck and go pursue
what he actually liked. Which leads him to Los
Angeles in 1991 and the legendary Groundlings.
Now, for people who don't know, can you explain
the significance of the Groundlings? It's not
just a weekend improv class, right? Right. No,
no. The Groundlings is an institution. It is
a training ground. It is this iconic... sketch
comedy troupe and school in L .A. that has produced
an insane number of SNL cast members. People
like Kristen Wiig, Maya Rudolph, Phil Hartman.
A real pipeline. A total pipeline. And it's distinct
from, say, Second City in Chicago, which often
leans a bit more political or satirical. The
Groundlings is all about character work. It's
about finding a funny wig. It's about... developing
weird voices and for ferrell it was a total revelation
he tried stand -up before this right he had and
it didn't really work for him he wasn't comfortable
being himself on stage telling jokes as will
ferrell but character improv disappearing into
someone else that was his sweet spot and this
is where we really start to see the will ferrell
we know today take shape. He starts doing impressions,
but not just, you know, hey, you sound like the
guy. It's deeper. He discovered he absolutely
loved impersonation. One of his first big ones
was Harry Carey, the famous Chicago Cubs announcer.
But he was also developing these amazing original
characters. And this is actually where the Batabi
brothers started. No way. The head bobbing guys
from Night at the Roxbury. What is love? Exactly.
He developed that with Chris Kattan at the Groundlings.
They were just exploring the simple idea of two
guys who go to dance clubs every night and get
rejected constantly. It's a perfect example of
his whole philosophy, isn't it? Taking a simple,
almost sad premise. These are lonely guys who
think they are cool, but absolutely are not.
And committing to it so hard, it becomes hilarious.
The commitment is everything. And then the big
break happens. 1995, Saturday Night Live comes
calling. And the context here is really important.
We think of SNL now as this unkillable beast.
But in 1994 and 1995, the show was in real trouble.
It was on the ropes. Ratings were way down. The
critics were basically writing its obituary.
They'd lost that whole Sandler, Spade, Farley
cast. They needed new blood urgently. Producers
saw The Groundling Show, saw Farrell, saw Chris
Kattan, saw Cherry O'Terry, and basically...
brought that whole class to Lorne Michaels. Farrell
joined in 95 and stayed for seven incredible
years. And it wasn't just a good run. He became
the absolute anchor of that show, of that whole
era. He really did. By 2001, he was the highest
paid cast member, making $350 ,000 a season.
But more importantly, he was the glue. If you
look at that era of the show, he could do anything.
He could be the straight man in a sketch. He
could be the absolute lunatic. He could be the
impressionist. He saved the show by being the
guy who could make any sketch work, no matter
how weird the premise. And the list of impressions
is just staggering. Alex Trebek, Neil Diamond,
the unabomber, Jack Reno. And of course, George
W. Bush. We have to stop on the Bush impression
because usually when a comedian plays a president
on SNL, they want to meet them. They want to
get inside their head. They want the photo op
for the wall at 30 Rock. But Farrell did something
very different. This is a fascinating insight
into his process and his discipline. Even back
then, he refused to meet George W. Bush while
he was on the show. He was invited. He was invited
to the White House, but he declined. And he said
he did it for, quote, comedic purposes. He didn't
want to be influenced by the real person. He
wanted to maintain a professional and I think
a political distance. So the idea was if he met
him and liked him, it would soften the comedy.
That was his fear. He felt that if he met him
and found out Bush was very charming one on one,
which by all accounts he could be, it might soften
the edge of the satire. He wouldn't be able to
be as ruthless or as funny. That is an incredible
level of discipline to say no thank you to the
president of the United States because it might
mess up your bit. It creates this very clear
separation between the man and the art. It's
the separation of art and state, in a way. He
prioritized the integrity of the character over
the social clout of meeting a president. Speaking
of commitment to the bit, we have to talk about
the patriotic shorts incident. Oh, this is legendary.
This is the story that comes up in every oral
history of SNL from that time. It just creates
such a vivid picture of his fearlessness. Set
the scene for us. Okay, so he was playing a character
named Dale McGrew. The sketch involved him being
this highly patriotic... office worker. The costume
was a half t -shirt and these very, very short
shorts right before the sketch aired live. On
live national television, no second takes, no
edit button. On live TV, he improvised. He went
into the wardrobe department. He pulled the shorts
up as high as they could go to turn them into
a thong. Oh my God. He walked out there completely
exposed, essentially. And if you watch the tape
of that sketch, the laughter you hear. from the
rest of the cast, from the host, Sean William
Scott, is genuine unscripted shark. They had
no idea he was going to do that. That is the
Irvine boredom manifesting in its purest form,
isn't it? It's like, how can I make this weirder?
How can I create a little drama in this safe
space? Exactly. He is manufacturing a crisis
in real time just to see if he can survive it.
And that fearlessness, that total commitment,
is what allowed him to make the jump that so
many SNL stars fail at. The jump to film. It
really is the graveyard of so many promising
careers. For every Eddie Murphy or Adam Sandler,
there are 10 guys who do one movie and go back
to sitcoms or just disappear. But Pharrell didn't
just transition. He absolutely dominated. It
started with those SNL spinoff movies like Ladies,
Man and Superstar, where he was a memorable supporting
player. But the breakout, the moment he became
a legitimate movie star, was old school in 2003.
Frank the Tank, we're going streaking. Frank
the Tank. And the critical reception here is
really interesting to look back on. The New York
Times, not exactly a publication known for reviewing
frat comedies with great warmth, declared that
the film belongs to Mr. Farrell. They said he
used his hilarious... anxious zealotry to sell
the part. Anxious zealotry is such a perfect
two -word description of his entire acting style.
It's that look in his eyes where he is 100 %
committed to a truly terrible idea. It is. And
that performance just kicked off what we can
really call the golden era. From 2003 to about
2008, he was just untouchable. You have Elf,
Anchorman, Talladega Nights, Step Brothers, one
after another. The money must have been insane.
It was. In 2005 alone, the sources say he earned
$40 million. Talladega Nights had the highest
-roasting opening for a live -action comedy he'd
done up to that point. He was a bankable box
office guarantee. He could open a movie on his
name alone. I want to focus on Step Brothers
for a second from 2008, because when that movie
came out, I remember people being a little confused
by it. It was so aggressive. It was so weird.
It got mixed reviews initially. A lot of critics
didn't know what to do with it. It felt loud
and abrasive and not as sweet as Elf. But over
time, it has become a massive cult classic, arguably
his most quoted film. After Anchorman. So much
room for activities. Right. And the reason it
works, again, is the chemistry. He partnered
with John C. Reilly. Empire Magazine had this
great review at the time where they praised the
dynamic. They said it was Reilly's cockiness
versus Pharrell's puppy dog innocence. That's
it. In Step Brothers, Pharrell isn't the alpha.
He's the follower. He's the more sensitive one.
And that vulnerability makes it so much funnier
when he's, you know, smashing things with a baseball
bat. And it proved he could share the screen.
He wasn't some ego -driven performer who needed
to have all the best jokes. He thrived on the
volley, the back and forth. He was willing to
be the beta male if it made the scene funnier.
But just when we thought we had him completely
figured out as the man -tiled guy, the king of
the frat pack, he drops Stranger Than Fiction
on us in 2006. A crucial pivot. a really important
moment in his career. This was a dramatic role.
He plays Harold Crick, a boring IRS auditor,
ironically the exact steady job guy he tried
so hard to be in real life, who one day starts
hearing a narrator in his head detailing his
life and his impending death. He's great at it.
He's fantastic. It's a very gentle, very sad,
very nuanced performance. And it earned him a
Golden Globe nomination for Best Actor. It proved
to the industry and to the audience that he wasn't
just a one -trick pony. He was an actor who could
handle nuance and drama. So we've established
the star, we've established the actor, but now
we need to talk about Will Ferrell, the mogul.
Because I don't think people realize how much
of the comedy landscape he actually controls,
or at least controlled, behind the scenes. This
is where we get into his incredibly fruitful
partnership with Adam McKay. They weren't just
writing partners on movies like Anchorman and
Talladega Nights. They were business visionaries.
In 2007, they launched a website called Funny
or Die. Which completely changed the internet.
I mean, before YouTube was fully what it is now.
Funny or Die was the place for high -quality
comedy sketches. It felt like HBO for the web.
It did. And they launched it with an absolute
bang with a video called The Landlord. I can
still picture it perfectly. Will Ferrell getting
yelled at and threatened by his landlord, who
is a foul -mouthed two -year -old girl. Adam
McKay's daughter, Pearl. It went absolutely viral.
It was one of the first truly viral Internet
videos in that sense. But it also courted a little
bit of controversy. A few child psychologists
actually came out and criticized them for child
exploitation. They were worried that having this
little girl swear and talk about getting her
money was somehow traumatizing for her. And what
was their defense? McKay was very practical about
it. He said, look, she's two. She's just repeating
lines. I'm feeding her. She doesn't understand
what the words mean. He said she hadn't said
the B word once since they shot it. But, you
know, that little bit of controversy just fueled
the site's growth. It put them on the map as
the bad boys of digital media. They also founded
Gary Sanchez Productions around that time. This
was their production shingle. And they produced
massive hits, not just their own movies, but
stuff like The Other Guys and He's Pounding Down.
But then, 2019, the split. This is the aha moment
for the business side of things, but it's kind
of a sad one. For years, Farrell and McKay were
like the Lennon and McCartney of modern comedy.
And then, very abruptly, they announced they
were dissolving their partnership. And it became
clear it wasn't just a business decision. It
was deeply personal. And it all revolved around
a casting decision for that HBO show Winning
Time, right? The show about the Showtime Lakers.
Correct. And this is a story that really humanizes
these massive industry struggles. Farrell is
a huge Lakers fan. A super fan. He wanted to
play Jerry Buss, the flamboyant owner of the
Lakers. It was apparently his dream role. He
felt he was born to play it. I mean, you can
see it. He practically is Jerry Buss in spirit.
The showman, the hair. Absolutely. And Adam McKay
was the producer on the show. And McKay didn't
cast Farrell. He ended up casting John C. Reilly
Farrell's best friend and most frequent collaborator.
Wow. And the real kicker. McKay didn't call Farrell
to tell him first. Farrell found out about it
later, secondhand. that his best friend had been
cast in his dream role by his other best friend
and business partner ouch That is that's a professional
and a personal betrayal. It broke the partnership.
They closed the company. They haven't worked
together since. It serves as this really stark
reminder that even at this insane level of success,
personal ambitions and simple communication breakdowns
can just destroy decades long relationships.
It really highlights that for Farrell, this isn't
just about having fun. He takes his career and
his roles incredibly seriously. But from the
ashes of that, Farrell has emerged as this incredibly
prestigious TV producer in his own right. Right.
I mean, I was genuinely shocked when I was watching
the credits of Succession and saw his name pop
up as an executive producer. It is the ultimate
irony, isn't it? The man who created Ron Burgundy,
the king of buffoonery, is an executive producer
on Succession. Maybe the most acclaimed, serious
Shakespearean drama of the last decade. He won
primetime Emmy Awards for it. And did a music
act, right? Yes. The fantastic Christina Applegate
series on Netflix. He's an executive producer
on that, too. It just shows that his taste, his...
His understanding of story isn't limited to broad
comedy. He understands character. He understands
tension. He gets what makes good television,
period. He's not just a clown. He's a genuine
tastemaker. Speaking of taste, we have to talk
about his other great obsession, sports. Because
Will Ferrell doesn't just watch sports. He participates
in them in the most Will Serrell way imaginable.
He is the ultimate active fan. He completely
blurs the line between spectator and participant.
Let's look at the baseball stunt. March 12, 2015.
A day that will live in baseball infamy. He decided
for a Funny or Die special to play for 10 different
Major League Baseball teams in a single day.
during spring training in Arizona. How is that
even logistically possible? A lot of frantic
driving and a lot of helicopters. He played for
the Diamondbacks, Angels, Dodgers, Padres, Reds,
A's, Mariners, Cubs, White Sox and Giants. And
he played all 10 positions, including designated
hitter. So how did he actually do? Did he totally
embarrass himself out there with professional
athletes? Well, he did foul off a 92 mile per
hour fastball, which is not nothing. That's legitimately
hard to do. That's impressive. And according
to. the official stats from that day, he pitched
to one batter and got him out. So he has a career
major league ERA of 1 .00 Hall of Fame numbers
right there. Exactly. But the purpose wasn't
just some vanity project. It was for charity,
a group called Cancer for College and other cancer
charities. But again, it shows his absolute commitment.
He took it seriously while he was doing it. He
wasn't mocking the game. He was inhabiting it
for a day. My favorite sports story of his, though,
has to be. Billy Ray Rojo Johnson. This is deep
lore. This is for the real fans. So 2010. A minor
league baseball game in Round Rock, Texas. Suddenly,
Will Ferrell appears on the mound to pitch. He's
introduced as a fiery Venezuelan pitcher named
Billy Ray Rojo Johnson. And he's wearing a fake
mustache, right? I remember seeing the clips.
A big, bushy, fake mustache. And he brings a
paper bag full of beer cans out to the mound
with him. He throws one pitch. Then he stages
a fight with the opposing batter. He chases him
around the field. And during the chase, of course,
the mustache falls off. It's pure performance
art on a baseball diamond. It is. The fans went
absolutely wild. The clip went viral. But it
shows how he creates these characters even in
real life. He's not just Will Ferrell, the celebrity
at a game. He's a participant in the spectacle.
He just breaks the fourth wall of reality itself.
But he also put his money where his mouth is
with soccer, which is a bit more serious. Yes,
he is a part owner of Los Angeles FC, the major
league soccer team. And he was very clear about
this in interviews when it launched. It wasn't
a vanity project. He didn't just want the good
seats. He actually watches global soccer. He
wanted MLS to be taken seriously, to be on par
with the European leagues. And it worked out
pretty well for him. It did. LAFC won the MLS
Cup in 2022. So he has a championship ring as
a team owner. He's also a diehard LA Kings fan
for hockey. To the point of painting his face.
In the 2023 playoffs, he showed up in the front
row right on the glass with checkered black and
silver face paint screaming his head off. And
he once went into the broadcast booth and commentated
an entire period of a Kings game in character
as Ron Burgundy. That is the absolute dream.
Hearing Ron Burgundy call a hockey game. Great
Odin's Raven. It's just constantly blurring the
lines. Is he a fan? Is he a character? Is he
an owner? He manages to be all of them at once.
Now, I want to pivot to something a little bit
controversial, or at least it was a headline
back in 2007. Autograph Magazine named him the
worst autograph signer in Hollywood. This is
a funny little blip in his public reputation.
The magazine claimed he taunted fans who asked
for a signature. They said he was difficult and
would mock them. And Pharrell actually responded
to this accusation. He did. He went on a talk
show and he admitted it. But the context is key.
He said, I do taunt them. I'll ask them, how
badly do you want this autograph? Are you sure?
Prove you're my biggest fan. Sing a song from
Elf. See, to me, that doesn't sound like a jerk.
That sounds like he's engaging with them. He's
making them earn it. Sure. But he's also giving
them a unique story. Exactly. The analysis here
is that it's not arrogance. It's a performance
piece. He's testing the boundaries of the whole
celebrity fan interaction. If you get an autograph
from Will Ferrell, you don't just get a signature.
You get a moment of improv with Will Ferrell.
That's worth way more than some scribble on a
piece of paper. He's turning a boring transaction
into a memorable interaction. We touched on politics
earlier with the George W. Bush impression. But
where does he actually stand politically? based
on the records. He is a pretty staunch and active
Democrat. He supported Barack Obama. He campaigned
for Stacey Abrams in Georgia and for Kamala Harris.
But again, he keeps the art separate from his
personal activism. He returned to SNL to play
Bush for a special long after he'd left the show,
even while fundamentally disagreeing with his
politics. He manages to be politically active
without becoming a political comedian in the
way, say, a Bill Maher is. He doesn't lecture,
he performs. And physically. I mean, the guy
is famous for showing off his average Joe physique
in movies, often shirtless. He has that dad bod
persona. But in real life, he's actually quite
an athlete. He is a dedicated marathon runner.
He has run the Boston Marathon, the New York
City Marathon, and the Stockholm Marathon. That
is serious, serious endurance. Running 26 .2
miles is no joke. That takes an incredible amount
of discipline. It creates this Fascinating juxtaposition,
doesn't it? On screen, he so often plays these
doughy, unathletic, clumsy men. But in reality,
he has the discipline and the focus to train
for and complete multiple marathons. It goes
right back to that Irvine boredom idea. He has
this massive hidden capacity for discipline and
routine. You don't run a marathon by accident.
And his personal life seems to reflect that routine
instability, too. Very stable. He's been married
to Viveka Pollen since the year 2000. They met
in an acting class way back in 1995, before he
was even on SNL. They have three sons. They split
their time between New York City and Orange County.
He essentially went back to his roots. He went
back to the safe, master -planned life that he
came from. He did. In a way, he created the steady,
stable life he always wanted as a kid. It just
happens that his steady job involves wearing
elf costumes and screaming about towel bells.
So let's try to bring this all together. We started
with this idea of a parrot. I think the synthesis
is one single word. Commitment. That is the word
that defines Will Ferrell across the board. Whether
he is playing 10 baseball positions in a single
day or wearing a thong on national television
or refusing to meet the president to protect
a character or training to run a marathon, he
doesn't half -ass anything. He takes the absurdity
completely seriously. Precisely. His comedy isn't
about being stupid. It's about being incredibly
smart about stupidity. He commits to the bit
with a level of intensity that is so total, it
forces the audience to come along with him for
the ride. He treats a character who thinks he's
a frantic NASCAR driver with the same emotional
weight as a serious dramatic role. He never winks
at the camera. Never. He never winks at the camera
to say, look how silly I'm being. He plays it
completely straight from the character's warped
point of view. And that's why it works. If he
winked, the whole thing would just fall apart.
Completely. And that brings us to the final provocative
thought. I want you, the listener, to think about
that winning time conflict again. The split with
Adam McKay. It really sticks with you, that story.
It does because it reminds us that underneath
all the wigs and the catchphrases and the absurdity,
this is a very high stakes business. These are
real people with deep ambitions and, you know,
fragile egos. The fact that a decades long friendship
and creative partnership could dissolve over
the desire to play Jerry Buss. It just shows
that for Will Ferrell, this isn't just fun and
games. It's his life's work. He takes his craft
and his legacy very, very seriously. So the next
time you watch Step Brothers or you see a clip
of him as Alex Trebek on SNL, don't just look
for the laugh. Look for the discipline. Look
for the guy who is working harder than anyone
else in the room to make that complete and utter
absurdity feel 100 % real. And maybe just be
thankful that he never got that permanent job
at the bank. I think we're all a lot safer with
him tearing up movie screens instead of band
roofs. Thanks for listening to this deep dive.
We'll see you next time. Take care.