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PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST: Will Ferrell in Beverley Hills in June

Mark Seliger

ON A SUNNY MAY MORNING IN NORTHWEST ATLANTA, Will Ferrell ambles into the warehouse at 2282 Defoor Hills Road – a windowless, 31,000-square-foot behemoth that has been transformed, thanks to low rents and generous Georgia tax incentives, into a makeshift movie soundstage. The warehouse is typically home to moving companies, but today the tenant has a much higher profile: Anchorman 2: The Legend Continues, a.k.a. the most hotly anticipated comedy of the year, and the most buzzed-about sequel in comedy history. Ferrell is starting his

workday as the film’s hero, Ron Burgundy, a blowhard San Diego newsman with a weakness for scotch, blondes and mahogany furnishings; a habit of issuing bogus facts in authoritative tones (for instance, “San Diego” is German for “a whale’s vagina”); and what you might charitably call unenlightened attitudes regarding race, gender and sexuality. “He’s kind of horrible,” says Ferrell, smiling. And yet we love him all the same.

Ron typically wears snazzy white loafers and wide-lapel suits that, to quote the original Anchorman, make “Sinatra look like a hobo.” But in the scene shooting today, he’s on the mend after suffering an- injury, so Ferrell’s dressed in a shabby turtleneck, house slippers and a blanket. If Ron’s golden-brown croissant of a mustache has a little less luster than usual, however, Ferrell himself looks good. For one thing, he’s got a personal trainer on set with him, who works him out and fixes him breakfast smoothies. For another, Ron Burgundy is his all-time favorite role, and he’s pumped about revisiting it. “It really feels like the last one, where we couldn’t believe they’d given us money to do these ridiculous things,” he says. “This one, it’s all about making everything even more ridiculous.”

By 10:22 a.m., the three other leads have gathered, ready to portray the members of Ron’s news crew: Paul Rudd as Brian Fantana, porny-looking lady-killer and investigative reporter; Steve Carell as Brick Tamland, brain-dead weatherman; David Koechner as Champ Kind, fervent right-winger, repressed homosexual and sports recapper. “I like your bolo tie,” Rudd tells Koechner. Rudd’s done up in a denim suit augmented by a gold brian belt buckle and an unbuttoned shirt; Carell’s in a three-piece suit. The actors exchange small talk as they walk to the set, a lighthouse interior constructed on the warehouse floor. From this side, it resembles a massive plywood cocoon but within lies a kitchen, a living-room area and various nautical-themed accents, including a bottle of Captain Morgan. Ron comes to this lighthouse as part of his recovery, and in today’s scene – number 106 – the team pays him a visit. “This is Ron’s special place,” Ferrell says.

The first Anchorman, which came out in 2004, had a rich premise: The all-male news team at a local television station in the mid-Seventies must deal with the arrival of a highly talented female reporter within their midst. The movie is as vivid in its depiction of a boys’ club perched atop shifting cultural fault lines as Mad Men, only with Ron as the dashing, flailingly out-of-step paterfamilias instead of Don Draper – and with more jokes about smelly pirate hookers and cologne made from bits of panther. In Ferrell’s hands, Ron is as indelible a portrait of puffed-up American masculinity as our culture has mustered: “At first glance, you think he’s really self-confident, but he’s such an insecure guy,” says Ferrell. “His confidence supplants knowledge.” Anchorman’s director, Adam McKay, who wrote both movies (and runs a production company, Gary Sanchez) with Ferrell, says, “That’s stuff we both love: guys who project great authority and competence, but behind it there’s just f***ing chaos, incompetence, derangement or pure self-interest.”

It’s day 50 of a 58-day shoot. “This is the hardest we’ve ever worked,” says McKay, getting into place in the director’s chair. “Comedy is built on surprise, so comedy sequels are hard. We didn’t want to repeat ourselves.” The original Anchorman took in good money, earning around $85 million at the box office on a $26 million budget. But its off-kilter atmosphere, endless barrage of left-field jokes and winningly cavalier attitude toward plot gave it a cult feel. “It was a handmade movie,” McKay says. “It was raggedy,” says Ferrell.

This is an extract. To read the full story, pick up a copy of Rolling Stone Middle East

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