A Serious Turn Of Events
IN A BIG career decision that sent shockwaves through the entertainment industry, Kevin Hart decided it was time for a radical pivot. For years, he had been the loudest, most energetic comedic force in Hollywood, selling out stadiums and dominating box offices with his signature high-pitched incredulity.Ā
But deep down, a different fire was burning. Kevin didnāt just want to make people laugh anymore; he wanted to make them cry. He wanted the gravitas of a thespian, the weight of a dramatic heavyweight. He decided to become a serious actor.
The announcement came during a press junket that was originally scheduled to promote a chaotic buddy-cop sequel. Instead of cracking jokes about his height or his co-stars, Kevin walked up to the podium with a sombre expression, wearing a black turtleneck, a tweed blazer, and non-prescription reading glasses.
āIām done with the funny shit,ā Kevin told the eager reporters, his voice dropping an octave to a range that felt unnaturally deep. He paused for effect, channeling what he believed to be the spirit of a Shakespearean king.Ā
He then launched into a monologue where he practiced sounding like Sir Laurence Olivier. āTo be or not to be, that is the question, man. Itās about the pain. You feel me?ā The reporters looked at one another, confused, waiting for the punchline that never came. Kevin was deadly serious, staring into the middle distance with a haunted look he practiced in the mirror that morning.
The Kensington Experiment
To prove his commitment to the craft, he didn’t just hire an acting coach; he uprooted his entire life. He moved his whole family to London, the spiritual home of serious drama, where he enrolled at the prestigious Royal Academy of Performing Arts. He envisioned days spent in dusty libraries reading Chekhov and nights spent sipping tea while discussing the human condition in hushed tones.
Unfortunately, the reality of his London excursion was significantly louder. The British paparazzi were having a field day. Kevin was mobbed wherever he went, from the grocery store to the tube stationāthough he rarely actually took the tube, preferring a black car with tinted windows.Ā
The juxtaposition of a Hollywood superstar trying to live the life of a humble drama student was too good for the tabloids to pass up. Every time he tried to practice a brooding walk in the rain, a dozen flashbulbs went off, blinding him.
āThis is so messed up,ā Kevin told a fellow student, a lanky young man named Alistair who took himself very seriously and wore scarves indoors. They were ducking into Kevinās eight-bedroom townhouse in Kensington, waiting for the crowds to disperse. The townhouse, complete with a butler and a marble foyer, was Kevinās version of “roughing it” as a struggling student.
āIām just trying to find my center, you know?ā Kevin vented, pouring himself a vintage Bordeaux while Alistair shook the London rain off his trench coat. āHow am I supposed to tap into my reservoir of sorrow when there are fifty cameras flashing in my face every time I step out to buy a croissant? Iām trying to suffer for my art, but theyāre making it really hard to suffer in peace.ā
Waiting For Applause
Back in class the next day, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The instructor, a stern woman named Dame Beatrice who had once played three different corpses in Midsomer Murders, announced they would be rehearsing Samuel Beckettās Waiting for Godot.Ā
Kevin volunteered immediately. He had spent the entire night highlighting the script, convinced that the role of Vladimir was his ticket to an Oscar, or at the very least, a prestigious BAFTA nomination.
He walked to the center of the black-box stage, wearing a bowler hat he had purchased from a costume shop. He thought to himself, this will get the critics to start taking me seriously. He closed his eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath, and began to speak.
āNothing to be done,ā Kevin whispered, trying to imbue the words with existential dread. He scrunched up his face, channeling every ounce of his āinner thespianā. He paced the stage with a limp he had invented for the character, dragging his left leg dramatically.
However, the result wasn’t the stunned silence he expected. All the students couldnāt suppress their laughter whenever Kevin went inside to channel his dramatic side. To them, it looked like a classic Kevin Hart sketch.Ā
His intense staring, his exaggerated limp, the way his voice cracked when he tried to shout in despairāit was hilarious. They covered their mouths, shoulders shaking, tears of mirth streaming down their faces.
He picked up on all the disbelievers and haters immediately. The sound of stifled giggles cut through his concentration like a knife. He stopped mid-monologue, the bowler hat sliding slightly askew.
āYou clowns donāt know fuck all!ā Kevin shouted, breaking character but keeping the intensity. āIāve paid my dues! Iām trying to show you the darkness of the soul, and youāre giggling like school children! None of you could get arrested in this town without me!ā
The audience thought it was a comedy routine and were in stitches. They assumed this was a meta-commentary, a brilliant piece of improv where the famous comedian berates the serious actors. The more serious he got, the harder they laughed. They applauded his commitment to the bit, slapping their knees as Kevin stormed off the stage, fuming.
A Rock Solid Plan
That was the breaking point. Kevin finally called it quits later that afternoon. He realized that perhaps the world wasn’t ready for his Hamlet, or maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t ready to stop being Kevin Hart. He packed his bags, left the Kensington townhouse to the butler, and flew back to Los Angeles.
A few days after returning, he got together with Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson over drinks at a trendy dive bar in Silver Lake where celebrities hung out to pretend they weren’t celebrities. The lighting was dim, and the booths were red leather, perfect for scheming.
Kevin downed a tequila and looked at Dwayne. āMan, they just didnāt get it. I gave them soul, I gave them pain, and they gave me giggles.ā
Dwayne laughed, his massive frame shaking the table. āKevin, youāre a funny guy. Itās a gift. Why fight it? But I get it. You want to switch it up.ā
They sat in silence for a moment, the gears turning. They needed something fresh, something that acknowledged Kevinās desire to be serious while playing to their strengths.
They decided their next movie together would be an over-the-top comedy spy thriller with a twist. It would be a total role reversal. Kevin would play the straight manāa hardened, no-nonsense CIA operative who strictly follows protocol and never cracks a smile. Dwayne, on the other hand, would play the bumbling, joke-cracking analyst who gets thrown into the field.
They agreed on the following working title:
Between A Rock And A Hart Place.Ā
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About the Author
Michael J. Mallen writes psychological thrillers by night and satire by day. He is the author of the Nadine Singh Thrillers and a firm believer that if you can’t laugh at the darkness, it wins.
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