Just because a movie is stupid, doesn’t necessarily mean it has to suck. A good number of writer/director Harold Ramis’ previous jaunts, like “Caddyshack,” “Meatballs” and “Animal House,” stand as exceptional examples of how mightily low brow concepts can yield some surprisingly high test laughs. If, as they say, exceptions prove the rule, this may be the only angle from which to qualify Rami’s latest, “Year One,” as ruling in any way. ‘Cause wow, is it stupid, and damn, does it suck.

Plainly attempting to tap into the spirits of the far superior efforts of Monty Python’s “Life of Brian” and Mel Brooks’ “History of the World, Part 1,” this haphazard, disjointed blunder through prehistory would more aptly be associated with Dudley Moore’s “Wholly Moses” or maybe Ringo Star’s “Cave Man.” Truth be told, to even bother making the comparison is an insult to them both. Think about that.

The grandiloquent Jack Black and insubstantial Michael Cera appear once again to be playing themselves (or at least the same characters they’ve been playing in everything else either of them has ever done) only this time dressed in matted animal pelts and matching wigs, as an underachieving pair of hunter-gatherers exiled from their village after Black munches down on a forbidden golden apple. This fruit of knowledge, though all glowy and magical and divine in appearance, presents woefully little affect on the man’s intellect, as a character or as an actor.

The bluesome twosome then bumble aimlessly through a disconnected series of man’s early technical achievements. They get some fire, and burn down their hut; they’re introduced to a wheel, and puke from the lumbering speed of an ox wagon. They eventually Rosencrantz-and-Guildenstern their way into some equally disparate Old Testament events. After witnessing Abel (David Cross) slaying Caine (Paul Rudd), they inadvertently distract Abraham (Hank Azaria) from sacrificing Isaac (Christopher “McLovin” Mintz-Plasse), and narrowly escape circumcision at his hands. The pair eventually stumble upon the sin city of Sodom, and the pace grinds to a complete halt, stopping the movie dead in its dusty tracks. This whole religion-as-comic-fodder arc would indicate some potential ambition from Ramis, who very well may have intended to subvert the teachings of the ancient scrolls with a good dose of contemporary vulgarity.

Sadly though, any hope of finding a message, satirical or otherwise, amid all the turd gnashing, gay-bashing, virgin trashing, and foreskin slashing, is utterly hamstrung by an excruciating script and disgraceful editing. Jokes are repeatedly set up, only to be cut away from before any discernable payoff. It’s very poor comedy to reveal a banana peel on the dance floor, but never show the slip. At one point, as Cera is forced to bunk with a dimwitted young sheeplover (Cera, for some reason, is made the brunt of every single one of the multitudinous homosexual jabs), the boy snuggles up to him saying “Want to see a trick?” We see a brief moment of horror cross Cera’s face, and the scene cuts in a baffling jump, right to the next morning. No joke. No tussle. No funny.

Even more annoying, too often, as one character performs whichever loathsome act is required of each scene, the others simply hover nearby, describing the action for the audience. As Black enthusiastically wolfs down a hunk of bear crap on the side of the road, Cera looks on shaking his head, and presumably because the audience may not have noticed, says something along the lines of “Wow, you’re eating a piece of crap.” Later, as Cera hangs from his ankles in a dungeon, weeping as his own urine runs down his face and into his nose, Black, also in chains, contributes, “Oooo, yuck, there’s pee in your nose.”

Gospel it ain’t, to be certain, but if this dialogue was indeed scripted ahead of time, it may be the some of the worst writing since the invention of cuneiform. On the other hand, if (as is more probably the case) the actors were just making all their lines up as they went along, better improv could easily be found in an elementary school boys room.

Ramis is capable of so much more. The man was a Ghostbuster. He gave us “Groundhog’s Day,” for God’s sake. Every whit of talent in this movie, both in front of and behind the camera, is absolutely squandered. It’s a sad irony that Ramis’ movie about history works best only as proof that his best work might just be in the past. His script, near the end, tips the hand of that-which-might-have-been with a limp, if momentarily philosophical moment in which Cera’s character questions the existence of God. Regrettably, the film itself stands as pretty hard evidence against it.