Dr. Egon Spengler was a man of many talents — parapsychology, spore-collecting, amateur surgery and battle with Stay-Puft Marshmallow Men chief among them. In the early ’80s, his alter-ego and creator, “Ghost Busters” writer/director Harold Ramis, turned out a fair number of chucklers, too: “Animal House,” “Caddyshack,” “Stripes.”

Not surprisingly, that (but mostly the “Ghost Busters” franchise) drained him. Aside from a feature film sequel, 140 episodes of the animated series and a few “Extreme” re-boots of the series, he only surfaced again with “Groundhog Day” (well, and “Analyze This,” whose mob-boss-visits-shrink concept was quickly overshadowed by “The Sopranos”).

Looking over his résumé, it seems the only reason Ramis would even bother with “Year One” might be because he saw a Monty Python “Life of Brian” or Mel Brooks’ “History of the World”-sized hole in it. Often low-brow and unabashedly vaudevillian, both these movies are still watchable almost 30 years later. I can’t imagine anyone picking up “Year One” 30 years from now — and this is from someone predisposed to adore anything with Hank Azaria, David Cross, Jack Black and Mikey Cera.

In the movie, it’s the dawn of time. Black and Cera — fur-wearing hunters and gatherers — scrabble about in the forest. Black lusts after a cavewoman with salon hair and full makeup, while Cera lusts after a cavegirl who, with her teased, bleached blonde hair and hide mini-skirt, would make the front page of partying hipster mock site “Blue States Lose,” if it still existed. Black eats a glowing gold apple from a forbidden tree and is banished. Just over a mountain range, he and Cera discover every plot point of Genesis occurring at once.

Sadly, “Year One” does not beget the laughs it should. It’s a lazy movie. Attacks by snakes and cougars end with quick cuts away, instead of any explanation, however jokey. About 20 minutes in, Black eats poop. Ten minutes later, he and Cera fall asleep to a stock fart joke. Ten minutes later, they close a scene with Cera complaining weakly about being chafed by desert sand in his loincloth.

One high point: Oliver Platt, dressed as bearded lady, does deliver a juicy performance as a blue eyeshadow-wearing high priest, breathlessly “reading” entrails.

Sadly, he and Black are jailed in the next scene. Cera is upside-down, and forced to urinate in that position. The biggest irony of the movie? Jack Black invents applause.