While one can argue as to whether or not Jim Carrey was the best comedian of the 1990s, there’s really no debate over the fact that he was the most profitable. His manic style set him apart throughout his years on TV’s In Living Color, but no one could have guessed that the American public would anoint him as the national king of comedy. His first three characters (Ace Ventura in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, Stanely Ipkiss in The Mask, and Lloyd Christmas in Dumb and Dumber) solidified him as a sort of nouveau Jerry Lewis, a comedian with impeccable timing, relentless energy, and elastic features.

But between his early comedic romps and his breakout performance as a “legitimate actor” in 1998’s The Truman Show came Liar Liar. Reunited with Ace Ventura director Tom Shadyac, Carrey began the transition from half-witted to whole-hearted comedy.

As Fletcher Reede, Carrey portrays a selfish lawyer whose lying ways have earned him a divorce and the distrust of his young son. Refusing to give up on dad, however, the impressionable youth blows out his birthday cake candles with the secret wish that his dad would stop lying for twenty-four hours. Meanwhile, his father wakes from his sexual liaison to discover that not only can he no longer tell a lie, he cannot withhold the truth. While this comes as an extremely awkward social inconvenience, it proves to be far more devastating to Fletcher’s career prospects when he must litigate a messy divorce proceeding for his perjuring client. Topping it all off, Fletcher’s ex-wife Audrey (ER’s Maura Tierney) is preparing to move to Boston with her new boyfriend (Princess Bridegroom Cary Elwes), separating Fletcher from his son. The circumstances all conspire to shift Fletcher’s focus in a dramatic way, giving Carrey the opportunity in a few touching moments to flex the acting chops that would serve him in later films such as Man on the Moon and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

But the joy of Liar Liar is in revealing, through Fletcher, the thousands of little ways in which the average person fibs throughout the day. Whether it’s confessing to a police officer, complimenting a coworker, or simply excusing ourselves for being late, Fletcher’s twenty-four hours of hell are our two hours of hilarity.