Bloggasm

One could lazily say that Sacha Baron Cohen’s ability to make us laugh simply lies with his keen adeptness to draw out the most racist and sexist personas of his interview subjects and display them in all their ridiculousness. But then that would ignore some of the funniest scenes in Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan, which seemed as if they could have snugly fit within the realms of a Jackass movie. In fact, Cohen at some points dives so far into the shock factor humor that the audience becomes desensitized to it, as is often the case with race humor. When we watch the citizens of Kazakhstan participate in the annual “Running of the Jew,” in which large hulking costumed “Jews” chase the children through the streets, you’ll likely hear forced laughter in the audience at what is essentially over-the-top anti-semitism. Later in the movie, when Borat (Sacha Baron Cohen) and his producer Azamat (Ken Davitian) find out that they’re spending the night with a Jewish couple, their fear that the couple will poison them never does much in inducing real laughter.

That is not to say that the racism isn’t funny, it’s just more entertaining when Borat manages to let his interview subjects spew their racist remarks. Perhaps this is why he only spends a very small portion of the movie in New York City before hitting the road, because Cohen understood the guarded, stand-offish nature of the New Yorker. When Borat goes to kiss a random New Yorker on the street, the response you almost always hear is “Get the fuck away from me, don’t you fucking get near me.” When he’s in the south, the southerner will either awkwardly let him kiss him, or politely tell him “No, we don’t do that kind of thing here.” Cohen preys on the exaggerated polite mentality of southerners, who will go out of their way to accommodate even the most obnoxious guests. Borat is always able to cause the southerners to let down their guard through his own sexist and racist affirmations, and through some bizarre assuredness that the camera filming them will never reach American eyes, they spew forth the most vile stuff imaginable.

Borat, in its faux-documentary style, puts together a coherent plot rather than jumping from interview to interview like in the short lived Da Ali G Show. Borat is a Kazakhstani journalist who has been sent to America to make a documentary about American cultural life that will theoretically be emulated by Kazakhstan’s people (something that’s confirmed in the epilogue of the movie). He’s accompanied by his producer Azamat who is there to keep him disciplined towards his final goal. But when Borat watches an episode of Baywatch, he becomes immediately transfixed with Pamela Anderson and decides right then and there that he is to marry her. He convinces Azamat that they need to travel to California in order to get the full range of American life, and of course on the way there they curve their path into the deep south.

The attempt to make a coherent plot is a thin one, and Borat’s interactions with Azamat are, for the most part, insubstantial and not very funny (with the main exception being when they get into a huge fight that causes them to part ways). During their trip in the south, Borat encounters an entire range of southerners, from rodeo owners to tongue-speaking evangelical churches to antique dealers, and to borrow a cliche, hilarity ensues. To dictate said hilarity into the written word would flatten it and dry it out; its humor can only be conveyed through the screen. But suffice it to say that Borat is probably the funniest movie to emerge this year.

With its major popularity and inevitable cult following, Cohen must have realized that the death of Borat is eminent. He has been propelled into a notoriety so large that he will never again be able to sneak under the radar in order to trick his interview subjects. But perhaps that’s what’s so fantastic about the movie, that he approaches it with his gloves off, willing to do the most outrageous things imaginable until tears of laughter well up in the audience’s eyes. Many critics will label this movie a mockumentary, but Cohen has painted such a true-portrait of the south’s landscape that he will no doubt be the envy of any serious documentarian, who must deal with the barriers created by those who know every word of theirs will be picked over and dissected by the unrelenting liberal-than-thou criticism of their fellow Americans. Cohen has managed to remove the lense of political correctness to display the racist southerner in its most basic, Neanderthalic beauty.

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