Monday, August 13, 2007

Movies I Should Have Already Seen Vol 3. #3

I'm back and you know the freaks can't handle it! WOOOOO!

But, of course, you aren't a freak. Right? So you can handle it. Which is good because I don't want the three people that read this to not handle it.

Onward....

Movies I Should Have Already Seen #3


I remember when this movie came out. Yes, I realize how pompous that sounds since Borat is only about a year old, however everyone treated it like the next comedy powerhouse.

Like with Team America: World Police (another movie that needs the "already seen" treatment) I initially stayed away. I didn't know anything about Sacha Baron Cohen or his Borat skit. I thought this movie would just be an ugly excuse to play off xenophobia and stereotypes. Sort of like Eurotrip except without Michelle Tranctenberg in a bikini. The Ithaca in me overtook my movie judging powers* and I quickly turned my nose up at Borat.

Of course, I was wrong.

Now don't think I am too deep into the Borat army. I still don't think the movie is the next comedic watershed. For how much the shock value was billed, I found the funniest part to be pure slapstick that could work in any movie. The whole "NOT" gag, the bear in the ice cream truck, and the asshole neighbor were gold. I can never look at an Ipod Mini again and say, "Everyone knows it for girls!"

And then you just had those Amelia Bedelia moments like the "gypsy" garage sale and the dinner party. Classic.

When the credits rolled, I kept thinking, "Well, what was the big deal?"

The whole experience reminded me about a time Amanda and I were discussing art. In our plush leather chairs in the study we sipped on Lagavulin that our dapper bunny Carson brought while wearing a tuxedo. Dante the Guinea pig played harp atop the antique globe that held our single malt scotch. While we were so refined, I said that comment that no one is supposed to say.

"I just don't get modern art sometimes. What the hell is so important about a Mark Rothko piece?"

Then she brought on an epiphany!

What defines a lot of modern and post modern art and creativity is not so much what they are showing, but how it was made. Hence, the value of a Pollock piece. This same thing applies to Borat. I didn't find the frat boys particularly funny (Anyone who has been to high school and/or college in the past twenty years should have spent plenty of time laughing at guys like that already), but the method was scintillating. Baron Cohen duped hundreds of people into thinking that he was a real reporter from Kazakhstan and then had them verbalize their unhinged opinions. There lies the success and the comedy, the fact that such horrible figures* still exist in America and want to have everyone hear their vitriol. So the main impressions rests in the method itself. That is why it was a big deal. Obviously, I enjoyed it, and I hope that it is for the same reasons the producers of the movie thought it was hilarious. It is a buffoonish movie, appealing to the lowest common denominator, but still able to create huge amounts of discussion. Conversations about race, American image, and sociology.

I am not going to remove myself from this argument. If I would have been walking down the streets of NYC and some mustached man came up to me asking for a kiss, I would probably freak out. And if we were in a more controlled setting, like the Southern dinner party, I would get all tense and awkward at Borat's mannerisms. Just like the people in the movie. If I met a mysterious man from Kazakhstan then I wouldn't know what to say. I don't know anything about the country except:

1) It is a former Soviet republic;
2) It borders the Aral sea; and,
3) I can point it out on a map. Pesky Uzbekistan, too!

Peace!

* If Wikipedia is right, then I don't feel bad for the rodeo owner or the frat boys, but pity the news producer in Mississippi. But, how true is the report?

No comments:

Sunday Morning

 My father was not a man of faith That is something I stole from him, that phrase I use to politely defuse the handsome couple at my door on...