Borat

Now everyone know Borat. 

He is number one movie film in America. Nice! Many people, including Jews and women who like to make sexy-time, pay money for learning the cultural exploration Borat make for benefit of glorious nation of Kazakhstan. Great success!

Those of us who have known Borat for several years are happy for him, of course. More prostitutes; less make the rape. But for fans who have observed his every recorded encounter on HBO’s “Da Ali G Show,” and even before that when he appeared on the BBC, have mixed feelings about his pop culture domination. He was our secret, our knowing subculture that required a certain amount of hipness to belong. Now everyone laughs at our baby. He’s gone from bootlegged DVDs to the megaplex. This is good news for the people who invested in Borat Sagdiyev. They’re all rich now. (Not as rich as the Jews, but then who is?) We who cherished his interviews with Texas wild game ranchers, hippie dance teachers, judo trainers, job counselors, Mississippi wine connoisseurs, New York improv comedy coaches, and Washington abortion protesters — we fear Borat will not (and cannot) continue his job. He’s too famous.

His creator, Sacha Baron Cohen, is our generation’s Peter Sellars, or Andy Kaufmann. One is confident he will return to the movie screen as someone else, like Bruno, the flamboyant Austrian TV personality who sees a correlation between rising hemlines and the fall of Apartheid. But Borat is probably finished in America.

This is a shame. When we receive a visit from genius, we wish we keep hold of it, bask in it, laugh uncontrollably at it.

At least we still have Sarah Silverman. Even though she’s a Jew.

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