'Borat' Lawsuits? What a Joke

The movie sensation known as Borat has divided America into three groups: those who have seen it and found it deliciously, subversively funny; those who have seen it and recoiled in shock; and those who have not seen it and are left wondering what all the fuss is about.

For the unfamiliar, the story is a series of encounters between an obliviously offensive TV "reporter" from Kazakhstan whose old-world prejudices mingle in a comic soup with the biases of unsuspecting Americans he interviews and thus unmasks.

Raunchy, controversial comedy is nothing new at the cineplex. So what makes this product of British comedian Sacha Baron Cohen the stuff of talk shows and lawsuits?

It doesn't hurt that it is on the way to a perch as top-grossing comedy of the year, and deservedly so. If parody is an effective weapon for battling our social ills, this movie is a nuclear bomb aimed at bigotry and ignorance of several types. Whether it is Borat himself displaying his own stunning anti-Semitism or the Americans he encounters unwittingly revealing their own prejudices, every frame of this comic masterpiece is designed to do two things: make you laugh and make a point. It is succeeding mightily.

This modern brand of squirm-inducing comedy is surely not everyone's cup of tea. But for those with comic tastes that include the edgy and uncomfortable, this is the new benchmark.

The discomfort is not limited to the interior of the theaters running it. From South Carolina to Romania, lawsuits are hitting the moviemakers, adding to the tension and, I'm guessing, to next weekend's box office.

Part of the adventure of Borat is wondering which scenes are real and which, if any, are staged. Did the gun store owner really have a handy answer when asked which firearm is best for shooting Jews? Did guests at a genteel Southern dinner party gamely teach Borat the graphic finer points of toilet training yet vacate the premises as his black date arrived? Most vividly, is that a real ballroom filled with genuinely stunned conventioneers when Borat and his obese producer tumble through the room wrestling, naked as jaybirds?

The answers appear to be yes, yes and yes, and almost everyone has had a good chuckle about it since.

I said almost. The drunk Southern frat boys who welcome Borat for a segment of the road trip in their RV are stunned that they are caught on camera following Borat's every lead. When he praises the concept of slavery, they hit the bait like bass on a worm. "Minorities have all the power," blurts one in a beer haze.

That inebriation, their lawsuit says, was a calculated trick to get them to "loosen up" and behave in ways they otherwise would not. Did these boys not notice that no one bought this logic when Mel Gibson tried it? And besides, they signed releases. End of story.

So did the inhabitants of a Romanian village that serves as Borat's decrepit hometown. In their lawsuit, they say they were not in on the joke as he introduces characters from his sister ("No. 4 prostitute in all Kazakhstan") to the town rapist ("Naughty, naughty!").

More nonsense. What they feel they are not in on is the massive income this movie is racking up. The frat boys should have told everyone they were in on it all the time. The Romanian villagers should be happy for any thin dime left among their shanties for their time and trouble.

Meanwhile, Borat will spark additional cascades of guilty laughter, hopefully joined by the sound of these lawsuits being laughed out of court.