Sacha Baron Cohen’s iconic comedic creation, Ali G, returns in a brand new film that mixes broad humor with provocative satire, evoking mixed reactions from audiences. Unlike the 2002 feature Ali G in Da House, the new project avoids a conventional narrative structure, relying instead on a series of live-ammo hoaxes and gross-out cringe gags targeting various public figures and cultural figures. You’ll like this less; if you disliked it, you’ll dislike this more; if you suspected it was racist, you’ll be more emboldened to say so – especially as Baron Cohen has dreamed up a whole new character apparently to pre-empt and mock precisely that objection, i f you liked Sacha Baron Cohen’s Ali G the first time around. Broad and crass as it often is – in fact always is – this Ali G sequel is sometimes funny: the athletic vigour of our hero’s pranking and punking is like the umpteenth Jackass film at which you might find yourself laughing, and Baron Cohen blunders with the semi-intentional force of an XL bully into the issue of whether jokes are still allowed. It is basically another live-ammo series of hoaxes with some spectacular bad taste perpetrated upon the deserving and less deserving; it satirises the shamelessness of anti-woke free speech martyrs, punching up and down with grossout cringe, and the targets include some big names who shouldn’t be revealed here. The dupes are built into a big silly climax fabricated with body doubles and (presumably) covert reshooting. Over the closing credits at the end and even briefly in the middle of the action, the insurmountable problem is that the film keeps having to tell you who is and isn’t “in on it”: at the beginning. Well, Ali G was from so very long ago, and even the high-water mark of Baron Cohen’s Borat popularity was quite long ago, and the online media scene now so fragmented that … yes … people have forgotten, a whole new generation doesn’t know. Overexcited, Ali and Julie head off to the US to sucker some people in the traditional style; the smallscreen setup blown up to high-def cinematic proportions. Baron Cohen’s live-ammo prankster is back, 20 years on, but has to battle with his own irrelevance in search of big laughs and the approval of a new generation. Yes, although Baron Cohen doesn’t land a huge punch on a big name the way he did in the Borat sequel, the movie does make a few people look silly. But that is now forgotten about, the first film implied he was once a Robert Smith-type goth.
The film introduces two distinct supporting personas alongside the main protagonist: Erran Morad, a sinister Mossad and IDF officer turned US security consultant from the Who Is America? television series, and Dr Nira Cain-N’Degrocello, a supercilious white liberal obsessed with cultural appropriation. A central challenge throughout the production involves repeatedly clarifying who is and is not in on the joke, signaling how much time has passed and how unfamiliar younger audiences are with the character.
The plot follows a washed-up Ali G facing financial struggles while his pregnant partner, Julie, played by Morgana Robinson, plans to launch an OnlyFans account.
After attempting to pawn an old fax machine in Staines, Ali receives a message from HBO offering a new program, prompting the couple to travel to the United States. Concurrently, his fictional woke antagonist attempts to orchestrate his downfall by employing an Israeli operative to convince gullible Republicans that Ali operates as a Mexican terrorist. By employing the Israeli hardman, tries to convince credulous and aggressive Republicans that Ali is a Mexican terrorist whose baby must be prevented at all costs from being born on US soil, his fictional woke tormentor decides to take him down and.
Notable omissions from the production include any reference to BBC Radio 1 hip-hop DJ Tim Westwood, whose historical speech mannerisms heavily influenced the original creation of Ali G. Unlike successful revivals such as Steve Coogan’s Alan Partridge or Ricky Gervais’s David Brent, which capture the melancholy of aging, this sequel struggles to establish a comfortable modern rhythm, though standout moments are expected to circulate widely across TikTok and Instagram reels. One person who this film doesn’t allude to is Tim Westwood, the BBC Radio 1 hip-hop DJ and son of the Bishop of Peterborough whose speech mannerisms were held to be one influence on Baron Cohen’s great cre, interestingly.
