Borat Subsequent Moviefilm

I remember exactly where I was when the news broke that a second Borat movie was finished: sitting on my couch, wearing the same sweatpants I’d worn for three days, wondering if the world was ever going to stop feeling like a glitchy simulation. In the middle of the 2020 pandemic, Sacha Baron Cohen didn’t just release a sequel; he dropped a cultural depth charge. It felt less like a movie release and more like a tactical psychological operation.

Watching this on Amazon Prime—because, let's face it, none of us were going to theaters then—was a communal experience mediated by blue light and Twitter refreshes. I actually watched the premiere while my cat was methodically shredding a roll of precious, hoard-worthy toilet paper in the corner of the room, and honestly, the chaos in my living room felt perfectly synced with the chaos on screen.

The Daughter Who Stole the Suit

While the first film was a solo wrecking ball through the American ego, Subsequent Moviefilm works because it’s a duo. Enter Maria Bakalova. If you had told me in 2006 that the best part of a Borat sequel would be a heart-wrenching father-daughter arc, I’d have assumed you were huffing industrial cleaner. But Bakalova is a revelation. She doesn't just keep up with Cohen; she often out-mancuvers him.

The way she transforms from a feral, caged "property" in Kazakhstan into a bizarre parody of a polished American journalist is both hilarious and genuinely impressive. She is the only person on earth who can make a "moon blood" dance at a debutante ball feel like high art. Without her, this would have just been a "greatest hits" tour of a character we already knew. With her, it becomes a stinging critique of how the world treats women, wrapped in a layer of the most uncomfortable "cringe" comedy ever recorded.

A Time Capsule of a Fever Dream

Reviewing this as a piece of contemporary cinema is tricky because it’s so inextricably linked to the specific madness of 2020. It captures a version of America that was physically distanced but ideologically colliding. When Borat moves in with two conspiracy theorists during the COVID-19 lockdown, the movie shifts from a prank show to a surrealist documentary.

The genius of Sacha Baron Cohen has always been his ability to let people hang themselves with their own words, but here, the stakes feel higher. It’s not just about making fun of "stupid Americans" anymore; it’s about examining a genuine fracture in reality. It is essentially a horror movie where the jump scares are replaced by elderly men saying terrifying things. The fact that they filmed this under strict COVID protocols, with Cohen often trapped in character for days at a time to maintain the ruse, adds a layer of "gonzo" filmmaking that most blockbusters wouldn't dare touch.

The "Gotcha" Heard 'Round the World

We have to talk about the Rudy Giuliani of it all. By the time the film reached its climax, the footage of the former mayor in a hotel room with Bakalova (posing as a conservative journalist) had already leaked and dominated the news cycle for days. Seeing it in context doesn't make it any less skin-crawling. It’s the ultimate "Borat" moment—a blend of luck, incredible bravery from the actors, and a chilling look at the proximity of power to total absurdity.

The behind-the-scenes stories are just as wild. Apparently, Sacha Baron Cohen had to wear a bulletproof vest during the gun rally scene because the atmosphere turned so volatile. That’s not just comedy; that’s combat sports. The production also used a "Babbu" suit—a massive, fat-suit-style prosthetic—to allow Cohen to infiltrate a CPAC event disguised as a certain high-ranking politician. The sheer logistics of pulling this off in secret, in an era where everyone has a smartphone and a social media account, is a feat of production that shouldn't have been possible.

Stuff You Didn't Notice

One of the funniest, most low-key details is the "Kazakh" language used in the film. While Borat’s speech is mostly a mix of Hebrew and gibberish, Maria Bakalova is actually speaking her native Bulgarian. They’re effectively having two different conversations in two different languages, and yet they have more chemistry than most rom-com leads.

The film also features a brief, weirdly touching cameo by Tom Hanks, which serves as a perfect bookend to the "pandemic year" theme, given that he was one of the first major celebrities to contract the virus. It’s a meta-joke that only works in this specific window of history. Also, keep an eye out for Dani Popescu as the Premier; the production design of the "Kazakhstan" scenes (actually filmed in a small village in Romania) remains as brilliantly, offensively low-rent as ever.

Borat Subsequent Moviefilm is a rare sequel that justifies its existence by evolving. It trades some of the raw, lightning-in-a-bottle spontaneity of the 2006 original for a more focused, satirical bite. It’s a film that shouldn’t have worked—sequels to decade-old comedies almost always feel like desperate cash grabs—but by leaning into the specific nightmare of 2020, it became an essential document of its time. It’s loud, it’s gross, and it’s frequently hard to watch, but it’s also remarkably human. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a high-five from a guy who forgot to wash his hands after using a Port-a-Potty. You might feel dirty afterward, but you'll definitely remember it.