Directed by Larry Charles

Written by Sacha Baron Cohen, Anthony Hines, Peter Baynham and Dan Mazer

Starring: Sacha Baron Cohen, Ken Davitian, Pamela Anderson and Sen. Alan Keyes

Any film that has both the Iranian government and the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) calling for its boycott must be devoutly cherished.

On Sept. 28, the ADL issued a statement voicing concern about “one serious pitfall … the audience may not always be sophisticated enough to get the joke, and that some may even find it reinforcing their bigotry.” All this ado simply because the filmmakers chose to document the ceremonial “running of the Jew” through the streets of Kazakhstan. Then there are the elderly Jewish proprietors of a bed and breakfast blessed (as all Jews are) with the ability to shape-shift. When the couple transforms into a pair of cockroaches, Borat wisely wards them off by showering them with money. And who can blame our otherwise plucky hero for insisting on traveling by car. Is he the only one terrified that the Jews will “repeat their attack on 9/11”?

Spike Lee can only dream of pulling off satire as subtle and effective as this.

By now, everything you’re heard about Borat is true. In a year filled with numerous outstanding comedies, Borat leads the pack. Forget about 2006; this is one of the funniest movies you will ever see. Wall-to-wall hilarity is guaranteed, generally accompanied by uncontrollable fits of crying from all the laughs on display.

Borat Sagdiyev (Sacha Baron Cohen), Kazakhstan’s second most successful journalist, is sent by his country to the “U S and A” to “make reportings” that would promote their cause. After a hilarious introduction to his native land, Borat lands in New York and is instantly smitten by a “Baywatch” rerun. Whatever thoughts he had about documenting America are quickly supplanted with images of “making sexy with the Pamela Anderson.”

Why not just make up a country like SCTV did with their beloved Leutonia, the land of the Schmenge? The same way film noir came about in response to World War II, 9/11 brought Americans horrifyingly close to realities that had been mercifully out of mind since Vietnam. Leutonia, Freedonia or Sylvania will no longer do.

Accompanying Borat is Azamat Bagatov (Ken Davitian), his, ineffectual, dumpster-sized and inordinately hairy producer. Azamat is not crazy about moving the shoot to Los Angeles, but eventually gives in to Borat’s unremitting pleas. Fed up, Azamat briefly quits his job to play Stan Laurel’s partner, Adolf Hitler, outside Grauman’s Chinese Theater.

Much of the humor in “Da Ali G Show” was confrontational, and a lot of that makes its way into the feature. Baron Cohen has a set of cojones on him that make Stuttering John’s look pea-sized. During his cross-country joyride, Baron Cohen finds new meaning in Alan Funt’s old catchphrase, “People caught in the act of being themselves.” He loves placing the unwitting in an interview situation, turning on his candid camera and making them sweat.

According to the press notes, no one aside from the filmmakers was in on the joke. This is certainly true of Illinois state Senator and “man with chocolate face” Alan Keyes, who has a spirited but all too brief exchange with Borat concerning the homosexual. There is also a cowboy-hatted feller, fully aware that cameras are rolling, who practically calls for all queers to be flogged. The question of how much, if anything, was divulged to the participants ahead of time will hopefully be answered on the DVD commentary track.

Borat arrived on the biggest wave of Internet hypes since The Blair Witch Project. Two months ago, free screenings were announced on myspace.com. Usually, studios will hold two or three advance screenings. Borat had so many sneaks, it was the first time in my life I saw a film four times before it opened.

This type of guerilla-style filmmaking, particularly with a “person of interest” at its center, is bound to be met with more than a sideways glance. Several townsfolk brought the FBI on their tails after they reported the crew as suspected terrorists.

Baron Cohen had a warrant issued for his arrest in New York, the same city that forced executive producer Monica Levinson and first assistant director Dale Stern to spend a night in jail for “borrowing” items from their hotel to use as props.

Even though advance word was through the roof, the ADL’s admonishment caused 20th Century Fox to scale back the release from a couple thousand screens to a scant 837. The generally dependable boxofficeguru.com predicted an $11 million opening weekend. Borat took in $26.3, making it one of the most successful modest wide releases ever.

It is so hard to make an anti-racism film without avoiding self-righteous, finger-wagging manner. As much as I admire Bamboozled, it sho’ am preachy. As with any great satirist, Baron Cohen tells you nothing and shows you everything.

Produced and Directed by Billy Corben

Magnolia Pictures

116 minutes

Had I trusted my first impression, I probably would have bolted five minutes in after witnessing fuzzy home movies intercut with an equally fuzzy staged hit man spraying the screen with bullets. Hell, it could only get better. I stayed and it did.

It’s Miami in the ’70s, a sleepy little retirement community with wide open borders. Coke, rum, pot, illegals, you name it; Miami had it all. Back then, Columbia’s Medellin cartel controlled 80 percent of the cocaine trade. It got so you could hardly see the tops of glass coffee tables what with all the mounds of blow.

This shot-on-video documentary is told from the firsthand accounts of three battle-scarred survivors: convicted drug trafficker Jon Roberts, Mickey Munday, a pilot convicted of smuggling more than 10 tons of powder into the United States, and Jorge “Rivi” Ayala, an unrepentant contract killer currently serving four consecutive life sentences.

These boys were ingenious. Why risk transporting the contraband in their personal automobiles? Instead, they bought a towing service and stashed the dope in beaters that they hauled to their destination. If a cop pulled them over, which they never did, they had the perfect excuse: “It isn’t my car.”

Illegal drugs and violence invariably go hand in hand, and it wasn’t long before Miami’s annual death rate neared 700. The police department had to lease a refrigerated truck from Burger King to house all the corpses.

Perhaps the most brutal figure in this unspeakably violent universe is Griselda Blanco, the “queen of cocaine.” Only a tough mother would dare name her youngest son Michael Corleone. Blanco’s never-ending battles with fellow drug dealers almost single-handedly brought about the bloodshed for which Miami became infamous in the ’80s.

This is documentary filmmaking by the numbers. Shoot a group of interviewees with compelling stories to tell and pad them out with stock footage and news reports. Technically, it’s a nightmare. I can understand visual loss when bumping VHS up to high definition, but what’s the excuse for all the hideous contemporary interview footage? Was the director trying to make everything match?

As cinematically sloppy as it may be, the film never shies away from hammering home the awful truth. Ironically, the drug trade helped fuel Miami’s building boom. While it never overtly crusades for drug legalization, I can’t think of a more eloquent defense.