First things first: We were supposed to have an interview with Borat. I know, I know. That's what I was supposed to be writing, and that's what you were supposed to be reading, and how great would that have been? I'd have asked Borat how he liked America, and what he thought about current world events, and maybe I would have asked him for some personal advice, Ann Landers-style, and he would have responded with statements about the size of his khram, or how his sister is the "number four prostitute in whole of Kazakhstan," and he probably would have offered me well-intended counsel about the dangers posed by gypsies.

But the interview fell through. According to Borat's publicist, due to his "hectic travel schedule, Borat has had trouble completing the interview questions in a timely manner." Well, they aren't in my inbox now, and I'm writing this on the Mercury's deadline—so instead of Borat talking about how his sister is "tight like a man's anus," you're left with me telling you how funny Borat is. Small consolation, I know.

But goddamn, Borat is funny. In fact, the movie featuring Sacha Baron Cohen's character, Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan, is probably one of the funniest movies you're going to see—this month, this year, maybe ever. The premise (for the two of you who've somehow avoided the omnipresent Borat appearances on MTV, SNL, Good Morning America, HBO, CNN, MySpace, and YouTube), is that Borat (Cohen), an intrepid and ignorant reporter from Kazakhstan, ventures to America. Ostensibly assembling an educational film to send back home, Borat quickly becomes enamored with other things—namely, Pamela Anderson, whom Borat, after catching an episode of Baywatch, decides will be his next wife. He drives across the country to meet her, along the way encountering creepy Christian fundamentalists, haughty Southern bluebloods, red-state cowboys, friendly prostitutes, and Jews. Borat's fascinated by Southerners, admiring of rodeo fans ("We support your war of terror! May George W. Bush drink the blood of every man, woman, and child in Iraq! May the land be destroyed so that not even a lizard may live there for a thousand years!"), and distrustful of two elderly Jews, who he's pretty sure have the supernatural ability to transform themselves into cockroaches.

Unlike the Borat segments on Cohen's Da Ali G Show—which consisted wholly of footage in which Cohen, as Borat, interviewed unsuspecting subjects—here director Larry Charles splices fictional moments alongside Borat's guerilla encounters. For the most part, it's a success—part Coming to America, part Jackass, and part unsettling documentary, Borat uses fictional elements as a requisite framework for Borat's improv bits. But the incredibly quick-witted and versatile Cohen works best when he's provoking others—and while Borat could easily have devolved into a sort of modern-day minstrel show, a too-easy stab at the tired cliché of the ignorant foreigner, Cohen's too smart for that. Borat's at its funniest when Cohen makes those who aren't in on the joke into the joke, such as when a redneck unwittingly advises Borat to shave his moustache so he doesn't look like a Muslim, or when a condescending housewife tries to teach Borat how to use a toilet, or when a Hummer salesman advises Borat on how fast he'd need to drive in order to run over gypsies. Along the way, Borat gets a pet bear, manages to break almost everything in an antiques shop, and engages in a seemingly interminable naked wrestling match with his beleaguered traveling companion, Azamat (Ken Davitian). At its best, Borat is a flat-out, unrelentingly hilarious fish-out-of-water story, featuring a protagonist who's surprisingly sweet (even if he's terrified of Jews). It's also a pretty damning critique of everything that's wrong with contemporary America. With, you know, jokes about how Borat shits in a plastic bag instead of a toilet.