'Ali G: Who Iz I?' Review
Release Date: 10/28/26 [Prime Video]
Genre: Comedy.
MPAA: Rated R.
Distributor: Amazon MGM Studios.
The Verdict: A Maybe
In a pivotal stretch of Ali G: Who Iz I?, Sacha Baron Cohen pulls triple duty: He convinces a group of right-wing extremists that Ali G is actually a Salvadoran criminal with 140,000 children poised to flood the U.S., plays a woke activist scheming to cancel — and possibly murder — Ali G, and poses as an ex-military trainer recruiting those same extremists for a secret mission. Cohen plays all three principal characters in this lunacy. It’s a hat wearing a hat wearing three other hats, and it’s so over-the-top stupid that, as an audience member, it’s hard to believe anyone would buy it. But the extremists swallow it, and several prominent national political figures help sell the absurd premise without blinking.
From the outset, the film wants you to understand the distinction. Its opening credits list the characters and their actors: Ali G, Dr. Nira Cain-N’Degeocello, and Colonel Erran Morad, all played by Cohen; Julie, played by Morgana Robinson; and Manu, played by Alpha Miknas. Everybody else, the disclaimer insists, is real, not an actor, and not playing along.
Then there’s a quote from Voltaire. And then lots and lots of dick jokes.
Ali G is more than 20 years removed from his HBO heyday, and he blames the network for his disappearance. He wanted $10 million to come back. HBO didn’t come through. The film claims that without him on television, humanity suffered COVID, wars, and Ed Sheeran.
His own fortunes aren’t much better. He literally can’t keep a job shoveling shit, though he does recognize the penguins from the country “Madagascar 3.” His longtime partner, Julie, is pregnant. He’s selling his possessions when an old fax delivers apparent salvation: HBO does want him back. Only, after he gets to America, he learns the offer expired 22 years ago.
So he does what anyone would do: he tries to get famous on TikTok.
As a character, Ali G is a perpetual fish out of water because he’s monumentally stupid. Most of the time, the movie could not be more lowbrow. But it also wants to say how easily people fall for a big lie, especially when it tells them exactly what they want to hear.
Enter Cain-N’Degeocello, a progressive academic determined to cancel Ali G for cultural appropriation. He claims to speak for the Black community while being deeply white and culturally appropriating with every breath. It’s cringe comedy at its cringiest. Between him and Morad, Cohen is playing characters at opposite political extremes, plus the dumb guy in the middle. Everything goes over Ali G’s head, but occasionally the movie lurches toward sharp commentary on the U.S.'s fraught political, social, and racial landscape.
It’s supposed to be for laughs — I think — and sometimes it’s funny. But more often, the spectacle is so exhausting that the laugh comes mostly from sheer disbelief.
At this point, the joke is well past its expiration date. And the most shocking thing is that people still fall for the shtick.
That shtick is part Jackass, part Andy Kaufman in a fat suit, and part Scary Movie 4. But is it entertaining? Is it fun? Does it actually say anything beyond reminding us that Cohen will go to extraordinary lengths to make people feel uncomfortable?
One of the movie's best parts is tucked between scenes: the musical transitions that effectively narrate Ali G’s life, often in his own voice. Turn on the subtitles and enjoy the absurdity. These little bursts have a briskness that some of the elaborate setups could use.
Then there’s the AI nonsense.
Halfway through, Ali G unveils what might be the best/worst AI apology video of all time, featuring synthetic guest appearances from dead hip-hop and R&B legends, plus Moses, Adolf Hitler, and Greta Thunberg. What kicks off as an apology becomes a grotesque musical celebration of how wonderful Ali G is. And he’s gathered a roomful of religious leaders from different faiths to watch it, because of course he has.
Like much of the movie, it’s deeply stupid and wildly offensive. It’s also one of the few sequences whose escalating absurdity justifies the windup. The technology lets Ali G manufacture the forgiveness he wants, complete with celebrity endorsements from people who can’t object. There’s an actual joke about something here, buried beneath an avalanche of dick jokes.
The Morad section is harder to untangle. On one hand, Cohen is humiliating extremists and exposing something frightening about the country’s willingness to follow an authoritative voice into madness. On the other, he’s doing so with prosthetic butts.
For what it’s worth, it builds to an epic final sequence with a head-scratchingly absurd windup, wild stunts, and a payoff that’s an incredibly sad commentary on the country's state. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll probably cry some more. Some people's willingness to participate becomes more disturbing than anything Cohen could have scripted. Whether that makes the preceding slog worthwhile is another question.
What’s wild is that the film has six credited screenwriters — SIX SCREENWRITERS — for what often feels like Cohen poking the bear and seeing what happens. Cohen also directs, orchestrating a sociology experiment cosplaying as a dime-store rapper trying to keep it real in the great 2-0-2-6. Booyakasha, or whatever the fuck.
Stick around for the credits for a scene that might actually be the best part of the movie. You’ll get a glimpse of how it’s made and an actually funny joke delivered by a billionaire who is in on it.
For Ali G diehards — is that a thing? Blink twice if you need help — this is probably required viewing. Sociology, psychology, anthropology, and political science students should probably watch and write term papers. Fans of dick jokes: Boy, have we got a film for you!
But please don’t gather the children, the elderly, or easily scandalized relatives or loved ones whose idea of a big night is Downton Abbey. And do not make this a first-date movie.
Otherwise, for the shock? For the spectacle? To see how weird things can get and how gullible people can be? There’s enough here to justify a morbidly curious watch, and a few laughs that briefly make the whole ungainly enterprise feel worth it. But the film keeps confusing the astonishing fact that a prank worked with the assumption that watching it will be funny.
Ali G: Who Iz I? is now streaming on Prime Video. If you already pay for it, you might as well watch it.
That’s a sigh, not a recommendation.
Where to Watch:
