While home visiting the family in November, I took my mom to the movies. We got there too late for whatever film it was we had planned on seeing. So we just randomly picked another one. I picked it actually. I liked the poster.
Borat. That’s what I picked. From the poster, I thought it was going to be an interesting sort of international picture that my mom and I would talk about for days and days. I wasn’t completely wrong. We are still talking about Borat, but our conversations don’t look much like I’d thought they would.
I suppose the majority of the audience knew what they were in for. They were mostly in their twenties and prepared to laugh at offensive jokes.
Borat is offensive from the first scene. You know that kind of humor that makes you laugh, but you feel a little guilty about laughing so you hold it in. I did hold it in for a while. But soon I was laughing with all the tweny-year-olds, laughing so hard my legs flew up to my chest and my stomach got a workout. My mom was stone cold.
Watching a movie you find endlessly funny with someone who is looking around to see if she knows anyone there because she would “just die” if her friends saw her is pretty surreal. Sometimes it makes you laugh even harder. The absurdity of it all. Sharing Borat with my mother, who would have ever guessed?
A few minutes into it I was worried we might have to leave. To be honest, my mom was a good sport. She stayed for at least the first thirty minutes. We had to leave when the fat guy was running around naked and Borat fell face first into his balls. That was really just too much.
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