Film review: Brüno

BRÜNO (18) ***

DIRECTED BY: LARRY CHARLES

STARRING: SACHA BARON COHEN, GUSTAF HAMMARSTEN, CLIFFORD BAÑAGALE

PUT it down to the curse of success, but there's a sense of "been there, done that" with Brüno, Sacha Baron Cohen's follow-up to the hysterically funny Borat. Built around the openly gay, flamboyant, narcissistic, Austrian fashionista who first made an appearance on Da Ali G Show, it once again finds Cohen adopting an outrageously outré persona and deploying layers of comedic subterfuge to expose the idiocy and ignorance of the world via a series of uncomfortable encounters with media whores, fame-hounds, politicians, members of the public and, in one instance, some apparently bona-fide terrorists. After tackling antisemitism in hilariously offensive style with Borat, Cohen's main satirical targets are the rampant homophobia coursing through mainstream society and the venal nature of modern celebrity, both of which come under his microscope as Brüno travels from his homeland to the United States and beyond in an effort to become "the biggest Austrian superstar since Hitler".

Tasteless as that sounds, the film, which marks Cohen's second collaboration with American comedy maverick Larry Charles (the director of Borat and Religulous), does go off on some admirably daring tangents. Travelling to the Middle East he attempts to broker a peace treaty between Israel and Palestine by getting prominent spokesmen together to debate the difference between Hamas and humus. In an attempt to become globally famous he tries to get himself kidnapped by the Palestinian extremist al-Aksa Martyrs, telling them he thinks Osama bin Laden looks like a "homeless Santa Claus". And, at one point, an angry mob take exception to his ludicrously camp Hasidic-baiting outfit and chase him down a Jerusalem street. Whether such sequences are genuine or not is up for debate, but if they are for real, it's a sign of how far Cohen is prepared to go to push the comedy envelope; at times he seems to be taking his life in his hands.

That, however, is also an indication that people are getting wise to his style. The comedy set-pieces here are noticeably shorter than they were in Borat – and they feel more scripted too, a sign, perhaps, that his targets have grown too wary and defensive. Thus while it's funny watching American Idol judge Paula Abdul get caught out blithely talking about the importance of humanitarian work while perching her posterior on the arched back of Brüno's Mexican gardener (who is pretending to be a sofa in lieu of any actual furniture), her discomfort is obvious from the start and she quickly terminates the interview before Brüno has a chance to make her say something she really regrets. (A similar sequence featuring LaToya Jackson was dropped after Michael Jackson's death).

Elsewhere, Brüno's attempts to land a Harrison Ford interview amount to him receiving a terse "F*** off" from the Indiana Jones star after feebly trying to ambush him with a camera outside a restaurant. It seems a little pointless. Small wonder then that the only people who really fall into his traps are the desperate, gullible wannabes such as the dimwitted PR consultants who tell him Darfur is a hot issue despite clearly not knowing anything about the situation beyond the fact that George Clooney has spoken about it, or the parents who are so determined for their babies to be part of a photo-shoot Brüno is organising that they don't bat an eyelid when he describes the content of the photo (it involves Nazis and ovens) or asks if they're prepared to have their baby undergo liposuction to make them thinner ("…if that's what it takes," says one). It's fairly outrageous stuff but the laughs catch in the back of the throat once you realise that the only thing this is really highlighting is that stupidity continues to persist in the world, especially when fame is involved. Really? Thanks for that.

The film works best, then, when it remains focused on exposing homophobia. Replete with talking penises, erect penises, dildo-accessorised exercise equipment and one no-holds-barred display of man-love that threatens to send a crowd of redneck cage-fighting enthusiasts apoplectic as they vent their unrestrained disgust, the film's aggressively explicit approach to gay sex feels like a clever provocation designed to make us think about the way similarly explicit heterosexual imagery is allowed to pervade mainstream culture unchallenged. Cohen and Charles sharply dissect such hypocrisy.

An early encounter between Brüno and former Republican presidential hopeful Ron Paul ends with his over-the-top advances eliciting a hateful use of the word "queer" from the self-styled libertarian as he storms out of the room. Later, in a final bid for celebrity, Brüno decides there's nothing left for him to do except follow the example of certain prominent movie stars (pictures of which are cheekily flashed on screen) and become straight, a course of action that he embarks on half-heartedly by attending a church-sponsored sexual reorientation course and visiting a martial arts instructor to learn how to fend off gay advances with extreme prejudice.

As funny as some of this is, though, even with a running time just shy of 90 minutes, Brüno often feels as if it's straining for effect. Indeed, when the film ends with a mock charity song featuring Bono, Chris Martin and Elton John sending themselves up, it's clear that Cohen's edge has been blunted. There was a time when these guys would have been the target of one of Cohen's jokes. Now they're an active part of it. That's a symbolic change. Great comedy happens without the permission of the establishment, not with its approval, much less its collusion.