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Ali G is taking his brand of interviewer humor to USA via HBO.
URL http://www.nytimes.com/2003/02/03/ar...t&position=top
URL http://www.nytimes.com/2003/02/03/ar...t&position=top
Ali G Takes His Talk Show to HBO
By NEIL STRAUSS
One afternoon late last year a small group of HBO employees walked into a nondescript office building in Washington. "We're sort of undercover," one reminded the others, "so make sure you don't mention what we're doing in the halls."
She bent over the security sign-in sheet. "We have to give a fake company name," she whispered, as she wrote down United World Productions. "We're not supposed to even mention Ali G's name."
Only slightly familiar to Americans thanks to a cameo appearance as the limousine driver in Madonna's "Music" video, Ali G is a pseudo homeboy whose spoof interviews with unwitting politicians and celebrities have made him a household name in Britain. The alter ego of a 30-year-old British comedian, Sacha Baron Cohen, Ali G is a dumb person played smart: the stereotypical white suburban would-be gangsta rapper, with a twist. With his own talk show as a forum, Ali G's hilarious interactions with his guests play off the disconnect between black and white culture, young and old, street smart and book smart, hip and square.
When a priest tells him that Jesus was known for dispensing wise words, Ali G struggles to understand by asking, "So he was a bit like Tupac Shakur?"
In another episode he asks Alexander Haig about Russia, "Do you think it's worth nuking it now, when it is weak?"
And in an interview with a British drug expert Ali G asks if the most dangerous thing about Ecstasy is "that it actually makes you like house music."
On Feb. 21 Mr. Cohen makes his American debut with "Da Ali G Show," with six late-night half-hour episodes on HBO. Confident that his very British persona will translate to an American audience, he has done little to change Ali G's attitude and slang, which had drawn some criticism from those who consider the humor racist, homophobic and obscene. Because of his obscurity in the United States, Mr. Cohen was able to get interviews with political figures like Newt Gingrich, James Baker, Edwin Meese, Ralph Nader, Michael Dukakis and the former C.I.A. director R. James Woolsey.
In Washington, in the studio control room, Ali G's producers watch him interview a police expert on street crime. When the officer tells Ali G that a Honda is the easiest car to break into, he responds, "So for young kids out there, would you recommend them starting with a Honda?"
As the crew members in the control room struggle to keep from laughing, one shakes his head. "He's pushing it," he says. "The goal is: don't let the guest laugh, and don't get him to walk."
Ali G's character — a white youth who acts as if he were black — certainly has its equivalent in American rap culture, though he comes out of a different street scene, a mishmash of hip-hop, jungle and garage music, with a Jamaican influence. Britain has a more distinct upper-class tradition, which he is able to exploit.
When asked, via an e-mail interview, whether he thought these issues would affect his attempt to appeal to American audiences, Ali G wrote: "Me don't understand wot u iz talkin about — u must be speakin american. But I fink de answer is twice and once was in de back of a car wiv a couple of Bangladeshi twins from Langley Village."
Mr. Cohen himself rarely does interviews. And when he does, it is only in the character of Ali G. This was his first American interview. Unfortunately, there were no straight answers from him and few that lacked profanity. There were some, however, from Dan Mazer, his producer and writing partner since the show's inception.
For the British shows, "on the most simple terms, we chose people to interview if they had posh accents," Mr. Mazer said. "If they had an upper-class accent, then the juxtaposition of that with Ali G would be funny. That can't happen over here because there aren't top-class accents, certainly to our ears. But you just replace that by looking for pomposity, whether it's liberal or conservative, artistic or scientific." Mr. Cohen himself is very elusive about his background. Asked about Mr. Cohen via e-mail, Ali G replied, "He iz some fool goin around tryin to be me," so that he can pick up women.
What is known about Mr. Cohen is that he grew up in the suburbs of North London, the son of an Israeli mother and a Welsh father (who owns several clothing stores). He took a year off from school to live on a kibbutz and then attended Christ's College in Cambridge, where he studied history and met several of his Ali G writers, including Mr. Mazer. At that time he began performing stand-up comedy and filming comic skits, sometimes with his brother, a musician named Erran, mostly based on Jewish culture and history, like dressing up as Orthodox rabbis to sing a song called "Schvitzing."
In the mid-90's Mr. Cohen appeared on British cable television as a grinning, energetic, grating host on youth culture shows with names like "Pump TV" and "F2F." Later he developed characters like a fashion reporter who hounds celebrities for interviews but then forgets his questions and an Albanian reporter trying to understand British culture.
His big break came when the producers of the satirical "11 O'Clock Show," on Britain's Channel Four, saw a clip of the Albanian reporter at a fox hunt asking whether releasing inmates to be chased by hounds could solve prison overcrowding. "Good idea," the fox hunter replied. The staff helped him develop the Ali G character for a segment on that show.
Soon Ali G was a phenomenon on the order of "South Park or "The Tom Green Show" in the United States. His subsequent program, "Da Ali G Show," spun off a racy book, a mediocre feature film that verges on self-parody and a hit duet with the dancehall rapper ****gy.
Ali G's producers won't say how they get high-profile interviews or prepare guests for such an unorthodox host. "It's like David Blaine telling you how he levitates," Mr. Mazer said. But it is clear that Ali G, usually dressed in a baggy yellow track suit, a Tommy Hilfiger skullcap, cheap flashy jewelry and yellow-tinted wraparound shades, is the last thing they expect.
"I'm amazed it even aired," said John Judge of the Washington Peace Center, who was interviewed by Ali G for a panel on corporate control of the media. Mr. Judge said he was paid for his appearance and told it would reach 4 million people in Britain. "It was perhaps the most surreal interview I have ever done."
Answering questions via e-mail, Mr. Judge recalled that before the show, Ali G asked him to spell his name and then crossed out the "d" in Judge, explaining that this was so he could pronounce it. Mr. Judge said he was also surprised when Ali G asked the panelists why people still read books when everyone can now afford television. After telling Ali G that he had read thousands of books, Mr. Judge said that Ali G "told me not to be `bragging' about it and asked me to name one" to prove it.
"In the final analysis," Mr. Judge concluded, "either this fellow is as dumb as a box of rocks" or "he was, as they say, just having us on."
On the HBO show Ali G is not the only imbecile that Mr. Cohen plays. He changes into a blue-gray suit and a bushy mustache to assume the character of Borat, a clueless, well-meaning television reporter from Kazakhstan chronicling the culture of Britain and the United States. Like Ali G's, Borat's comedy relies on the interview subjects' discomfort and efforts to appear tolerant of the odd customs and quirks of a man representing an unfamiliar culture.
When Mr. Cohen assumes the character Bruno, he spikes up his hair, dyes part of it blond and dons a sleeveless T-shirt and skintight pants to play an effeminate Austrian fashion reporter. In an early test run of the character, Bruno attends "Evilfest," a festival of hardcore music for skinheads, and asks one bristling, shirtless attendee, "So, are there any skinheads who aren't gay?"
"With Borat and Bruno we had our most scary moments behind the scenes and on the road in America," Mr. Mazer said. "You'd think Ali G would wind people up more, but because he's an intimidating character in his own right, people lay off him. Because Bruno is a camp character and Borat is an idiot, they think they can bully them."
Often after interviews it begins to dawn on some subjects that they've been had. "We're aware of it now," Mr. Mazer said, "and can spot when it happens and make a 30-second exit from anywhere with camera crews and lights. It's like `Charlie's Angels.' "
The crew's last stop in the United States was at a white supremacist rally in Georgia. As usual, Mr. Cohen, as Bruno, began to pepper the interview subject with incendiary comments, saying that neo-Nazis had such a great look and asking if they moisturized.
"I can't remember what the trigger question was, but all of a sudden the guy we were interviewing exploded," Mr. Mazer recalled. "He started physically attacking the cameraman and reaching for his gun. We legged it like no one's ever legged it.
"In the meantime, two guys dressed as Arab sheiks got wind of it and started yelling at us. As we're driving away, we see the main Nazi guy chasing us followed by his coterie of Arab sheik Nazis, all shaking their fists. It was like a scene at the end of `Scooby-Doo.' That was our last day in America. By that time we'd taken it to the brink, and we thought: `Enough. I'm going to write sitcoms now.' "
By NEIL STRAUSS
One afternoon late last year a small group of HBO employees walked into a nondescript office building in Washington. "We're sort of undercover," one reminded the others, "so make sure you don't mention what we're doing in the halls."
She bent over the security sign-in sheet. "We have to give a fake company name," she whispered, as she wrote down United World Productions. "We're not supposed to even mention Ali G's name."
Only slightly familiar to Americans thanks to a cameo appearance as the limousine driver in Madonna's "Music" video, Ali G is a pseudo homeboy whose spoof interviews with unwitting politicians and celebrities have made him a household name in Britain. The alter ego of a 30-year-old British comedian, Sacha Baron Cohen, Ali G is a dumb person played smart: the stereotypical white suburban would-be gangsta rapper, with a twist. With his own talk show as a forum, Ali G's hilarious interactions with his guests play off the disconnect between black and white culture, young and old, street smart and book smart, hip and square.
When a priest tells him that Jesus was known for dispensing wise words, Ali G struggles to understand by asking, "So he was a bit like Tupac Shakur?"
In another episode he asks Alexander Haig about Russia, "Do you think it's worth nuking it now, when it is weak?"
And in an interview with a British drug expert Ali G asks if the most dangerous thing about Ecstasy is "that it actually makes you like house music."
On Feb. 21 Mr. Cohen makes his American debut with "Da Ali G Show," with six late-night half-hour episodes on HBO. Confident that his very British persona will translate to an American audience, he has done little to change Ali G's attitude and slang, which had drawn some criticism from those who consider the humor racist, homophobic and obscene. Because of his obscurity in the United States, Mr. Cohen was able to get interviews with political figures like Newt Gingrich, James Baker, Edwin Meese, Ralph Nader, Michael Dukakis and the former C.I.A. director R. James Woolsey.
In Washington, in the studio control room, Ali G's producers watch him interview a police expert on street crime. When the officer tells Ali G that a Honda is the easiest car to break into, he responds, "So for young kids out there, would you recommend them starting with a Honda?"
As the crew members in the control room struggle to keep from laughing, one shakes his head. "He's pushing it," he says. "The goal is: don't let the guest laugh, and don't get him to walk."
Ali G's character — a white youth who acts as if he were black — certainly has its equivalent in American rap culture, though he comes out of a different street scene, a mishmash of hip-hop, jungle and garage music, with a Jamaican influence. Britain has a more distinct upper-class tradition, which he is able to exploit.
When asked, via an e-mail interview, whether he thought these issues would affect his attempt to appeal to American audiences, Ali G wrote: "Me don't understand wot u iz talkin about — u must be speakin american. But I fink de answer is twice and once was in de back of a car wiv a couple of Bangladeshi twins from Langley Village."
Mr. Cohen himself rarely does interviews. And when he does, it is only in the character of Ali G. This was his first American interview. Unfortunately, there were no straight answers from him and few that lacked profanity. There were some, however, from Dan Mazer, his producer and writing partner since the show's inception.
For the British shows, "on the most simple terms, we chose people to interview if they had posh accents," Mr. Mazer said. "If they had an upper-class accent, then the juxtaposition of that with Ali G would be funny. That can't happen over here because there aren't top-class accents, certainly to our ears. But you just replace that by looking for pomposity, whether it's liberal or conservative, artistic or scientific." Mr. Cohen himself is very elusive about his background. Asked about Mr. Cohen via e-mail, Ali G replied, "He iz some fool goin around tryin to be me," so that he can pick up women.
What is known about Mr. Cohen is that he grew up in the suburbs of North London, the son of an Israeli mother and a Welsh father (who owns several clothing stores). He took a year off from school to live on a kibbutz and then attended Christ's College in Cambridge, where he studied history and met several of his Ali G writers, including Mr. Mazer. At that time he began performing stand-up comedy and filming comic skits, sometimes with his brother, a musician named Erran, mostly based on Jewish culture and history, like dressing up as Orthodox rabbis to sing a song called "Schvitzing."
In the mid-90's Mr. Cohen appeared on British cable television as a grinning, energetic, grating host on youth culture shows with names like "Pump TV" and "F2F." Later he developed characters like a fashion reporter who hounds celebrities for interviews but then forgets his questions and an Albanian reporter trying to understand British culture.
His big break came when the producers of the satirical "11 O'Clock Show," on Britain's Channel Four, saw a clip of the Albanian reporter at a fox hunt asking whether releasing inmates to be chased by hounds could solve prison overcrowding. "Good idea," the fox hunter replied. The staff helped him develop the Ali G character for a segment on that show.
Soon Ali G was a phenomenon on the order of "South Park or "The Tom Green Show" in the United States. His subsequent program, "Da Ali G Show," spun off a racy book, a mediocre feature film that verges on self-parody and a hit duet with the dancehall rapper ****gy.
Ali G's producers won't say how they get high-profile interviews or prepare guests for such an unorthodox host. "It's like David Blaine telling you how he levitates," Mr. Mazer said. But it is clear that Ali G, usually dressed in a baggy yellow track suit, a Tommy Hilfiger skullcap, cheap flashy jewelry and yellow-tinted wraparound shades, is the last thing they expect.
"I'm amazed it even aired," said John Judge of the Washington Peace Center, who was interviewed by Ali G for a panel on corporate control of the media. Mr. Judge said he was paid for his appearance and told it would reach 4 million people in Britain. "It was perhaps the most surreal interview I have ever done."
Answering questions via e-mail, Mr. Judge recalled that before the show, Ali G asked him to spell his name and then crossed out the "d" in Judge, explaining that this was so he could pronounce it. Mr. Judge said he was also surprised when Ali G asked the panelists why people still read books when everyone can now afford television. After telling Ali G that he had read thousands of books, Mr. Judge said that Ali G "told me not to be `bragging' about it and asked me to name one" to prove it.
"In the final analysis," Mr. Judge concluded, "either this fellow is as dumb as a box of rocks" or "he was, as they say, just having us on."
On the HBO show Ali G is not the only imbecile that Mr. Cohen plays. He changes into a blue-gray suit and a bushy mustache to assume the character of Borat, a clueless, well-meaning television reporter from Kazakhstan chronicling the culture of Britain and the United States. Like Ali G's, Borat's comedy relies on the interview subjects' discomfort and efforts to appear tolerant of the odd customs and quirks of a man representing an unfamiliar culture.
When Mr. Cohen assumes the character Bruno, he spikes up his hair, dyes part of it blond and dons a sleeveless T-shirt and skintight pants to play an effeminate Austrian fashion reporter. In an early test run of the character, Bruno attends "Evilfest," a festival of hardcore music for skinheads, and asks one bristling, shirtless attendee, "So, are there any skinheads who aren't gay?"
"With Borat and Bruno we had our most scary moments behind the scenes and on the road in America," Mr. Mazer said. "You'd think Ali G would wind people up more, but because he's an intimidating character in his own right, people lay off him. Because Bruno is a camp character and Borat is an idiot, they think they can bully them."
Often after interviews it begins to dawn on some subjects that they've been had. "We're aware of it now," Mr. Mazer said, "and can spot when it happens and make a 30-second exit from anywhere with camera crews and lights. It's like `Charlie's Angels.' "
The crew's last stop in the United States was at a white supremacist rally in Georgia. As usual, Mr. Cohen, as Bruno, began to pepper the interview subject with incendiary comments, saying that neo-Nazis had such a great look and asking if they moisturized.
"I can't remember what the trigger question was, but all of a sudden the guy we were interviewing exploded," Mr. Mazer recalled. "He started physically attacking the cameraman and reaching for his gun. We legged it like no one's ever legged it.
"In the meantime, two guys dressed as Arab sheiks got wind of it and started yelling at us. As we're driving away, we see the main Nazi guy chasing us followed by his coterie of Arab sheik Nazis, all shaking their fists. It was like a scene at the end of `Scooby-Doo.' That was our last day in America. By that time we'd taken it to the brink, and we thought: `Enough. I'm going to write sitcoms now.' "
Alinestra Covelia, What say we skip this nerd-fest and hit an all-night symposium on Euclidean Geometry? 
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