Takin' da man outta da box only shows what a fool he's.

Enough of that! Sacha Baron Cohen invented a unique persona for himself on TV. Recreating it on film involves a script, a storyline and a location - Staines - when all Ali G wants to do is talk about bitches' bits in pseudo gangsta rap jargon.

The movie doesn't even begin to work, because the story's pathetic and the gags are puerile. For a man with a one track mind, he's true to his calling. Women are lust-buckets and nothing more. Even his Julie (Kellie Bright) is dumped over and over again for sexier models. Feminists should burn the print. The film is a homage to the male member and a celebration of tom cat chauvinism.

There are huge opportunities for wicked satire, totally blown away by Ali's ego. Staines as a mirror image of South Central, LA, writ small, has genuine potential as a running joke, but it hits the G spot too soon and is crippled.

Ali as an MP becomes farcical, which is obviously the point, but when Michael Gambon as the Prime Minister and Charles Dance as his deputy play it straight, the comedic style goes to pieces.

The G Man is built on catch phrases. Left alone in a film that is attempting to tell a story, mouthing "Keep it real" and "Massive" and "Respect" doesn't light the touch paper, or even a match. Fans won't agree, of course, which makes you realise that this is a marketing exercise, not a movie, because aficionados will take anything, even pant waste.

And yet, what if Cohen planned it this way? Exposing Brit flicks for what they are might be as cool as taking the Caine out of Posh & Becks. At the end, when he asks the audience, "What d'ya fink of da film? Good, innit?", he's being ironic, right?

The laugh's on the critic who bothers to waste vitriol on something that's supposed to be rubbish.

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