by Ted Sherman

Created on: July 11, 2008

"You Don't Mess With The Zohan" implies somewhat of a command from writers Adam Sandler, Robert Smigel and Judd Apatow, now overconfidently basking in the glory and cash of several previous hit comedies. They have complete control over the film, and they're telling Hollywood that everything they put down in the script is holy scripture, and no infidel can even think of changing a word. Maybe they should have reconsidered messing with the Zohan story before making this lame film.

From the start, my impression of the movie is it's an obvious rip-off of the equally awful, but wildly popular, 2006 Borat film, "Cultural Learnings etc.". It even copies the malapropish Euro-Israeli-French accent for Sandler to speak as the hero, and the wink-wink implication that Zohan/Borat is as mightily endowed as those prolific Biblical begatters.

Even before the titles finish flashing on screen, we get more of Zohan than necessary. While we strive to memorize the important names of who designed the costumes, applied the make-up, frizzed the hair and carried camera cables, we learn early that Zohan has much to offer as he parades nude at a beach. However, there was an all-too-similar scene in Borat, except he had the indecency to wear a strap-bikini combination.

The story line, rather than aping the aimless, offensive wanderings of Borat, has Adam Sandler as Zohan, an Israeli super spy who actually wants to bring peace to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Sure, and George Bush wants to land on a Navy aircraft carrier again and declare mission accomplished again, and again. Anyhow, to believe the Israelis, with the most sophisticated espionage system in the world, would have a moron like Zohan as an agent is beyond even Hollywood's unimaginative possibilities.

For some reason known only to the writers, Zohan pretends to be killed on a failed mission. His noble motive is to forget all the espionage and peace in the Middle East crap, schlepp to New York and become a hairdresser. Shakepeare couldn't have come up with a more noble plot. Sort of like Prince Hamlet yearning to become a kitchen boy. However, as the hairy druggies once chanted in the streets of Berkeley, the viewer must give peace a chance.

By guile, coincidence and bad scriptwriting, the ex-spy gets to New York and is hired to tease tresses by a Palestinian-American sexpot named Dalia. Her shop is in Lower Manhattan or Brooklyn or somewhere Jews and Arabs all get along in sweetness and light. Oh, sure. Hey, guys, I have an

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