Booyakasha! I think TISM said it best way back in 1996 - yes, All Homeboys are Dickheads. Indeed, if there’s one thing that every man, woman and child in this great brown land - nay the entire western world - agrees on, it's that homies are the most piss-funny, pathetic group of individuals ever to don a pair of over-sized track pants and simulate permanent wrist disfigurement. It was inevitable, therefore that someone would eventually set about mining this fertile comic territory. Enter Cambridge graduate Sacha Baron Cohen and his shite-talking alter-ego Ali G. Initially appearing as the resident ‘Voice of Youth’ on the Beeb’s topical piss-take The 11 O’clock Show, Ali quickly gained a television show of his own (Da Ali G Show) and became a highly sought-after host for events such as the 2001 European MTV Awards. And now in 2002, as his star nears supernova (and lest it wink out), Cohen’s creation has made the inevitable leap from the small to the silver screen. Witness: Ali G – Inda House. Respec.

The plot, as you might expect, is as utterly ludicrous as it is paper-thin. Keepin' it real on da mean streets of da British ghetto, Ali G - the leader of those yellow polyester pimps the West Staines Massif - is crushed to learn that his posse’s spiritual home, the John Nike Leisure Centre, faces imminent closure due to government cuts. Resolved to act, Ali stages a hasty hunger strike and here, chained to the fence outside the Staines town hall, he comes to the attention of a scheming deputy Prime Minister in David Carlton (Charles Dance). In the local area to find a new party candidate for the upcoming Staines by-election, and seeking to topple the incumbent PM (Michael Gambon), Carlton duly selects Ali as the party candidate for Staines and their new ‘voice of youth’. By lucky chance, (his opposing candidate actually has fellated a horse), Ali is elected to parliament and, surrounded by erm stiffs, much hilarity ensues...

“It's because I is black, innit?�

Ludicrous it might be, but Ali G Indahouse certainly contains its fair share of laughs. During the first hour especially, the gags come thick and fast, with a steady stream of sexual innuendo, bad-boy posturing, drug-references, misogynistic back-fires and gross-out knob gags. Given the luxury of time to elaborate more fully on his persona, the best laughs of all come from revelations concerning Ali's backstory. We learn his full name, that he lives with his nan, that he drives a souped-up car whose in-car stereo is more powerful than its engine, and what really lives under his red skull cap. That, in a previous life, he used to be an indie-goth-punk, comes as no real surprise.

Unfortunately, however, once the situation and middle-class ghetto angle have been milked for all they’re worth, the laughs quickly dry up and the film crawls to its rather flaccid conclusion. For, in reality, Ali G is a one-joke act. That the television show is a spectacular success is due largely to his unknowing guests - the straight men as it were in the comic partnership – and without that element a feature-length Ali G struggles. Indeed, the very reason that homies are such a cack - their complete and utter one-dimensionality – is the reason that Ali G Indahouse doesn’t quite last the distance.

But don’t be disheartened. The first hour of Ali G’s big screen debut is more than enough reason to catch it on our shiny little format. Even as a series of sketches, the film remains laugh-out-loud funny and fans will no doubt love it. For those who don't get the joke, well, you are best advised to stay well away.

Having only just finished its limited cinema run, as you might expect the anamorphic (1.85:1) transfer afforded Ali G Indahouse is definitely keepin' it real. Filled with detail from the mean streets of middle-class London, the razor sharp digital image displays no trace of film artefacts or the compression process. Colours, including the blinding glare from the West Staines Massif’s yellow track pants, are bright and vibrant and although I was a little distracted, the flesh tones displayed by a bevy of scantily clad supermodels seemed to be spot on. Similarly, blacks are deep and solid, and shadow detail is more than acceptable. If anything the image is possibly a little too sharp, with one or two instances of distracting aliasing introduced. But this is a fairly minor quibble for what is basically a perfect transfer; even the layer change is well hidden; imperceptible through my player.

In terms of audio, the English Dolby Digital 5.1 mix is fairly typical of your average wordy teenage-comedy; with much of the sound situated squarely in the front of the soundstage and a contemporary score - in this case thumping hip-hop tunes from the likes of Public Enemy, Afrika Bambaataa and NWA - filling out the rear channels. Front channel separation is reasonable, exhibiting directional foley effects and delivering the odd smidge of off-screen dialogue, and when the score eventually abates, some scraps of ambience such as the bellowing of MPs in the chamber, or gun fights on the mean streets of south-central LA, can also be heard. The subwoofer even has some work to do, adding a good deal of doof... doof... doof... to the score; the overall effect being an immersive, if unspectacular, viewing experience.

A bare bones release in terms of extras, fans will (presumably) have to wait until the film’s sell through release to discover more about the production and Sasha Cohen’s gangsta wannabe alter-ego.