Grade: C-

Remember when Sacha Baron Cohen was courageous? Remember how breathtakingly painful his confrontational brand of satire could be? Well, try to forget those days, because remembering them will only make the experience of watching “The Dictator” even more disappointing. It’s as if “Borat” never happened.

Cohen plays Admiral General Omar Aladeen, ruler of Wadiya, a fictional North African nation with vast oil reserves and nuclear ambitions. More of a petty narcissist than a committed despot, Aladeen’s chief concern is to keep himself entertained. But the fun comes to an end when he is ousted by his second-in-command, Tamir (Ben Kingsley, in an utter waste of talent). Rather than assume power directly, Tamir has Aladeen replaced with a body double. The usurper and his puppet then head to New York to declare Wadiya a democracy at a meeting of the United Nations, a ploy that, if successful, would make Tamir filthy rich via the future sale of oil rights. But will the real Aladeen—friendless and lost in New York City—be able to foil Tamir’s nefarious scheme? Yes, but only after he falls in love with Zoey (Anna Faris), owner of the Free Earth Collective, an organic vegan grocery that employs refugees from countries that have been ravaged by tyrannical rulers (are you discerning the potential for tasteless humor yet?).

In a representative scene from the film, a woman goes into labor in an aisle of the Free Earth Collective. Naturally, Aladeen assists with the delivery. But somehow (hijinks alert!) his hand winds up...well, let’s just say in an entrance slightly south of the proper opening. He apologizes, withdraws, and then...does the same thing a second time. Because the best thing to do when a joke doesn’t work the first time is, of course, to repeat it. Then Aladeen manages to lose his cell phone inside the woman’s vagina, Zoey must reach in to help him retrieve it, their hands touch, they gaze longingly into each others’ eyes, and on and on it goes. It’s a monumentally depressing sequence, made even sadder by the fact that other parts of the film are actually funny. In fact, the worst thing about “The Dictator” is that it isn’t entirely bad. It’s just hopelessly mediocre. There’s just enough genuine wit sprinkled in among the inept attempts at gross-out humor to leave viewers with a disappointing sense of what might have been. It’s as if Cohen and his co-writers swore an oath not spend more than a single weekend writing the script. At times, you can actually feel them not trying.

For some reason, “The Dictator” is being called a satire. It is not a satire. Satire is meant to expose, ridicule, condemn (and hopefully correct) behaviors and attitudes that are hypocritical and unjust. It is the most inherently moralistic of all genres. The true satirist’s closest relative is the Old Testament prophet who predicts ruthless punishment for humankind’s iniquities (take another look at Swift’s “A Modest Proposal” if you’re having any doubts about the ferocious moral outrage that animates the best satire). Aside from a single memorable speech in which Aladeen exposes the grotesque contradictions of contemporary American political rhetoric, “The Dictator” is bereft of outrage, and thus of satire. Cohen is more concerned with portraying Aladeen as a flawed but ultimately likable character who only behaves like a homicidal tyrant because deep down he longs to be loved (“But please, I really want someone to cuddle,” Aladeen says to a departing prostitute). For all its pretense of being “outrageous” and “offensive,” “The Dictator” is a conventional romantic comedy that wastes its energy attempting to shock a now un-shockable public. It could have been both funnier and more insightful had it remained true to its Rom-Com heart and explored more fully the endless—and endlessly hilarious—mystery of how and why people fall in love. Or it could have sprouted a pair and become an actual satire.

Some might argue that, given the ongoing struggle for democracy across the Middle East, the release of “The Dictator” is ill-timed. But I think it’s perfectly timed: a work that treats murderous authoritarianism as a topic for farce while countless human beings risk life and limb in the name of democracy is just the sort of thing that counts—in the West, at least—as entertainment. Oh, don’t worry, I’m familiar with the standard rebuttal to this line of thought: Lighten up, dude, it’s just a movie. I wish I could, comrade, I wish I could. Once, I was so light I actually believed I lived in a functioning democracy. Now I sit in movie theaters watching films like “The Dictator” while vainly trying to convince myself that I no longer have a conscience. And I wonder if the advocates of lightening up have considered what it would be like for the citizens of Syria (currently in the process of being slaughtered by their own dictator, Bashar al-Assad) to attend a screening of “The Dictator.” Would they be slapping their knees in hilarity over jokes about feces and genitalia? Would they laugh at the “comical” torture scene, or would they think of loved ones who were tortured and killed for having the temerity to demand civil rights and equal protection under the law? Of course, imagining such a scenario would require intelligence and empathy, two qualities that are sorely lacking in “The Dictator.”