We don't need generals. We don't need politicians. We need a guy who can roundhouse kick a terrorist, then stop to tell him his split ends are looking tragic.

By Alex Ripley

They both love disco. They both love hummus. And, most importantly, they both hate the guy who buys the last pack of "Fizzy Bubblech" soda.

Critics panned it. Roger Ebert gave it one star. Audiences were confused. It was too weird to be a standard action spoof and too juvenile to be a political commentary. Yet, nearly two decades later, The Zohan stands as one of the most audacious, misunderstood, and genuinely prescient satires ever to come out of the Hollywood studio system. For the uninitiated, the film follows Zohan Dvir (Sandler), an elite Israeli counter-terrorist commando who fakes his own death so he can abandon the "start-up nation" for his true dream: becoming a hair stylist in New York City. He ends up in a predominantly Palestinian neighborhood in Queens, working for a salon owned by a beautiful Palestinian woman, Dalia (Emmanuelle Chriqui).

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