TORONTO - "Borat" creator Sacha Baron Cohen may have moved on to skewering a whole new set of unsuspecting citizens with his soon-to-be released follow-up, "Bruno," but the Romanian villagers who appeared in his last outrageous film are still reeling from the effects of being ridiculed onscreen.

In the aftermath of the outrageous 2006 comedy, "Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan," residents in the poverty-stricken town of Glod were swarmed by media and consumed by jealousy, suspicion and greed, says Dutch filmmaker Mercedes Stalenhoef.

In her documentary, "Carmen Meets Borat," Stalenhoef turns her camera on a 17-year-old Romanian girl and her family, revealing a stew of shame, anger and confusion that ensued once the crass comedy exploded onto movie screens and put an unwelcome global spotlight on their modest village, portrayed unfavourably in the film as Borat's hometown.

"I can't handle it anymore," Carmen's father Ion laments after a series of misunderstandings and disappointments elicit a nervous breakdown.

In the film "Borat," various real-life residents of Glod are presented as rapists and prostitutes. Carmen's grandfather is introduced as the town welder/abortionist.

"They didn't have any clue what this film was about," says Stalenhoef, whose documentary screens this weekend at the Hot Docs festival.

"They thought it was a documentary so when they find out it was not, (that) it was a comedy and they were ridiculed, they were really angry and sad. They felt humiliated."

The documentary shows the ensuing media circus, including an American journalist seen complaining in her report about the smell of the "godforsaken" town.

Jealousy and suspicion emerge when Carmen's grandfather joins a $30-million lawsuit against the filmmakers, with some townsfolk convinced the family has already begun collecting untold sums in secret.

At the time, the suit was just one of several levied against "Borat," in which the fictional Kazakh journalist travels across the United States, filming real-life interactions with Americans. Other litigants included a Baltimore driving instructor, Southern conservatives, U.S. fraternity boys and a New York businessman.

The villagers become frustrated when the slick New York lawyer heading up the Romanians' case stops returning phone calls when it becomes clear their arguments won't succeed. The case was thrown out in April 2008.

"We are ridiculed once again," Ion bemoans. "First with the movie and then with the lawsuit."

For Stalenhoef, the story began even before the Borat crew arrived in Glod. She says she met Carmen and her family in March 2005 and was so charmed by the teen that she decided to make a documentary about her dreams to move to Spain. Months later, Cohen and his team arrived for several days of shooting. Stalenhoef ignored them at the time; it was only when she saw the finished comedy in the Netherlands that the focus of her project shifted.

"The film is funny but I feel sad for the people in Romania," says Stalenhoef.

"I think you should ask people if they want to participate for a film and you have to give them good information what the film is about. It was not necessary to cheat on that or to betray them. If they would know they would be happy with the film, maybe, or they could say, 'No, I don't want to participate' and that's also fine. It's their choice. They didn't have a choice to make."

Cohen is already causing a stir with his soon-to-be released mockumentary, "Bruno," in which he assumes the identity of a flamboyantly gay Austrian journalist. Like "Borat," this outrageous alter-ego is seen interacting with real people.

The Hot Docs documentary festival runs in Toronto through May 10. "Borat Meets Carmen" screens Saturday and Sunday.