'Dogma': A decidedly defiant parable

By Susan Wloszczyna, USA TODAY

If you ever saw tangled-hair pop siren Alanis Morissette wail her tortured anthems and thought, "Oh, God," it turns out you weren't far from wrong.

At least that's the gospel according to director/writer Kevin Smith in his hot-potato theological parable, Dogma, which was dropped like a steaming spud by Disney-owned Miramax and is being released instead by Lions Gate.

To Smith's credit, he immediately swats at small-minded gnats who would take offense at his part scholarly, part frat-boyish satire of the Roman Catholic Church (without seeing it, of course) with a written on-screen assurance that this is a comedic fantasy. And that even God has a sense of humor. Consider the platypus. Then he apologizes for the platypus putdown. That's cute.

Anyway, it probably wasn't so much the image of a winking, thumbs-up "buddy" Christ, suggested as a hipper symbol than that downer of a crucifix, that made the studio higher-ups jittery. More likely the mockery made of a golden idol known as Mooby, a calf in Mickey Mouse clothing who has inspired theme parks, TV shows and merchandising, hit too close to the bank.

Make no mistake. Dogma is often vulgar, juvenile (the poop-spewing demon must be the Pokémon from hell's sewage system) and silly. But sacrilegious? Only if it's a sin to uphold personal faith and criticize man-made institutions. There is a keen intellect behind this devoutly defiant fable. I personally haven't thought this deeply about the religion of my birth since being confirmed. And this is a movie that is sharp enough to seriously dissect John Hughes' teen oeuvre while slamming the Hughes-scripted Home Alone.

Stuffed with cheery irreverence and inspired in equal parts by comic books, sports bar culture and the Bible, Dogma's greatest flaw turns out to be overkill. And we aren't just talking about the cartoony world-is-ending violence. For a guy who always shows up in his films (Clerks, Mallrats, Chasing Amy) as a near mute named Silent Bob, Smith doesn't know when to shut up and quit explaining all the catechism. He also doesn't know the language of cinema, although by now visual stasis is practically his trademark. Most upsetting is that Dogma isn't funny enough. For a comedy, that is a tragedy.

Dogma probably reads better than it plays. Considering the stunt casting (the most obvious being Morissette, although I do like Betty Aberlin, longtime resident of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, as a nun), perhaps others thought so, too. The plot is basically a road-trip romp as envisioned by Cecil B. De Mille. Two banished angels named Loki and Bartleby (Matt Damon and Ben Affleck, who could be mistaken for suspended college kids) find a loophole that will get them back into heaven. Their return, however, would mean God is fallible and spell doom to all existence.

Heavenly messenger Metatron (Alan Rickman, devilishly droll) recruits skeptical Bethany (Linda Fiorentino, the lone real performance) to battle these philosophical blowhards, who go on a smiting spree that will end in New Jersey. Along the way, she runs into Rufus the unknown 13th apostle (Chris Rock), Serendipity the stripper-muse (Salma Hayek), prophets Silent Bob and sex-starved Jay (Jason Mewes), and Jason Lee as an imp in a pimp suit. Wing-breaking and worse ensues.

The upshot: Turns out God is not dead. But the gods of comedy might not be satisfied. As the Lord herself might sing: Isn't it ironic?