'Dogma' presents world of Catholicism according to Kevin Smith

By Frank Gabrenya
Dispatch Film Critic

Is Kevin Smith putting us on when he swears that Dogma -- his film about gun-toting angels, an abortion-clinic worker descended from Jesus and a wisecracking cardinal -- is an expression of faith by a devout Roman Catholic?

Not at all. The proof is in the movie.

Of course, many Catholics, especially church officials, will not be amused by what Smith calls a "comic fantasia," a "parable" and "this trifle of a film." They won't be able to see beyond the lampooning of Catholic images or the diatribes against church doctrines -- much less the demon from hell made of excrement.

They will surely be put off by the Smith trademarks: nonstop profanity, juvenile sex jokes, lectures disguised as dialogue and a comic-book sensibility.

Yet, at the core of the long, indulgent, funny and, sometimes, naive exercise in superhero spirituality is a deep faith in God, Jesus, salvation and basic goodness.

The trick is to separate Smith's belief in heavenly values from all the paraphernalia of Catholicism as an earthly, often-mistaken human invention. Few of the faithful are likely to make that leap (if they even see the movie before damning it).

The Saturday-matinee plot is almost the gospel according to Stan Lee in an issue of The Mighty Thor.

In front of a New Jersey church, a cardinal (George Carlin) announces a new campaign to attract young members: "Catholicism Wow!" As an inducement, he revives the practice of plenary indulgence, by which all sins are forgiven of anyone who enters his church.

This is good news for Loki (Matt Damon) and Bartleby (Ben Affleck), two angels who ran afoul of God eons ago and were banished to Wisconsin. Their plan, as they set out by bus, is to go to New Jersey, be forgiven and get back into heaven.

Shortly after, an irritable heavenly herald (Alan Rickman) appears to Bethany (Linda Fiorentino), an abortion-clinic worker and struggling Catholic. He spells out the crisis: If Loki and Bartleby step into the church and have their sins pardoned, God will be proved fallible and the universe will cease to exist.

The incredulous Bethany, chosen because she is a distant descendant of Jesus, accepts her mission. Along the way, she is joined by allies: Rufus (Chris Rock), the 13th apostle (edited out of the Bible because he is black), comes down from heaven; Serendipity (Salma Hayek), a muse, takes time out from her job as a strip-club dancer; and Smith's recurring New Jersey slackers, Jay (Jason Mewes) and Silent Bob (Smith), are mistaken for prophets.

As each character enters, he or she has one or two dense speeches in which Smith spells out the tenets of his brand of Catholicism: Rules dictated by church leaders are not God's word; the key to salvation is to love one another and be true to one's values.

His movies have always been profanely preachy, but Smith has never seemed so arrogant. His confusions about sex in Chasing Amy showed a filmmaker grappling for answers, but the writer of Dogma comes off as, well, dogmatic.

His theology reflects a '90s style of spiritual opportunism (similar to the horror movie Stigmata), in which lifelong Catholics who still find comfort in the rituals, hymns, icons and promises of salvation reject modern church tenets with which they disagree, such as bans on abortion and birth control.

So Rufus tells us that Christ is less concerned about vulgar behavior (which Smith likes) than about "wars, bigotry, televangelism and the factioning of religion" (which Smith dislikes).

As a born-and-bred Catholic, I never thought of the institution as a spiritual cafeteria in which anyone can pick the parts he likes and ignore the parts he doesn't.

Yes, Smith believes in God (as a dizzy sprite, she is played by Alanis Morissette) and angels (their wings are so cool) and demons (comic books thrive on them), and makes Dogma an expression of faith, though of an extremely convenient kind.

But the compulsion to explain every chapter and verse of his beliefs drives Smith into lumbering diversions, particularly a scene in which Loki and Bartleby stop off at the boardroom of a corporation that mixes Disney and McDonald's. The angels indict the board members for their many sins, and Loki -- officially the angel of death -- blasts them away with a gun. The long, judgmental episode serves no other purpose than to let Smith say, "You know who else I hate?"

Dogma has many lively scenes that play like Monty Python sketches, at least when the diatribes don't weigh them down. Old pals Affleck and Damon work beautifully together, and Mewes has never been funnier as the hopelessly horny Jay. Fiorentino, as the outsider in a herd of grotesques, manages a performance grounded in reality.

Cinematic style is still a low priority for Smith, but few other filmmakers have such a confident command of irreverence. Even when it strains, Dogma is rarely dull.

To the religious who see only blasphemy in the film, imagine if Smith were pushing atheism.