Dogma
Rated R
Opens Friday, Nov. 12
Kevin Smith is just a big dumb teenager. He would say as much
himself. He loves comic books, '70s TV shows, girls and Star
Wars. He laughs heartily over fart jokes. He loves Howard
Stern. He's politically incorrect. He often (humbly--oh, so
humbly) admits that he can't really direct movies. He believes
his lack of cinematic talent is saved by what he (and many
critics) believe to be clever writing. He thinks he's sardonic;
he thinks he's funny. He thinks he has something to say. Maybe
he does, after a few beers, but little that's relevant or
interesting shows up in his movies. And still he allows his
characters to talk and talk and talk.
Dogma, his fourth movie--following Clerks,
Mallrats and Chasing Amy--shows that Smith
really got it into his head that he could tackle serious
issues with, naturally, a sense of humor. A comic book/videogame/fantasy
that ostensibly challenges the dogmatic nature of organized
religion, Dogma reveals that Smith's sensibility
is still that of a 16-year-old geek pathetically desperate
for laughs and someone to like him. You get the feeling
that after smoking a few good bowls (a moment when many
average people think they're brilliant) and reading the
Cliff's Notes version of the Bible, he came up with this
story: Two fallen angels, Loki (Matt Damon) and Bartleby
(Ben Affleck), have been cast out of heaven for rebelling
against God. (they are sent to Wisconsin, which is supposed
to be hilariously worse than Hell--state humor, gets 'em
every time.) When they figure a way back into Paradise via
a loophole in Catholic dogma (sacrilegious point No. 1:
God is fallible), the world is in for mass destruction.
In comes a faith-challenged Catholic and abortion-clinic
worker, Bethany (Linda Fiorentino), who is instructed by
the Voice of God, a seraph named Metatron (Alan Rickman),
to prevent the impending apocalypse. She has four days to
get to Red Bank, N.J. (ah, Jersey humor--gets 'em every
time), where she must prevent the angels from entering a
church. Along the way she meets two prophets--Smith movie
regulars obnoxious Jay (Jason Mewes) and Silent Bob (Smith
himself)--as well as the forgotten 13th Apostle, Rufus (Chris
Rock), and a muse-turned-stripper named Serendipity (Salma
Hayek). On their side, the angels have the fallen muse Azrael
(ex-skateboard star Jason Lee) and his hockey-stick-brandishing,
teenage-punk minions (three sour-faced kids who are the
most effective religious figures in the movie). The film
is a variation of a quest (a narrative approach older than
the Bible) with Bethany and her weird crew slouching slowly
toward Jersey while cracking wise about the Bible, deconstructing
Star Wars and John Hughes movies (Smith gives you
several dozen movie references, just so you know that he
knows movies) and philosophizing about God. Here's a little
Smithian pearl of wisdom: "It doesn't matter what you believe
in, as long as you have faith." Thanks, Kevin: After working
through the writings of Joseph Campbell, Monty Python's
The Life of Brian, Scorsese's Last Temptation
of Christ and Madonna's crucifix-wearing writhing, we
really needed you to clear up our indoctrinated, brainwashed
heads and enlighten us.
Ironically, Dogma is both preachy and dogmatic in
conveying its point that problems occur when faith and belief
become dogmatic religions. To be sure, Smith attempts to
dress up this simplistic message in clever clothes, and
yes, there is a lot of specific Bible talk, but this should
impress no one (so he read some library books, big deal).
The movie is just an excuse for one bad, heavily pop-culture-inspired,
gross-out scatological joke after another. The tone is similar
to a Mel Brooks movie, but Dogma contains neither
the wit nor the insight that Brooks (who never takes himself
seriously) once so hilariously conveyed. And for a guy who
is so un-PC, Smith certainly offers some exhausted revelations
about the good book: God is a woman, Jesus was black, racist
misogynists wrote the Bible. Real funny. I read those jokes
on the back of a heavily bumper-stickered car leaving a
natural-foods store.
Along with being lame and unoriginal, the film is disorganized,
overly long, badly written, tediously shot and, even worse,
poorly acted. Damon and Affleck are a lackluster comic duo,
and, for the love of Jesus, how do you manage to make Chris
Rock boring? As a filmmaker, Smith is a joke. But one gets
the sense that he secretly thinks of himself as some kind
of Shakespearean fool, the jester who knows and reveals
all through his absurdity. He passes himself off as a comic-book
geek philosopher but abuses a false humility to cover for
his shortcomings as a filmmaker. The only religious revelation
clarified by Dogma is this: Kevin Smith may just
be the Antichrist of comedy.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Willamette Week | originally
published November 10,
1999
|
