October 4, 1999 | Right at the start of Dogma, a movie that already has managed to outrage thousands of people who likely will never bother to see it, writer-director Kevin Smith tries to make it perfectly clear that - honest to God! - he doesn't really mean to offend anyone.

During a lengthy opening "disclaimer" - which Smith frankly defines as "a statement made to save one's own ass" - the filmmaker defends his latest and most controversial effort as "a work of comedic fantasy, not to be taken seriously. To insist that any of what follows is incendiary or inflammatory is to miss our intention and pass undue judgment; and passing judgment is reserved for God and God alone (this goes for you film critics too….)"

Sorry, Kevin: You can't get off the hook that easily. This critic claims the inalienable right to declare Dogma is outrageously, if not sinfully, hilarious. Indeed, even when it resorts to unprintable expletives and scatological sight gags, the movie remains abundantly and ingeniously clever. It helps that Smith is able to bring out the best in every member of his crazy-quilt ensemble cast. But it helps even more that the actors are perfectly attuned to Smith's impudent comic vision.

And if that isn't enough to appease those who would brand the writer-director as a blasphemer -- well, send them over to another screen at the megaplex, where they can delight in the apocalyptic frenzy of The Omega Code.

In the beginning - that is, shortly after the disclaimer - Dogma sets its sacrilegiously cheeky tone by introducing comic George Carlin as Cardinal Glick, a media-savvy huckster who's determined to make the Catholic Church more consumer-friendly. As part of an image-enhancement program, the cardinal wants to replace the traditional crucifix (which His Eminence views as, well, kind of creepy) with "a new and inspiring symbol" - The Buddy Christ, a smiling dude who encourages the faithful with an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

More important, Cardinal Glick appeals to dissatisfied ex-customers (i.e., lapsed Catholics) by promising a plenary indulgence -- complete and total absolution for all past sins - to anyone who passes through the doors of a newly restored New Jersey cathedral. Unfortunately, there's a downside to this grand plan: Some sinners should never be forgiven.

Consider Loki (Matt Damon) and Bartleby (Ben Affleck), two fallen angels long banished to the purgatory of Milwaukee, where they spend their endless days bringing people back away from God. Loki and Bartleby figure that, if they can enter the New Jersey cathedral, they will be restored to their rightful place among the Chosen. Trouble is, this upward mobility will upset the balance of the universe and, not incidentally, obliterate all of humanity.

The last best hope for mankind is a most unlikely savior: Bethany (Linda Fiorentino), a cynical ex-Catholic who works at an abortion clinic. Bethany is visited by Metatron (Alan Rickman), a droll seraphim who establishes his celestial credentials by demonstrating that, like all good angels, he is "as anatomically impaired as a Ken doll." Metatron serves as a spokesangel for God - who inexplicably is missing in action - and bids Bethany to prevent Armageddon by journeying to New Jersey. Not exactly an inviting destination, to be sure. But nobody said that saving the world would be a vacation.

At heart, Dogma is an old-fashioned road movie, a sort of metaphysical version of The Wizard of Oz in which a grown-up Dorothy renews her faith in ways that Cardinal Glick could never imagine. Instead of worrying about lions, tigers and bears - or, for that matter, flying monkeys -- Bethany has to watch out for demonic street-hockey skaters led by Azrael (Jason Lee), a smug and smart-alecky devil who wants a little payback for being booted out of heaven. And instead of following a yellow brick road, our heroine hitches a ride with a couple of scruffy modern-day prophets: Motor-mouth Jay (Jason Mewes) and stoic Silent Bob (director-writer Smith), the same stoners who previously appeared in Smith's Clerks, Mallrats and Chasing Amy. These guys hang out near Bethany's place of employment because "abortion clinics are a great place to pick up loose women."

Also along for the ride: Rufus (Chris Rock), the heretofore unknown 13th Apostle, a black firebrand who claims he was edited out of the Bible for "political" reasons; and Serendipity (Salma Hayek), a stripteasing muse who takes credit for inspiring "19 of the Top 20 grossing films of all time." (She refuses to accept any responsibility for Home Alone.) God Almighty - played by a sweetly out-to-lunch Alanis Morissette - appears just in time for the climactic clash between good and evil, which Smith presents with equal measures of special-effects spectacle and subversively sassy lunacy.

Dogma often plays like a series of Saturday Night Live sketches stitched together with a mock-serious doomsday melodrama. A few episodes aren't quite amusing enough to justify their protracted length, and the pacing of the movie as a whole is, at best, bumpy. Even so, the end result is something exhilaratingly original and, in its own iconoclastic way, provocatively profound. You can't help thinking that only a True Believer would want to have so much flat-out fun with such serious matters of faith, redemption and divine intervention.