They bothered you, those unanswerable questions that inevitable crossed your path at some point during your time at church school: "If God is so great, then why is there suffering in the world? If God loves you so much, then why do people go to Hell? As long as I believe, do I really need to learn all this stuff?" You didn't want to be there, and you didn't want an old stuffy adult telling you what to think and how to act. Already you had memorized the Ten Commandments--what more could you give them? You wanted out.

Well according to Kevin Smith, you had every right to be dissatisfied. His new film, Dogma, is the apotheosis of this Sunday School discontent and criticizes the stubborn doctrine of many churches. The film doesn't pretend to have all the answers to your Sunday School questions, but it does assert one thing: God is great, God is Good, God appreciates a good penis joke.

And penis jokes abound. Smith, who conceived the Clerks, Mallrats and Chasing Amy triptych, has an unmistakable brand of humor, a unique way of putting smart, nasty words into his character's mouths. His small, dialogue-based films thrive on the rantings of slackers and dopeheads and revel in the insignificant struggles of everyday life. Given the plot and the ribaldry of Dogma, it's no wonder the Catholic League has--well, raised hell about its release. The organization was responsible for convincing Disney, the original distributor, to drop the movie, arguing that it was blasphemous and immoral. Smith, himself a practicing Catholic, assures that the film was made with the utmost respect, but every fan knows that irreverence is the hallmark of his Jersey flicks. Dogma, though not always pro-religion, is consistently pro-faith.

The movie follows Bethany (Linda Fiorentino), an abortion clinic employee on the brink of a crisis of faith, who is unknowingly the great, great, great, etc. grand-niece of Jesus Christ. She is enlisted by a seraph named Metatron (a whiny Alan Rickman) to thwart two banished angels from getting to a church in New Jersey. These winged renegades, Loki (Matt Damon) and Bartelby (Ben Affleck), have found a loophole in Catholic doctrine which could cleanse them of their sins and allow them to re-enter heaven, negating the truth that God is infallible and consequently unmaking existence. These two Jersey-bound travelers don't understand the consequences of their scheme, and go their way, gleefully handing out the Wrath of God every chance they get. As is to be expected, Affleck and Damon have a great onscreen rapport, which lends itself beautifully to both the sensational and frivolous components of the film. Although it is not a stretch for them to play old buddies on the screen, the movie does provide chances for them (particularly Affleck) to exercise their acting talent, and they do so with panache.

As the angels creep ever-closer to the Garden State and the subsequent unmaking of the universe, Bethany struggles to understand why God has chosen her, someone who has experienced nothing but misfortune in her life. Fortunately, she isn't alone in her quest. Joined by Rufus (Chris Rock), the 13th Apostle who was left out of the Bible because he was black, a muse named Serendipity (Salma Hayek), and who other than Jay (Jason Mewes) and Silent Bob (Smith himself) as prophets, Bethany gets plenty of attention. This holy brigade isn't exactly brimming with talented actors; Rock, though funny, regurgitates instead of speaks his lines, and Salma's stripping muse seems superfluous until you remember that Smith's core audience is teenagers. Fiorentino is the only actor among her heavenly posse, and she handles her role as the skeptical "last Scion" in a way that puts the comic relief's performances to shame. What excuses some of the ill-delivered lines and questionable characters is the enthusiasm you can feel the performers have for this movie (many took pay cuts to work on Dogma). They know that the film will be hotly debated, but they remain loyal to their desire to work with Smith and make Dogma succeed.

Fans have shown worry that Smith's witty dialogue might be at risk with all the action in the film, and there is a perceptible difference. Steeped in violence, many of the movie's jokes are considerably darker than those in his other films and are sometimes reminiscent of Pulp Fiction banter. Fortunately, the two perverted prophets, along with a comic-booky atmosphere, lighten the mood and get more than their fair share of screen time. Although some of duo's jokes are simply bromidic facsimiles of the gags from the other Jersey flicks (like I've never heard Jay say "hard-on" before), most remind you that one can never have enough Silent Bob and Jay. Fans needn't be concerned.

Dogma's greatest shortcoming, however, is glaring: amateurish cinematography. Not one for lush visuals, Smith has never been overly concerned with the aesthetic aspect of movie making. Although inexpert camerawork is not only pardonable in his previous films, but also considered a Smith trademark, the home video ambiance just doesn't work in Dogma. With few action sequences and even fewer special effects, Clerks, Mallrats and Chasing Amy didn't demand much camera movement (even Smith, before beginning work on Dogma, self-effacingly assured that he'd "move the camera this time.") The inconsistent camera angles are so vexing, they are a distraction from many of the jokes, and subvert the splendor of the special effects (which could use some tweaking themselves).

But let's concentrate on what Smith does best. He is foremost a writer; he is out to tell a story, hoping to present new and thought-provoking ideas along the way. Unfortunately, he packs so many ideas into Dogma that his directing cannot always keep up with the ambitious screenplay. At times you feel as though you're listening to the Word according to Kevin; not an expert on subtlety, his characters--particularly Rufus-- windily spell out every religious insight he introduces. It shouldn't be a surprise Smith relies so heavily on dialog. He is incapable of communicating his ideas using any other cinematic mechanism, as demonstrated by his directing and camerawork.

Though not conveyed in the most ingenious manner, these themes in Dogma remain provocative, to say the least. They often take the form of shots at the church (to lessen the ennui, a churchgoer reads "Hustler" during a service Bethany attends), but never do they lead to God-bashing. You see, Smith doesn't satirize God, per se--he satirizes the inadequate human perception of God. Our quest to interpret the will of the divine has lead humans to murder, war, persecution, suspicion, and a bevy of other moral wrongs. The funny (and much less extreme) situation that Smith uses pictures one Cardinal Glick (George Carlin) unveiling a less then admirable rendering of their Savior to promote his "Catholicism WOW!" campaign: The depressing crucifix has been transformed into a "Buddy Jesus," who gives all onlookers an optimistic thumbs-up. This outrageous movement illustrates one of Smith's principal ideas: Because we cannot absolutely know Him, people should have _ideas_ about God and His Word rather than beliefs. It is okay to have occasional doubts, for obstinate conviction often leads to intolerance, a very dangerous characteristic.

Ultimately, Smith message is very ecumenical: as long as you love God, it doesn't really matter whether you believe the Almighty is male or female, white or black. Just for the record, God is a white female, who looks like Alanis Morissette? Well yep, that's Him at least according to this film. Placing Morissette in the role of God is certainly the most controversial casting in the film--not so much because she's a woman, but because, as one Internet fan revealed, "she's not hot." Yes, Emma Thompson was originally billed for the role, but Morissette is surprisingly appropriate. Rather than the wrathful God we hear Loki and Bartelby talk of during the beginning of the film, Morissette is a playfully foolish hippie. Don't worry; God isn't portrayed as a total goof: a mother's smile and a beatific demeanor balance Morissette's character, and exhibit an unconventional reverence for the role. She never speaks, but one can tell by Her presence that She is not something to be understood, and certainly not something to be feared.

Yet, the best thing about God's anthropomorphism is that it adds to the poignancy of Bartelby's situation. Though it is Bethany's struggle with faith that is supposed to be the centerpiece for Dogma, it is Bartelby's that proves much more intriguing. Metaphysics aside, his story is about a rebellious, frustrated child. Throughout most of the movie, Bartelby is the voice of reason, constantly rolling his eyes at Loki's own version of divine justice ("You didn't say 'God bless you' when I sneezed" Loki chastises, pulling a gun on an innocent woman). But after a theological discussion with an inebriated Bethany, feelings of betrayal consume him, feelings that God's just stopped listening. This frustration is compounded by God's unconditional love of humans: "In the beginning, it was just us and Him. Angels and God. And then He created the humans. And He gave them more than He ever gave us." It pains him to think the Almighty isn't listening, that He loves someone more especially ungrateful humans, some of who dont even believe in God.

This mix of jealousy and wounded pride proves a dangerous intoxicant; Bartelby later rebukes God, drunk with self-importance. It is this egotism that is God's foe, growing stronger with every ill-conceived rationalization Bartelby spews, until it is of Luciferian proportions. Not until the theophany of the last scene does the sight of the kind, matriarchal God reminds us that Bartelby's self-deification is something other than prideit is frustration with the fact that God loves him differently than She loves man. And we feel for Bartelby,, who is at last a soulful child, vying for the adoration of his mother.

Dogma's message is undeniably reverent. It probes, mocks, deconstructs, reconstructs and criticizes religion, but never faithit knows better than to mess with faith. Yes, the Catholic League might have some qualms with this movie, and so might film purists. Dogma isn't a spectacular example of cinema--far from it. But the themes are too powerful to ignore, no matter what you believe.