Filmmaker Kevin Smith shows some nerve, though maybe not as much of it as he showed in Chasing Amy. Where, in the mature-adult-relationship stuff of that previous film, he took a chance on alienating the affections of his callow followers from Clerks and Mallrats (an already dwindling band), he takes the same chance now in the relationship-with-God stuff, but he is not about to compound the risk with any taint of maturity or adultness. The premise -- two banished angels have found a doctrinal loophole through which they can, if somebody doesn't stop them, re-enter paradise, thus outfoxing the Almighty, thus disproving the fundamental tenet of His infallibility, thus negating all existence -- could conceivably have fueled a "straight" horror film in the apocalyptic mode of The Omen, only here it is played strictly for laughs. Laughs, that is, or ruffled feathers. God, for openers, is revealed to be a She. Jesus is said to have been black. Mary and Joseph, without any divine intervention, produced several other offspring all on their own, the last descendant of whom (Linda Fiorentino, lifeless as ever) is conscripted into the crusade to stop the fallen angels. And the Catholic Church is currently unveiling a hot new promotional campaign -- "Catholicism Wow!" -- to convert Jesus into a friendlier figure to the young, a Buddy Christ, with a wink and a grin and a big thumbs-up. This last bit of cheek, while perfectly justifiable as a satirical exaggeration of reality, could be aimed as much at Smith (and without exaggeration) as at the Catholic Church. What else is he doing with a youth-approved cast that includes Matt Damon and Ben Affleck (fatuously overconfident as the fallen angels), George Carlin, Chris Rock, Salma Hayek, Janeane Garofalo, Jason Lee, Jason Mewes and Smith himself as the recurring Smithian figures of filthy-mouthed "Jay" and "Silent Bob," plus, in the role of God, pop star Alanis Morissette? What else is he doing with the "shit demon," a steaming, stinking, glistening brown mass that emerges from the toilet of a topless bar? What else is he doing with the satanic trio of roller-blading assassins armed with hockey sticks? What else is he doing with the heaven-sent seraph who drops his pants ("I'm as anatomically impaired as a Ken doll") to expose the pubes of a mannequin? What else but pandering to the young, currying favor, talking down, buddying up, grubbing for revenue? (1999) — Duncan Shepherd