Dogma, Kevin Smith’s 1999 holy rollercoaster through Catholic guilt and cosmic bureaucracy, kicks off with a disclaimer that’s as defensive as it is funny. It insists this “comedic fantasy” isn’t to be taken seriously – and then immediately dares you to do just that. It also throws a few jabs at film critics and the platypus. Because why not.

​

Back then, the idea of beginning a movie with several frames of cheeky text seemed a little insane. But, in theaters, it worked every time by softening the blow for what was to come: two fallen angels, an abortion clinic employee descended from Jesus, the thirteenth apostle (left out because he’s Black), a stripper muse, and God played by Alanis Morissette.

​

Smith’s fourth film – after Clerks, Mallrats, and Chasing Amy – was his first real swing for the fences: a high-concept, mid-budget metaphysical comedy that takes on religion with all the subtlety of a confessional booth being kicked down a flight of stairs. It’s Life of Brian by way of Jay and Silent Bob – equal parts Sunday school heresy and Jersey-stoner ramble.

​

Linda Fiorentino plays Bethany, the last living descendant of Christ, working at a Planned Parenthood clinic (because of course she does, this is a Kevin Smith movie). She’s tapped by the voice of God – a sardonic Alan Rickman – to stop Bartleby (Ben Affleck) and Loki (Matt Damon), two fallen angels who believe they’ve found a theological loophole back into heaven. If they succeed, they’ll unmake existence. So, of course, cue the road trip.

​

The premise is bonkers and yet, somehow, it works. Dogma lands as both a satirical gut-punch to organized religion and a strangely sincere meditation on belief, forgiveness, and the idiocy of blind dogma – all wrapped in dick jokes and demonic poop monsters.

​

Carlin chews scenery as Cardinal Glick, a faith-based bureaucrat trying to rebrand Catholicism with the now-iconic “Buddy Christ” – a statue of Jesus winking and throwing a thumbs-up like he’s about to pitch you a beer. Rock’s Rufus, the 13th apostle, is both hilarious and pointed, while Hayek’s Serendipity, a muse-turned-stripper with writer’s block, offers a charming meta-commentary on Hollywood, complete with a great dig at the Home Alone franchise.

​

Affleck and Damon – fresh off Good Will Hunting – bring surprising gravitas to their roles. Affleck, especially, plays Bartleby with a devilish sincerity that elevates the film’s final act. He’s maybe the only one playing it entirely straight, like Michael Caine in The Muppet Christmas Carol. And it weirdly works.

​

The first two-thirds of Dogma are Smith firing on all cylinders – tightly edited, packed with jokes, and brimming with irreverent energy. Robert D. Yeoman’s cinematography is more polished than anything Smith had attempted to that point, and Howard Shore’s score gives the divine absurdity an unexpected weight. The final act, though, gets slightly bogged down by its own message. As Smith leans more into the lore (and the blood), the pacing starts to limp – ironic for a film criticizing bloated institutions.

​

When it first dropped, Dogma drew fire from religious groups and was pulled from some release slates. Still, it became Smith’s biggest hit, grossing more than $30 million on a modest $10 million budget. It was irreverent, loud, messy – and beloved for what it was.

​

Then, due to rights purgatory and the Weinstein-shaped legal black hole surrounding it, Dogma disappeared. For years, it was the holy grail of Smith’s filmography: unavailable on streaming, difficult to find on disc, and endlessly debated in forums and comment sections.

​

Now, on its 25th anniversary, Dogma returns, now gloriously remastered in 4K for a limited theatrical re-release.

​

Let’s be clear: Dogma never looked great. It was a little too dark, a little too grainy, and the effects were charmingly lo-fi – likely by design, possibly by budget. The remaster doesn’t over-polish what didn’t need polishing. The Golgothan demon still looks like a guy in a suit. The angel genitalia gags still land with middle-school glee. The only real misfire is a brief CGI glide late in the film, a moment that hasn’t aged well but, mercifully, doesn’t linger.

​

What the remaster does improve is clarity and contrast. The film finally breathes. The lighting feels intentional. Yeoman’s compositions pop, and the dialogue sizzles in the mix. It’s not glossy – and it shouldn’t be. Dogma is a stained-glass window full of smudges, not a Disney/Marvel sheen.

​

Watching it now, for the umpteenth time, it’s clear Dogma has aged … well, miraculously. Its sharp jabs at institutional hypocrisy feel more prescient than ever, and its humanist core – the belief that spirituality might matter more than religion – hits harder in our fractured age. It’s not subtle. But neither is the Book of Revelation.

​

In the end, Dogma deserves its place alongside the classic cinematic sendups: This is Spinal Tap, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Airplane!, and Blazing Saddles. It’s irreverent, sprawling, a little too long – but also deeply funny and charmingly heartfelt.