In the grand scheme of things, Dogville should probably be attracting way more ire and attention than the big Jesus snuff film. One has to wonder how Danish writer-director Lars von Trier (Dancer in the Dark) feels about the timing of the release of his latest since the controversial Dogville, which has been branded by many as anti-American, is likely to be lost in the continuing media dust storm that The Passion of the Christ is still kicking up.

von Trier, who is indirectly best known in this country as the creator of the original version of Stephen King's The Kingdom Hospital, likes to manipulate your emotions with a smirk, unlike The Passion's filmmaker, who keeps a pained, troubled look on his face as he deposits bag after bag of your money into the First Church of Mel. Is Dogville really anti-American? Probably depends on how quickly your knee jerks. That's the beauty of von Trier: No matter how you might desperately struggle to figure out what Dogville means, nobody knows except von Trier, and it's precisely that arrogance that makes him such a dynamic force in modern filmmaking.

Dogville is set in the eponymous but fictional Colorado mountain town, which is full of friendly, well-meaning, hard-working citizens who all get along and don't seem to have any problems. That changes, however, when Grace (Nicole Kidman, Cold Mountain) stumbles into Dogville looking for sanctuary as she is being pursued by a gang of bank robbers. At first, the residents – led by intellectual frontman Tom Edison (Paul Bettany, Master & Commander) – welcome Grace with relatively open but slightly suspicious arms.

But that quickly changes, especially when the townsfolk become concerned they might be harboring some kind of fugitive. Grace, who originally agreed to help each Dogvillian out by performing menial tasks, is asked to work longer and harder for fewer and fewer benefits (hey, it's better than having your job completely outsourced – now that would be a real anti-American slant). Grace is treated progressively worse by everyone in town, who now seem more interested in using their newest resident until she is unable to give one more ounce. It's hard to watch the John Hurt-narrated film and not think of the Harold Moss-animated portion of Bowling for Columbine, which shows how people are often motivated by fear.

von Trier, for reasons known only to him, has chosen to film Dogville on an abandoned soundstage, with what might be the skimpiest set in the history of cinema. Instead of phony exteriors, we see chalk outlines of where they would ordinarily be. Instead of a gooseberry bush, we get the words "gooseberry bush" written on the floor. Ditto for the town's only dog, and just about everything else. There is a wall here and there, which makes Dogville's set look like The Sims: Our Town. This makes it much easier for von Trier and cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle (28 Days Later, as well as the veteran of three Dogme films) to wield their handheld digital camera about the set.

A lot of people are going to be distracted, potentially to the point of walking out, by Dogville's odd collection of bells and whistles, not to mention its three-hour running time. These folks should envision von Trier pointing and laughing at them as they bolt for the door to see if they can still make the starting time for Scooby-Doo 2. These folks will also miss out on what will no doubt be one of the most original, daring and well-acted pictures of 2004. Even if you aren't sure what it all means.

2:57 –

for violence and sexual content