Despite the insistence upon "no director credit," the Dogma Movement founders were clearly not adverse to drawing attention to themselves. Von Trier's shocking performance in Paris got the Manifesto and its authors plenty of it, leading some to conclude that it was all just an arrogant joke. Nearly a decade later, however, the movement is still going strong, having sparked dozens of films produced under its stringent regime, many extremely well-regarded, including the latest at last year's Toronto Film Festival.

Meanwhile, even filmmakers who haven't taken the Dogma Vow have been profoundly affected by the questions the Movement has raised. A host of recent films bear the obvious influence of Dogma in their stripped-down pursuit of the goals the self-named "Dogma Brothers" set out to focus their cameras on in the first place: the raw truth of character and setting, unimpeded as much as possible by filters of technology and overblown stylistic considerations.

Yet most filmmakers, like movie audiences, have been divided on von Trier and Vinterberg's experiment. Some shrug off Dogma with disgust. Others eagerly await the next installment of an extraordinary series of films of admittedly varying quality, yet which has produced consistently provocative and original cinema in a film world of superficiality and stale repetition.

    In 1995, Lars von Trier was an up-and-comer whose filmography included Cannes prizewinners The Element of Crime (1984), Zentropa (1991), and a cult-favorite TV-series The Kingdom. Von Trier had been raised by radical parents in a counter-culture commune, exposed from birth to habits of shocking the bourgeoisie and questioning the established authority. He'd already made a reputation for himself as a cinematic wunderkind for whom manifesto-making was part of the package; he brought with each new release a sense of prophetic urgency -- or, at least, breathless catastrophizing.

Yet after Dogma had grabbed everbody's attention in Paris, three years went by before the first film made under the Vow of Chastity was released — and it wasn't even made by von Trier.

Thomas Vinterberg was another promising young Danish director, though without von Trier's loose-cannon reputation. Vinterberg's Dogma film The Celebration, in fact, was one of his first major releases, and it instantly stopped the sarcastic chatter of the naysayers: astonishingly, Dogma had delivered, in its very first test, on its outrageous promises. The film was raw, in style and content: yet the effect was less unfinished than unvarnished. The story was a blistering domestic tragedy, full of dark secrets revealed at a family gathering, in a volcano of emotion and with virtuosity of both camerawork and performance; full of edges left jagged that a more conventional film would have buffed to the work's ultimate loss. Critics around the world were won over: The Celebration captured top prizes at international festivals, including the 1998 Jury Prize at Cannes.

Most abruptly, Vinterberg had delivered an incredibly convincing argument for Dogma. Just as Iranian cinema had been proving during the same period, Vinterberg's work showed that breathtaking films could be made despite draconian limitations - perhaps even because of them. In the process, he also demonstrated that authentic cinema could be created with a new technology many filmmakers still found dubious: digital video. An unintended side-effect of the success of The Celebration, then, was the breaching of the walls of mainstream cinema, where celluloid had long ruled unchallenged, and a defiant raising of the flag of video, which was to inspire film revolutionaries the world over.

Meanwhile, Lars von Trier's next film — after he'd caused such a commotion with his declaration of Dogma 95 — wasn't even a Dogma film. Breaking the Waves (1996) was, however, true to Dogma in spirit, mystifying and enraging filmgoers and solidifying von Trier's reputation as an artist of startling, if sometimes incomprehensible, vision. The plot featured a man paralyzed in an accident who urges his wife to go out and have sex with other men. The raw treatment of this "sex as salvation" theme was complicated further by weaving into it explicit religious imagery and language, a strategy which provoked the requisite shaking of heads and fists. Yet it was only a warm-up for what was about to come.

Von Trier's Dogma film, The Idiots (1998), when it appeared two years later, drew the the inevitable comment that the title actually described the film's makers. The director seemed to be completely out of control: at least Vinterberg kept the cameraman and microphone boom man out of the shots. Von Trier's approach was so focused on "the truth of the moment" that the big picture sometimes seemed one more obstacle in the path of total immediacy. The setting was even more outrageous: a commune whose members pretended to be mentally-handicapped in public, they called it "spazzing": a technique for — surprise! — shocking the bourgeoisie. The film certainly did that, both for the subject matter and also for explicit sex scenes that delayed the film's American release. (The version finally released in the U. S. features digitally-created black bars that cover some of the contested areas.)

As many of the Dogma films would, The Idiots was obviously bringing the larger Dogma discussion into the content of the film, with its crazed and controversial upsetting of polite standards that are shown to be empty and oppressive. Spazzing was an undeniably effective technique for raising all those issues the movement raises about cinema, art and society, plunging the viewer into mind-bending (if not stomach-churning) confrontation with questions about the nature of truth and art in a world where most of the standards are set arbitrarily by authorities who have little interest in either. For those viewers who don't walk out of the screening utterly disgusted, The Idiots can be an exhilarating, if agonizing, experience, and -- most importantly -- an absolutely transformative one. For once you've been spazzed, i.e. blown out of the box of conventional expectations as far as von Trier intends you, that particular "box" looks rather confining indeed.

Two more "Dogma Brothers," by this time, had joined the inner circle.

Søren Kragh-Jacobsen was older than von Trier and Vinterberg, a veteran director of well-loved Danish children's films. His Dogma movie, The Last Song of Mifune (1999), is much more conventional in both style and content than the films of the original founders. Yet perhaps the mere fact that Kragh-Jacobsen would sign on to the movement at all was radical enough. The setting and characters in Mifune are once again shaped and driven by the larger questions of the Dogma project: a hotshot young businessman is sucked by circumstance back to his past — back to nature, as it were — to take care, after his father's death, of the family farm and his mentally-retarded older brother. The instinct to make films about handicapped or otherwise marginalized characters seemed naturally to follow the agenda of defying a mainstream whose prevailing instinct is smoothing rough-edges and hiding unsightly reminders of our flawed humanity. Yet Mifune is a much more watchable film than The Idiots. For some, this makes it more redemptive and accessible, for others the film is a disappointment, sentimental in ways anathema to the Dogma ideal. One more major difference between this film and those of von Trier and Vinterberg is that Mifune was not shot on video, but on 35 millimeter: from a purely-technical standpoint, celluloid is a much more forgiving medium for the stripped-down sort of lighting Dogma requires. The effect is a film much closer to mainstream expectations.

The fourth and final filmmaker to join the Dogma supervising body, the board which would hereafter judge candidates and issue an official stamp of acceptance, was another Danish director, Kristian Levring. His 2001 film, The King is Alive (2001) might be classed somewhere between Mifune and The Celebration in terms of style and content. Levring shot on video, but stylistically his camerawork, film structure and pacing are closer to conventional expectations. The content of the film again seems to be advancing the central Dogma arguments about art and honesty: a busload of tourists in the African desert get lost and breakdown, with little hope of being found. While they're waiting for the only one of their number who seems to have any survival skills to trek the hundred or so miles to the nearest outpost of civilization, they keep occupied by staging King Lear, a play which offers a compelling commentary on their plight and the human condition. The passenger who directs this production on the edge of death, demands above all a truthful performance. The nakedness of the setting corresponds to a "striptease of the soul" as the castaways reveal themselves to one another and to themselves along the way.

The goals and success of Dogma at its best could not be described better.

    From the first, Dogma films were issued under an official certificate appearing onscreen before the credits and signed at the bottom by the four original movement founders, thus indicating that this supervisory body had been satisfied the film fulfilled the requirements of their code. Good thing they printed at least a few dozen. For when the initial flurry of publicity the Dogma challenge stirred up was followed by four astonishing works by the movement founders, other filmmakers of daring and zeal, and often tremendous talent, from around the world began to answer the call. New Dogma films were being made by novices in America, South Korea, and more releases were to come from the the Danish homeland, where the movement was to become a point of national pride. The expansion of the Dogma catalog brought with it new voices and new cinematic accents, but also films of varying quality which tended to dilute the initial effect. Audiences began to understand that faithfully following the rules and earning the Dogma stamp of approval did not necessarily make for a great, or even a watchable, film.

Meanwhile, the Dogma Brothers had discovered what all successful revolutionaries soon realize: that storming the Bastille is a lot more fun than the everyday business of governing. They found themselves keeping busy with the evaluation of Dogma candidates and the issuing their stamp — much busier than they intended with a task that turned out more complicated than they'd ever imagined. Now these four radical artists were learning what all first-year law or Rabbinical students discover: that jurisprudence is a weighty and never-ending responsibility indeed. As in the case of all legislation, the Dogma rules were discovered in practice to be vague and contradictory -- distinctions needed to be hammered out, exceptions defended or struck down. Furthermore, the task of determining whether or not a filmmaker had actually abided by all the rules was virtually impossible to independently verify. These questions were even further complicated by the fact that, under examination, it turned out that each of the original Dogma founders admitted to various transgressions of their own rules in the making of their films: for these, they offered explanations, justifications, and sometimes repentance.

Thomas Vinterberg issued a "Confession," in which he admitted that — in defiance of the Vow of Chastity rule insisting props be found on location — he had actually built a reception desk for The Celebration. Vinterberg defended himself, saying his desk was made from materials at the location. Lars von Trier admitted he had given his actors money to go purchase foods which appeared in the story, and he and Vinterberg argued over the legitimacy of this infraction. Indeed, listening to the Dogma founders debate interpretations of their rules is like listening to a couple rabbis arguing over the Mishnah: von Trier and Vinterber each offered up hair-splitting nuances to interpretation and legitimations for their own circumventing of their own laws.

The problem came to a head with a controversy surrounding the relase of the first American Dogma in 1999, julien donkey-boy. Harmony Korine, director of the arthouse oddity, Gummo, was drawn to the Dogma metaheme of the marginalized, and made a film about a mentally-handicapped young man who searches for happiness and meaning in a world that makes inhuman demands of perfection. Korine's material was of a piece with his practice, falling short of several of the rules in the production of his film. A certain controversy followed, with some questions about whether or not he deserved official Dogma standing. The certifying board ultimately issued a statement defending the film, but clearly the responsibility for evaluation and the business of investigating candidates was wearing them out.

Certain adjustments were made to the certification process. First, each director applying for certification was now required to make a sworn statement that he had adhered to the Vow of Chastity. Furthermore, a new committee or "Secretariat" would be formed to tackle the backlog of candidates. Finally, the founders each issued statements outlining their individual interpretations of the meaning of Dogma and the Vow of Chastity. One could see a difference of opinion between the original founders that was behind heated closed-door debate. Vinterberg was more doctrinaire of the two, insisting the rules, while entirely arbitrary, were there to be obeyed. Von Trier seemed to be willing to cut a little more slack, saying the spirit was more important. In any case, the Dogma Brothers were obviously trying to step back from what had become an unexpectedly overwhelming situation. It's just a game, they reminded people. And they were already speaking of Dogma in the past tense, looking beyond it to the future.

For the immediate future, films continued to receive certification, more than two dozen. Most of these have not yet been released internationally, either for theatres or home video release. The ones that have been released, naturally, have been the cream of the crop. Italian for Beginners (2001) was one of the most popular Dogma films to date, an ensemble film about a chilly Danish town where some of the inhabitants come together to learn Italian and dream dreams. Kira's Reason: A Love Story, another Danish production, was released in theaters in the U.S. this past spring, and also quite accessible to popular audiences, though closer to classic Dogma in content: here, a woman tries to make an agonizing readjustment to "normal" life after a stay in a psyche ward. The most recent Dogma film, Open Hearts, directed by veteran Danish director Susanne Bier, received excellent reviews last fall in Toronto, including special mention by the jury "for proving that Dogme has come of age and matured into a potent cinema language."

Yet such high praise has turned out to be Dogma's epitaph.

    The Secretariat announced it would disband in June of 2002; after that, there would be no more "certified" Dogma films. The main reason for what was essentially the end of Dogma - as far as new releases went - was more than just the judges' inability to keep up with the demand of films needing certification and the difficulty in determining whether or not the directors abided by the rules. Rather, the founders had long expressed their concern that Dogma was always in danger of turning into a brand name, an empty formula -the very thing the rules were created to subvert. A professor at the University of Copenhagen announced that, for the sake of historical completeness, he would collect copies of any new films whose makers claim to have created them under the Dogma rules. Yet without any evaluative mechanism, their authenticity would always be in question; the larger the "Dogma" catalog gets, the more dubious the designation will be. Of course, the Dogma founders insisted their project was never meant to be anything more than a temporary corrective or experiment — which, to their minds, had now run its course.

For Thomas Vinterberg, Dogma had all been just a game: the Vow was simply about trying to work within limitations; any ten rules would have done the trick. But this seems a hollow solution. The Dogma Brothers' light touch may have saved the movement from being dragged down by its earnestness, but it was their earnestness which energized them to make such visionary films and cause others to catch the vision. One got the feeling that - at least for a moment - they were True Believers: the rules were more than just a game, truth existed and was worth pursuing: a shocking spazz against the mainstream indeed. Perhaps they became frightened by the implications of this scary proposition. Vinterberg, for whatever reasons, ran at full speed in the opposite direction. His new film, It's All About Love, is a big budget science fiction extravaganza, in which the director seems bent on shattering the Vow of Chastity like a ex-monk at Mardi Gras.

Lars Von Trier, on the other hand, a recent convert to Catholocism, was filled with the spirit of Dogma before there was letter, and will doubtless continue in the same spirit. His next film after The Idiots was nothing if not further spazzing against the mainstream: Dancer in the Dark, a weird combination of bleak tragedy and Hollywood musical, provoked film audiences' existing love-hate relationship with the director to new heights and depths. His latest film, Dogville, set to premiere in May at Cannes, is a studio-based mimalist production, another grasp for essentials. Meanwhile, his company has produced several "dogumentaries," bringing a Dogma-like purification (complete with new Vow) to the vices and excesses of yet another branch of filmmaking; after all, Lars von Trier remains the unrepentent manifesto-maker.

Dogma's end will inevitably be compared with the climax of The Idiots, when the commune dissolves and the leader urges members to take their spazzing back into the ordinary world. Not everyone can. Nor has the monastic call ever been for everyone. Yet the call remains of critical importance for everyone, according to another prophetic voice out of Denmark. "The Monastery is an essential dialectical fact in Christianity," says Søren Kierkegaard. "[W]e need to have it there like a lighthouse, in order to gauge where we are - even though I myself should not exactly go into one. But if there is to be true Christianity in every generation there must be individuals with that need."

Even if there will be no new "certifiable" films, Dogma has been a lighthouse for filmmakers and audiences, and remains a brash declaration that, in art and life, the game of truth-telling is worth continuing to play.

* The Danes spell the word "dogme": we spell it "dogma" except in quotes.