Oh, that Kevin Smith. Through life, he’s been a moderately successful filmmaker, the poster child for the perpetually adolescent adult male, and Silent Bob. Last January, he made a scene at the Sundance Film Festival as he auctioned distribution rights to his newest, Red State, to himself - for $20. Put simply, he’s  sick of making films on a budget, only to have them advertised as if money is no object. So now he’s self-distributing what could best be described as Jesus Camp meets the torture-porn genre dominated by Saw and Hostel. Fortunately for all involved, “It’s gonna get grown up in here.”

While Red State doesn’t exceed modern highlights in gore and violence, the sheer I-can’t-believe-that-just-happened factor that accompanies most of its traumatic moments earns the film superlatives. A comparison of the evils in unaccountable government and excessive zeal leaves a taste akin to Michael Moore on the palette, but the film manages to avoid preachiness except in the intentional, crazy sense. By the time the credits roll, it’s hard to decide who you’re rooting for, what has been accomplished or whether you preferred the short-lived presence of Kevin Pollak (The Usual Suspects, Casino) to everything else in Red State; that’s a compliment. Whatever the outcome, “you better believe I fear God” after this flick.