If box-office receipts are any indicator, audiences aren't too concerned that Hollywood is sinking deeper into a cesspool of vapid plotlessness. Give us jaw-dropping special-effects and bone-rattling THX sound, and we avidly consume such high-concept, mind-numbing folderol as Godzilla and Twister, begging for more.

But not everyone is happy with the "BIGGER, LOUDER, MORE" trend in filmmaking. In Denmark, a group of directors desperate to rescue film have joined together to form Dogme 95, which, according to the group's manifesto, "desires to purge film so that once again the inner lives of the characters justify the plot."

To achieve these ends, Thomas Vinterberg and Lars von Trier (Breaking the Waves), the first directors to agree to abide by Dogme 95, drew up a "Vow of Chastity." Determined to bring a new level of realism to their films while returning cinema to its simplest state, they agreed to use only hand-held camerawork, relying strictly on available sound, light, locations and props.

According to Dogme philosophy, the characters are the film. The story should arise naturally from the characters' actions, eliminating all unnecessary plot devices, especially murder. The director agrees to relinquish his role as artist or auteur, producing a film without regard to aesthetics or personal credit.

It sounds good in theory, but who would go to see this kind of movie? A Dogme film, by definition, can't be the type of escapist adventure that usually draws us to the theater. In fact, The Celebration (Festen), the first film released with the Dogme-95 seal of approval, follows the most mundane of '90s plot devices: the seemingly normal family torn apart by a bitter secret.

In the wake of such films as A Thousand Acres and The House of Yes, there's little surprise about what type of secret this family has been hiding. However, much to Vinterberg's credit (if we may credit a director who doesn't credit himself), The Celebration turns the revoltingly overused incest drama inside-out, leaving us with a menacingly satiric, unabashedly intimate peek at a very disturbed situation.

Imagine the Corleone family led by a godfather who had taken a few unacceptable liberties with his children, and you've probably formulated a pretty good impression of the Klingenfeldt clan. Assembled for the patriarch's sixtieth birthday, the family wants more than anything for the reunion to go smoothly. But when you consider the children (and levels of alcohol) involved, anything can happen.

Hot-headed son Michael (Thomas Bo Larsen) shows up unexpected and grows increasingly unpredictable with each successive glass of alcohol. Michael's brother Christian (Ulrich Thomsen) casually unveils a shocking accusation in a toast to his father. And daughter Helge (Henning Moritzen) surprises her conservative family by inviting her black, English-speaking boyfriend to the party.

To complicate matters, the reunion follows close on the heels of the unexpected death of Christian's twin sister. The morbid aftershock brought on by her absence at the family event heightens the tension of the festivities.

The Dogme intent is to unleash these characters, clearly loaded with story potential, and catch everything that follows on tape. Vinterberg does just that, unraveling a captivating and ultimately disconcerting portrait in the process.

Vinterberg chose to record his film on a handheld video camera before transferring it to 35mm film, which gave him flexibility over what he could record. Unfortunately, the medium also washes many of the poorly-lighted scenes in an impenetrable grey mist. But lighting limitations are merely the beginning of a long list of sacrifices directors must make with a Dogme film.

The surest sign that this method works is the audience's willingness to sit captivated through the entire film. Our sheer interest in what the characters will do next makes it surprisingly easy to tolerate the quavering camera and muddy resolution. The crew seems to share our inability to predict an outcome, and the expert cast are so natural and convincing that we never imagine that they know where things are headed.

Vinterberg hasn't entirely succeeded in breaking from the conventions of moviemaking. In addition to a few minor transgressions from the code to which he admits, Vinterberg doesn't seem entirely ready to give up his role as artist. A careful eye is sure to pick out a number of forbidden directorial flourishes, including a cameo à la Hitchcock in which Vinterberg appears as a confused cab driver.

Nevertheless, The Celebration is refreshing proof that there is more to the movies than asteroids and alien invasions. Dogme 95 may run counter to Hollywood's marketplace mentality, but Vinterberg's pioneer effort confidently shows us that this Danish film movement offers merits for which we've been content to do without for too long.