I went to see Bill Maher's new movie, "Religulous."

Hey, I'm the Faith & Values writer, and the movie is ostensibly about religion, right?

Except it's not.

It's really about religious extremism and ignorance. It's actually a rant, an extended comedy routine, that takes for granted the idea that religion, generally, is represented by fanatics, freaks and gullible simpletons.

Now, it's true that fanatics tend to be ignorant and dangerous. But it's not true that the fanatical and ignorant represent religion best. They don't. They represent the fringe of religion or, often, the politicization of religion.

Come to think of it, the film isn't even about extremism: what it can lead to, how absurd or violent it can be, how it distorts honest faith. It's really about giving a well-known comedian and popular TV star 100 minutes or so to ridicule and joke.

Yet Maher, in his "mock- umentary," pretends to be genuinely interested in figuring out what makes religious people tick. After all, he asks, how can any intelligent person really believe in a talking snake or a burning bush or a genocidal God (e.g., the flood) or a pillar of salt that was once human? How can an intelligent person accept as truth that mixing wool and cotton is an abomination in the eyes of God?

And here lies the essence of the film's problem: Maher assumes people who subscribe to any of the monotheistic faiths are all biblical literalists, incapable of interpreting the stories of the sacred texts, discerning meaning, recognizing the symbolism and applying the lessons to real life.

For it's safe to say that most religious people don't actually believe in talking snakes.

At times funny, often offensive and focused almost entirely on those who occupy the fringe, the movie is unrelenting in its condemnation of faith.

Belief, Maher says, is nothing but superstition, a willing denial of reason. For surely any reasonable person should be able to recognize that all this talk of divinity, Armageddon and stubborn sacrifice is the fruit of some vast derangement.

But doesn't religion often lead people to commit good deeds?

Nevermind that, says Maher.

Doesn't faith sometimes breed tolerance, compassion and understanding?

Forget it, says Maher.

Can't the sacred texts of Judaism, Christianity and Islam help us understand the nature of moral inquiry and the great mysteries of life? Aren't these texts manifestations of universal myths that have been told in one form or another since the beginning of history? And doesn't that imply a certain significance? I mean, if mankind has been thinking about the Great Flood at least since 2150 B.C., the date of the earliest Sumerian version of the "The Epic of Gilgamesh," doesn't that count for something?

Whatever, says Maher.

Is there no value to the magnificent works of art and poetry, grand cathedrals and mosques, spiritual gardens and other creative human expressions inspired (or commissioned) by the institutions of religion?

Not enough value to justify the horrors, says Maher.

For him, it's a black-and-white world: There is faith (stupid) and reason (smart).

For him, faith is stupid no matter what, even when it sends mosquito nets to Africa's poor, even when it funds AIDS research, even when it defends victims of rape and human trafficking, even when it provides clean drinking water to disaster areas or builds homes for victims of hurricanes, even when it stocks local food pantries.

Religion, Maher implies, is bad even when it's good, merely because it's capable of producing the people he interviewed in the movie.

Religion is ridiculous because it tells fabulous morality tales that can't possibly be literally true (even though most believers accept what science has revealed, and they reject, say, the notion of a 6,000-year-old Earth).

In the final analysis, "Religulous" serves a single purpose: to provide a skewed platform from which Maher can fling his barbs, insults and jokes.

It's the "Bill Maher Hates Religion Show."

And it left me frustrated.

I am not easily offended. I don't mind mocking and snide jokes, especially when the object of derision is the fool. And disbelief troubles me not. To each his own.

Despite the obvious comic satire, however, Maher was asking certain profound questions and raising certain significant concerns. He seemed intent on figuring out this religion thing.

So why didn't he talk with a serious theologian or archeologist or psychologist or sociologist or member of some mainline religious denomination?

Why didn't he solicit real answers to his sharp questions? If he had, he might have learned something really interesting and not just validated his already-formed simplistic views.

But, as I've already pointed out, that wasn't the purpose of the film. The purpose was to ridicule, not illuminate, and in so doing generate easy laughs from sympathetic nonbelievers.

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