(Warner Independent, 85 MINUTES)

www.flaminglips.com

Christmas on Mars, the long-awaited, much-speculated about film by fabulous furry Okie freak brothers The Flaming Lips is everything we hoped for and more, totally worth the wait, virtually orgasmic. But there's a catch: You must be a fan of the Lips' far-out sounds or at least attuned to the world of cult cinema.

What's that, chorus of geeks? They're complementary? Blah-blah, hand-in-hand, blah? No shit-just fuckin' with you, kinda like the Lips.

The mystery and ballyhoo that surrounded the film as it turtled toward completion was as much the by-product of their busy schedules (day jobs always get in the way) as it is the indirect, inadvertent product of the same. Generating buzz among your cultish, obsessive fans is as easy as announcing a project. When said project is a feature-length film and your videos already are the stuff of legend, hoo-boy. Add an element of delayed gratification to the lust and you're golden.

That's not to say the Lips manipulated their fans; it's more of a happy accident. Just like Christmas on Mars is the film that flew-nay, floated-by the seat of its pants, happening on its own time and evolving (preter)naturally from demented minds. The fucking-with-you part has more to do with the existential-spiritual theme of the film, which pits science vs. religion vs. myth (What's that, chorus of geeks?) in a battle to grudge-fuck your worldview. At the end of this David Lynch (for the Eraserhead trippiness) meets early Kevin Smith (bad acting-in most cases-but often genius dialogue) meets Jim Jarmusch (grainy imagery and dialogue tantamount in importance) film, you won't know what to believe. As Fred Armisen says in Mars, "Cosmic reality is a motherfucker."

Special features: Interviews, making-of featurette, CD soundtrack. RANDY HARWARD