The Messiah is coming, at last. The score to this film's vision of fallen world is Handel's everlasting oratorio. But the images are all Klein's, a very stained glass view of distracted amusements, moral decay, and cheap religiosity. Yet this is also a world of hope, as Handel's awe-ful music tugs the tawdry ever skyward. At the center of Messiah is a performance of the triptych-Nativity, Passion, Resurrection-conducted by choral specialist Marc Minkowski. Occasionally eclipsing this rendition are amateur versions: the Las Vegas Baroque Choir singing in front of the casino New York, New York; ex-addicts singing blissfully in a dismal Harlem meeting hall; the Dallas Police Choir in a parking lot with their squad cars' lights flashing. Counterpointing the sublime are things quotidian: the Gospel Hands Car Wash, a woman getting a tattoo of the nativity, an Xmas party for the homeless, Bodybuilders for Christ exercising demons. Whatever this irreverent film is, it's well worth resurrecting.