If the focal point seems abstract that's because it is. Reggio has undertaken a colossal task in both his subject matter and its unorthodox presentation. The theme of technology is present in all the films but is portrayed on slightly different levels. In "Koyaanisqatsi," the inner workings of a metropolis -- seen in one case through aerial footage of a freeway in fast motion -- set up the analogy that urban life is really nothing more than a giant set of circuits. The potent opening scene for "Powaqqatsi" shows, in slow motion, a community of people in the developing world laboring through mud and earth. This introduction highlights the brilliantly machinelike discipline, force and organization that go into carving out a society.

"Naqoyqatsi," especially through images of Dolly the cloned sheep and dancing DNA formulas, reminds us that our complex genetic makeup resembles the circuitry inside the computers that dominate our daily lives.

To get the full impact of what Reggio is trying to say, you're best off starting with his first work, "Koyaanisqatsi," and progressing, in order, through the films. Each work, as it proceeds to another stratum, furthers the agenda of the trilogy as a whole. On its own, "Naqoyqatsi" may fail to deliver its message. Tech-savvy viewers are, after all, used to seeing thousands of logos, commercials, computer icons, newsreels and digital images a day. It could be difficult for viewers to step back from the film with enough clarity to both experience and understand the message.

In the end, the barrage of visual information may have little impact on the image-saturated minds of those who view it. But anyone who watches the trilogy as a whole is likely to be moved not only by the cinematography and monumental score, but by his or her own ability to watch a movie in a completely different way. Instead of following the plot step by step, viewers of the Qatsi trilogy must learn to sit back and take in a viewing experience that does not follow conventional Hollywood formula. The films take place in the realm of the timeless.

In this realm, words get in the way. "Our language can't even begin to express what's happening [in our world]," says Reggio. That's another way of saying that the written word has been supplanted by images. In the book "The Alphabet versus the Goddess," author Leonard Shlain calls this shift the "iconic revolution." He theorizes that the rise of literacy reconfigured our brains to function in the realm of the left hemisphere (a lobe that favors scientific analysis, reasoning, dualism, law and order and misogyny). Television, films and advertising, he argues, are reshaping how we process ideas, in favor of right-brain traits -- aesthetic appreciation, universality, nurturing and equality.

According to Shlain, Reggio's work is a prime example of that shift: "In listening to music and looking at graphics -- primarily right-hemisphere experiences -- it creates a different kind of unity experience." Language, according to Shlain, detracts from this. "Whether you're watching a regular film, an art film or a foreign film," says the author, "there's no way of getting away from language and the activation of your left hemisphere."

Shlain sees this proliferation of images over words as a uniquely positive occurrence, while Reggio understands it differently. In "Naqoyqatsi," images of all kinds overload the viewer to the extent that he or she is left wondering what is real and what is reel, so to speak. We are asked to ponder this question every day when we sit down in front of our TVs, especially when we watch the increasingly artificial devices of news coverage.

By appropriating familiar media images, Reggio almost demands an answer. Confronting viewers with military training videos, battle footage and news clips of killers -- the director makes us consider how real these real-life events actually feel. In another sequence, a smiling woman bites into a hamburger in slow motion (the clip was obviously taken from a fast-food commercial). The director's message about our present media existence appears dark, almost apocalyptic. He seems to view the cult of image as responsible for distorting our values. "In that sense we can talk about the Los Angelization of the planet," he says somberly.

Reggio's Qatsi series challenges viewers to escape from L.A. He asks us to change the world. At the same time, he arms us with bountiful images of our landscapes -- the potential for so much unspoiled beauty. Speaking of "Koyaanisqatsi" and "Powaqqatsi," film historian Macdonald raves: "Both films give us a sense of the world, in all its immensity." But the trilogy's most recent incarnation, "Naqoyqatsi," ends on a zero point. A computer-generated image of man bobs around a boundless universe. It seems that this zero point is upon us now.

Historically speaking, the art produced during turns of centuries is often chaotic, stark or somewhat fear-based. Edvard Munch's "The Scream" and Pablo Picasso's blue period ushered in the 20th century. What immediately followed, the colorful and optimistic Fauves, is a sanguine historical indicator of what could await us. The point of "Naqoyqatsi," for example, is not to follow the Schwarzenegger formula for inducing a fear-based rush or to eroticize violence. The message seems to be that we had the capacity to create this society and we have the capacity to change it.

Reggio's advice: "Live your own creative life. Don't make your college diploma a death certificate because it conjoins you to the great myth of making money, and the pursuit of technological happiness through 'commodotization.'" He admits that the films are about tragedy, to a certain extent, but believes that the journey they invite us to take is a cathartic one. "The purpose of tragedy is not to depress; it's to purge, to rebel against our destiny."

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