Mostly the film avoids academic trappings, which means that it will be catnip to devotees but impenetrable to outsiders.

Any baby boomers who wander into Headspace might be forgiven their momentary panic as they are suddenly acid-flashed back to the psychedelic mediocrity of their youth. Jethro Senger's attempt to capture the global mindset of ravers, largely through visual mimicry -- kaleidoscopes, anyone? -- is at best a mixed bag of old tricks.

The throbbing, insinuating soundtrack is terrific, and the animated interludes are a welcome respite from the blathering heads, but Senger's point, if he has one, is maddeningly unclear.

Various talking heads regurgitate one cliche after another, and as a kind of visual analog of the club experience, extended passages of kids dancing are treated with excessive digital effects.