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That was Abbie Hoffman, the notorious Yippie, expressing his dedication to politics as "total theater" in 1968. He was just over 30 then, and never to be trusted, which is exactly what so many people found galvanizing about this gregarious, frizzy-haired prankster.

In the great 1960s clash of generational values, Hoffman believed that his side would prevail because it had better symbols. As he framed it, the comedic/dramatic faceoff was between peace, love and freedom on one hand, and war, repression and oppression on the other. When you look at it in those terms, it's hard to argue with him.

Through the kaleidoscopic prism of Brett Morgen's uproarious "Chicago 10," a zippy mixture of documentary footage and motion-capture animation, we see how the confrontations between police and protesters at the 1968 Democratic National Convention played out as political theater. What began as slapstick comedy in Grant Park quickly turned into heavy drama when billy clubs and tear gas canisters started flying. All the while, the demonstrators chanted: "The whole world's watching!"

The whole world was. Hoffman and cohorts were charged with conspiracy and incitement for their roles in the convention protests. They became renowned as the Chicago Seven -- later the Chicago Eight, when Black Panther leader Bobby Seale was added to the list of accused, then back to the Chicago Seven again when Seale's case was tried separately. (The 10 of the film's title includes the defense attorneys, who were charged with contempt of court.) During the trial, the defendants turned Judge Julius Hoffman's kangaroo courtroom into the stage for a wild