At play in an existential bunker

Radiohead

“The Most Gigantic Lying

Mouth of All Time”

(W.A.S.T.E.)

***

Radiohead might be taking a year off from the performing and recording merry-go-round, but that doesn’t mean that fans of the English band have to endure a year of deprivation.

With time on its hands, Radiohead has released “The Most Gigantic Lying Mouth of All Time,” a 110-minute DVD of experimental short films, interspersed with footage of the lads at work and what passes for play in their existential bunker.

The 24 films, by a variety of directors, were assembled before the release of 2003’s “Hail to the Thief” album, and were intended to be aired on a proposed Radiohead television station. That enterprise never powered up, sparing unwary channel surfers everywhere the experience of encountering nervously panning closeups of wooden boards (Gary Carpenter’s “HYTTE”), or an interview with Ed O’Brien in which the Radiohead guitarist barks like a seal in response to the questions.

To be fair, “Lying Mouth” isn’t begging to be loved in the big marketplace -- it’s available only on the band’s website, www.radiohead.com, an approach that steers it primarily to consumers already attuned to the Radiohead aesthetic.

Those fans will happily vibrate in harmony with the DVD’s jumpy, flickering emanations and will put in the work needed to interpret the messages encoded in these often enigmatic dispatches.

The low-key, fan-focused nature of the release is a license to be indulgent, and indeed these variously animated, live-action, clay-animation and hybrid clips offer their share of dry and abstract views of skyscrapers and geometric designs.

But there are also some readily accessible segments (in James Field’s “Slave,” the bed of a corporate drone becomes a coffin as he is literally killed by the routine of his life), as well as moments of Lynchian creepiness (Cath Elliott’s “Lament,” with agitated images of monster and man in anguish) and Devo-like humor (the Punjabi-pop-flavored doll puppetry of “When an Angel Tries to Sell You Something,” by Rick Hind and Ajit N. Rao).

And to make up for the O’Brien interview, singer Thom Yorke sits for an interrogation, speaking in an electronically lowered voice as he injects a rare dash of image-modifying goofiness into the formula.

Most of the films are accompanied by Radiohead music, some of it previously unreleased and much of it in the pitter-patter and ominous-throb mode. There are also some studio and on-stage performances of some of their more mainstream songs, including a chilling “A Punchup at a Wedding,” with Yorke alone at the piano, seen as if by a surveillance camera.

Ultimately, it adds up to another challenging chapter in Radiohead’s mission to monitor and resist the advance of spirit-deadening social and political forces.

For that vigilance, a little self-indulgence seems like a small price to pay.