Yes, yes, we've heard it all. Cigars, hair gel, the whole political-entertainment complex of prurience. We're Degeneration X; nothing can shock us. So it's almost salutary that, in a Manhattan screening room last week, a film could provoke audible gasps. Not much happens on screen: just a conversation between a man and his 11-year-old son. But because the chat is about the boy's frustration in trying to achieve his first orgasm, and because the father is a pedophile on the prowl, and because the scene is played with the whispered solemnity of a Father Knows Best tete-a-tete, this scene goes directly...
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