It never fails to surprise me how eager people are to pony up their hard-earned money and vicariously endure the suffering of fictional strangers, be it in torture porn or an Oscar-caliber weeper. Over the past few weeks a number of people mentioned to me they were looking forward to the much-hyped "Precious," but my response was always the same: "Why?" They all knew what "Precious" was about, and the weird thing is that no one could really articulate their reasons for wanting to spend two hours with what was reportedly a bleak piece of cinema about a pregnant, illiterate teenager trying to rise above her hellish life. Maybe they were lured by the promise of secondhand redemption, but the stunningly acted and brazenly manipulative "Precious" details quite the living nightmare before it offers even a sparkle of daylight.

Gabourey Sidibe makes an unforgettable debut as Claireece Precious Jones, who we first meet as she's escaping to one of her fantasies, a glamorous red-carpet scene designed to take her away from the awful realities of her life in 1987 Harlem. Sixteen years old and still in the eighth grade, the silently sullen Precious is about to have her second child by her now-absent father, a sickeningly prolonged pattern of abuse that's deluded her mother Mary (comedian and TV-show host Mo'Nique) into thinking that her daughter stole her man. Precious' home life is like a brutal "Cinderella" as she caters to the resentful yet dependent Mary, who rewards her "dumb bitch" daughter with shocking bursts of violence, degrading insults, and even more implied sexual abuse.

When Precious is expelled from school for being pregnant (is that actually legal?), she finds herself with an opportunity for alternative learning, and that's where "Precious" begins to open up. Under the tutelage of a borderline-saintly teacher (Paula Patton, "Déjà Vu") and surrounded by a charming but stereotypical assortment of classmates (the slut, the dreamer, the lesbian, etc.), Precious learns to read and write, experiencing a validation and acceptance that had been foreign to her. Of course the young woman's newfound ability to express herself doesn't sit well with Mary, whose atrocities escalate to new heights at the thought of her welfare ticket finding empowerment.

But just when you think that Precious has suffered enough, the universe finds yet another way to punish her, and that's where "Precious" starts to ring false. This is not to say that the narrative trajectory lacks truth; on the contrary, the novelist Sapphire based Precious on the kids she encountered as a literacy teacher in Harlem and the Bronx. Cinematically speaking, though, "Precious" is like getting repeatedly slapped in the face; after a while, you can't help but grow numb to the pain. Director Lee Daniels (he produced the similarly acclaimed but unsubtle "Monster's Ball" and "The Woodsman") often goes the obvious, gratuitous route, juxtaposing nauseating flashbacks of Precious's rape at the hands of her sweaty father against shots of greasy food frying in the pan and daydream sequences of a better life. Even the very youngest aren't spared from life's cruelties here, and the film threatens to turn undoubtedly honest characters into monstrous caricatures.

Two years ago Sidibe was a 24-year-old psychology student who cut class to attend an open audition for the role of Precious Jones, and now she's a lock for an Oscar nomination. If you've seen her doing press for "Precious," it's an astonishing transformation from the pretty, bubbly Gabby to the gruff, inarticulate Precious. "Fuck that day," she says early on in voiceover. "That's why God, or whoever, makes new days." What's most surprising about Precious is an optimism for which she really has no precedent or reason, and it's her hopefulness that keeps her from seeming like someone to pity rather than someone to cheer.

They say that half of acting is reacting, and much of what Sidibe does is in wordless response to Mo'Nique's fearless and vanity-free performance as Mary. Unfortunately, Mo'Nique isn't given much humanity to work with playing such an evil woman, though her endgame soliloquy when confronted with her daughter's accusations is heartbreaking in its selfish justification. A de-glammed Mariah Carey, who plays a no-nonsense social worker, also impresses in that same scene, but any Academy Award talk for her should be dismissed outright. Doing your job without makeup shouldn't automatically qualify for you for an Oscar, otherwise we'd all have one.