The actors—blow-dried, blandly attractive, barely distinguishable—deliver their starchy lines with vacant earnestness, and the overall effect is strongly evocative of porn with the sex edited out. Keitel's screenplay is certainly thinly plotted enough to qualify. Griff, it turns out, has little cause for worry. He finds a confidante in a female classmate who also happens to be sexually confused, and just about everyone, including his superstraight-jock best friend, is in the end fabulously supportive—not, I suspect, to demonstrate that these are indeed enlightened times we live in but because any serious signs of conflict or emotional distress would prove too much of a strain on the pitifully two-dimensional script and actors.