Please go see “Precious.”

It makes you look, up close, at a victim — not only of revolting abuse by her father and mother, but also of malignant neglect by our society.

It’s the story of an obese 16-year-old illiterate living in Harlem in 1987. She is raped by her father, and verbally and physically assaulted by her mother.

Precious is rescued from more abuse by the intervention of social workers and teachers connected with the fictional Each One, Teach One program. Under the guidance of a positive black role model, Precious begins to read, write and discover an inner sense of dignity.

The movie’ s harsher (often black) critics have dubbed “Precious” as “poverty pornography,” a mindless exercise in brutalizing an audience with images of welfare culture, child abuse and incest.

Sitting through “Precious” with an audience can be as powerful an experience as the film itself. Audiences have responded to Precious’ plight, oftentimes leaving the theater with glistening eyes.

This is an unusual film. We tend to prefer the stories of underdogs who become millionaires, like Tom Hanks in “Forrest Gump.” Or we fall for love stories with sexy Hollywood stars. Or we get taken in by tales of diabolical criminals — whether they be Scarface, gangsta rappers or Hannibal Lecter.

But we rarely see the real-life situation of people with few options. Claireece Precious Jones, however, has few options.

Some in the audience might merely shake their heads and say to themselves, “Some people have such bad parents.” But they would be missing much of the point.

“Precious” lets us see the conditions of overcrowded schools that yield marginal literacy. These conditions are all too real.

And what saves Precious’ life isn’t pity. Nor is it a bootstrap philosophy. It’s a government educational program that — miracle of miracles! — limits the class size to six or seven kids.

But today class sizes are going up, not down — sometimes exceeding 30 kids.

Today, Each One, Teach One might easily be jeopardized by state budget cuts in response to the recession. At least 26 states are cutting aid to K-12 schools.

Today’s Precious might find herself with less structural support than she had twenty years ago. Imagine the movie without Each One, Teach One. The image is scarier than any scene in the film. When cuts have to be made, education isn’t the place to start, and abandoning Precious to her tragedy isn’t an option.

I hope every person who attends “Precious” pays attention to the film’s final spoken lines. Gently, without rancor, Precious tells her social worker, “You can’t handle this. You can’t handle none of this.”

We must prove Precious wrong. We must come to grips with her circumstance and commit ourselves to tackling poverty and fully funding education.

In that way, we can make this movie much more than two hours worth of prurient “poverty pornography.”

Darryl Lorenzo Wellington is a poet and critic living in Charleston, S.C. He can be reached at pmproj [at] progressive [dot] org.