Particularly as seen in The Reader, which Huffington Post contributor Thelma Adams argued Tuesday is perhaps a bit too upfront in its portrayal of the sexual affair between 36-year-old ex-Nazi guard Hanna Schmitz (Kate Winslet) and 15-year-old schoolboy Michael Berg (David Kross). Sure, it's tastefully done, and director Stephen Daldry did shoot his film's love scenes last, literally days after Kross's 18th birthday. But in retrospect, sure: Maybe Winslet and Kross's anal-sex lesson is a youthful indiscretion too far.

And worse yet, Adams argues, The Reader's casual depiction of that relationship's consequences actually recognizes the act of child sexual abuse (very light spoiler ahead):

When we first see the adult Michael, he's having an affair of the bed - but clearly not of the heart - with a gorgeous woman nearly young enough to be his daughter. And, as the mistress complains that Michael won't let her in to his life, he clearly can't wait until she leaves his apartment so that he can be alone with himself and his memories. It's textbook abused behavior — and all the movie's ambiguities about Nazis, hidden secrets, and admitting culpability don't fully address the fact that Michael is both the victim of abuse, and lost in his continued love for his abuser, because nothing since has come close to that intensity. Emotionally, he stopped growing at 15.

Which uncannily returns us to the more healthy, angsty virility of the modern American teen-sex romp, as elucidated today by Guardian blogger Henry Barnes. Memo to young people: This is the kind of movie sex you want:

Post-[American] Pie, it appears teen comedies are taking a (slightly) more sophisticated view of adolescent sex and sexuality. [...] Sex Drive's hero, Ian, isn't just a randy teenager. He's lonely, desperate and hormonal, bullied by an older brother who boasts greater sexual prowess and outgunned by a more experienced best friend. He's also painfully insecure around girls, who tend to ignore or use him. [...]

It suggests that Hollywood is beginning to realise that most teenagers are driven by more than their base instincts. Concerned parents should take comfort in that. After all, hormones alone are unlikely to turn your teenager pie-fucking crazy. But hormones, plus the influence of Porky's-like idiocy, just might.

So. While The Reader may be among the most sober films of its seasonal class, is it unreasonable of us to deduce that it is today's analog of those reductive sex farces of the '80s? The anti-Sex Drive, perhaps? Or just another garden-variety soft-core Oscar chaser? Either way, we feel like we could use a shower. And maybe a cigarette.

• Reading Between the Lines in 'The Reader': When is Abuse Not Abuse? [HuffPo]

• How Hollywood grew up about teen sex [Guardian]

Fine's logic is exactly that: literal and emotionally detached from the enduringly riveting qualities of shows like Mad Men, 30 Rock, The Simpsons, Grey's Anatomy and a handful of others. But wouldn't the outrage following those and other great programs' predetermined self-destruction after 12 or so episodes would be preferable to their having eventually squandered their legacies on so-called stunt-casting and/or firing controversies? Doesn't going out gracefully a la Rome or The Wire allow for a better fan memory (and presuppose a bump in DVD sales)? Can't we avoid syndication hell with Friends and Two-and-a-Half Men?

Yes, yes, and yes, writes Fine, who points to the UK as an example of doing things right:

I have two words for you: The Office. And one more: Extras. Both of Ricky Gervais’ original British TV series ran for two six-episode seasons (followed by a special). [...] The British seem to do that with regularity: create a series meant to run for a single season of episodes. Period. Think about Prime Suspect, for example, the incredibly complex and compelling show in which Helen Mirren played a police inspector battling the old-boy network as well as her own personal demons.

It ran as a limited series in 1991 – and, yes, it came back six more times (Prime Suspect: The Final Act aired in 2006), but never two seasons in a row. And even then, each series rarely ran for more than four hours – total. It only seemed to resurface when they’d fashioned a plot that was worthy of DCI Jane Tennison’s time – and ours.

And yes again: We know the networks' economic imperatives require beating things like Lost and Heroes to death. But! When they decide to get as serious as the rest of us, we're in — just as long as nobody touches Tyler Perry's House of Payne. We really do need something to hold us over in those three-month gaps between Madea movies.

• A modest proposal (to end TV as we know it) [Hollywood and Fine via THND]

The answer will shock you: while pounding a bunch of martinis in "real Hollywood" usually lowers inhibitions enough for the crucial exchange of career-kickstarting sexual favors in bathroom stalls, janitorial closets, or the back seats of luxury automobiles, in "reality TV Hollywood," the same amount of alcohol merely makes already less-than-eloquent people slur their semi-scripted interactions enough to alienate the agents, managers, and casting directors they're supposed to be blowing.

• America's Most Smartest Model [VH1]