Lawn Dogs

Most of John Duigan's films (The Leading Man, Sirens, Flirting) are built out of forbidden relationships that brim with ripe sexual tension. Here a covert friendship blossoms between two loners: Trent (Sam Rockwell), a white-trash lawn boy, and Devon (Mischa Barton), the 10-year-old daughter of suburbanite yuppies who reside in the elite gated community of Camelot Gardens. Devon latches onto Trent, hanging out (mostly uninvited) at his secluded, trailer-park palace, where she invents fairy tales and catches him in trysts with the local prom queen -- who for social reasons won't give him her name or number. There's an edgy erotic undercurrent between the scarred introverts, though most of it emanates from Devon and her eerie ability to evoke or be around sexual activity. When she spies her mother with an eager-to-please college stud under her dress, Devon just smiles precociously before toddling off to play.

The film's outlandish depiction of bluegrass suburbia is delectably black, but the key here is the piquant chemistry between Rockwell and Barton. Rockwell evokes sympathy while harboring frustration; Barton, in her film debut, is an affecting portrait of innocent sensuality. Her poignant effervescence -- especially as she skips door-to-door selling cookies in a Girl Scout-esque uniform and red beret -- doesn't atone for the script's many stupefying flaws, but it does provide enough titillation to make Lawn Dogs a passable backwoods slant on Lolita. At the Kendall Square.

-- Tom Meek