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It’s a story you’ve probably seen before, but never told like this. Precious is a ghetto kid from a fractured family, whose untapped promise is released by a dedicated teacher and a committed social worker. She might have been the subject of a glossy, heartwarming telefilm. But Lee Daniels presents her story in such stark, gritty terms that the film is like actually being thrust into the girl’s horrendous, apparently hopeless life.

Precious is actually Clareece Jones, played by Gabourey “Gabby” Sidibe. She’s a sixteen-year old New York high school student, big, lumbering, stolid and inexpressive. She lives with her brutal, abusive mother Mary (Mo’Nique), who spends her days smoking, watching television and browbeating and sometimes physically assaulting her daughter. Precious also has a child—by her father—and is pregnant with another. The fact that “her man” prefers Precious to her is one source of Mary’s rage and cruelty, though one senses that even without that incentive, she’d hardly be the motherly type.

Precious keeps herself going by fantasizing about being a pop icon and by going to school, though Mary simply wants her to sign up for state aid instead (she lives on it herself, and one of the most unsettling scenes in the picture occurs when she has her mother, who actually cares for Precious’ baby, bring the child—who has physical developmental problems—to the apartment when the case worker makes a home visit to make it appear that she’s the caregiver). But instead Precious takes the advice of counselor Ms. Weiss (Mariah Carey) to sign up in an alternative school where Blu Rain (Paula Patton) runs a class for troubled teens that eventually brings the girl out of her shell. When Precious finds herself without a place to stay, the teacher takes her in—and in Ms. Rain’s sophisticated life with her lesbian partner, she sees a world she couldn’t even imagine before.

The last reels of “Precious” take a more hopeful turn as the girl begins to express herself and wins custody of her child. But we’re reminded of the miserable circumstances from which she’s come when Mary reappears and explains herself to Ms. Weiss in a scene that humanizes her to some extent, but certainly isn’t redemptive.

This is a grim, uncompromising—and revelatory—film about the reality that confronts so many young people in the inner city slums. It’s an incredibly difficult picture to watch. But its toughness brings equally incredible rewards. The writing by Damian Paul, based on the novel “Push” by Sapphire, takes on a heightened style but, especially in the voiceovers spoken by Sidibe, truthfulness as well. And Daniels’ direction, enhanced by Andrew Dunn’s spare but fluid cinematography, has quite similar characteristics. The element that most gives one pause is the fantasy sequences, which are presented in an extremely florid fashion. The rationale behind the approach is obvious—it’s designed to emphasize the difference between Precious’ real life and her dreams—but it still seems too forced a way of drawing the comparison. Nonetheless, this is a vast improvement on his debut feature, the pretentiously vapid “Shadowboxer.”

The acting is impeccable. Sidibe seems more a presence than a performer, but the picture would be inconceivable without her, and her impassivity is balanced by Mo’Nique, whose extraordinary turn captures Mary’s combined fury and pain. Patton gives the teacher verve and strength without making her a saintly caricature, and Carey is surprisingly effective as the concerned welfare worker. The supporting cast, including Precious’ fellow students, all etch startlingly authentic figures in quick, sharp strokes.

The incentive to whitewash this story into something more viewer-friendly and accessible must have been considerable. That Daniels and his collaborators resisted the temptation is testimony to their artistic acumen.