Steve Carell and Timothée Chalamet in Beautiful Boy.
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Hollywood is having a moment, mourning the privileged white kids that are so endangered.

Today there is “Beautiful Boy,” with Steve Carell’s successful writer David Sheff determined to rescue his crystal-meth-addict son Nic (Timothee Chalamet).

Next month: “Boy Erased,” where a teenage boy’s homosexuality is meant to be “cured” at a costly religious program. Then comes “Ben Is Back” with a mother —  Julia Roberts no less! —  battling to save her drug-addicted son (Lucas Hedges).

Every addiction movie —  and since Hollywood’s breakthrough with this once taboo subject in the mid-’50s with “The Man with the Golden Arm,”  there has been no limit to them —  follows the same trajectory. 

And because they’re Hollywood movies, they rarely end with an addict’s fatal OD but instead offer hope and recovery.

“Beautiful Boy,” set before our current opioid crisis, explains the medical science where crystal meth destroys and alters brain function. We also hear how success in getting clean statistically is “in the single digits.”

A doting father, David has always been especially close to Nic. Flashbacks show how he doted on this beautiful boy and how proud David is of their relationship. 

Dad here seems to want to be less the parent than the best friend, which is never a smart choice.

As Nic descends into heavy-duty drug use, he skips college for rehab, relapses, recovers, relapses, Dad is there, concerned, empathetic —  and helpless.

As Nic transforms from suburban prince to junkie, ashamed at his behavior, like stealing $8 from his baby half-brother’s piggybank but unable to stop it, Dad rages, blaming his ex (Amy Ryan), who post-divorce went across the continent to L.A., and blaming himself.

At a certain point in “Beautiful Boy,” Bogart in “Casablanca” came to mind when he observed, “It doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.”

“Beautiful Boy” may be a true story, a sad story, but it’s familiar and ultimately more off-putting than compelling.

The eclectic score, which ranges from Perry Como singing “Sunrise, Sunset” to Neil Young’s “Heart of Stone,” seems mostly a mistake.

Chalamet, 22 and no longer the adolescent in love with Armie Hammer in “Call Me By Your Name,” has seemingly grown up overnight. He’s fine, but Nic remains a cipher, someone we can pity but never understand.