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It’s another burden of youth that while ”adult” movies deal in characters, ”teen” flicks have to speak of entire generations. Thus the foolish hullabaloo surrounding Kids — director Larry Clark’s faux verite day in the life of horny, hedonistic New York City adolescents — owes more to the age of its protagonists than the perversity of their actions. What passes for a plot — a teen (Sevigny) searches for the boy (Fitzpatrick) who’s likely given her AIDS, while he pursues his second deflowering in 24 hours — never rises above a conceit. And, stripped of the emblematic gloss bequeathed by the big screen, the youths’ foulmouthed, brew-chugging, pot-smoking ways show themselves for what they are — mundane pretensions to rebelliousness, not of scary cultural harbingers, but of just another bunch of kids.