There are no pleasant moments in “Pervert Park,” only wretched and thought-provoking ones. Whether you can make it through them is an open question.

The title of this documentary refers to Florida Justice Transitions, a trailer park that is home to some 120 convicted sex offenders. Since laws restrict where they can live, this park, founded by an offender’s mother, is one of the few places that provide a somewhat welcoming atmosphere.

Frida and Lasse Barkfors, the film’s directors, follow these men and women through their days — often filled with bottom-rung jobs — and nights, which usually consist of counseling sessions or informal gatherings. On the surface, these offenders seem unassuming and sympathetic. Those assumptions are challenged once they recount their crimes.

Though one college-age resident appears to have gotten caught up in Internet chat that went awry, others confess to acts against children that are stomach-turning. Just as disturbing are stories of molestations that some offenders say they themselves suffered in childhood, giving insight into the causes of their own monstrous behavior.

Unlike the film “Spotlight” and Sarah Stillman’s recent excellent New Yorker article on sex offender lists, “Pervert Park” forgoes research and verification. Instead, the filmmakers simply let their subjects speak. To see the offenders struggle with their demons is to experience both revulsion and pity for those who have hurt others and have sometimes been hurt themselves.

It’s hard to trust everything these offenders say, and any compassion for them is tempered by concern for their victims (none of whom are interviewed here). Still, according to the film, the recidivism rate for the park’s residents is less than 1 percent — very low. To be sure, nothing in this film is easy to hear. But that doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t be said, and learned from.

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