They weren't intended to be funny, but to glance today at the visions of "juvenile delinquency" portrayed by Hollywood in the 1930s or even the 1950s will often bring a chuckle of nostalgia for a more innocent time.

The Dead End Kids wear sloppy attire, talk back to police officers on the beat and steal apples from the fruit stands. By the 1950s, our troubled youths (actually, both Marlon Brando and Lee Marvin were 28 when they filmed "The Wild One") have graduated to motorcycle riding, but their offenses seem largely limited to alcohol consumption, inconsiderate loudness and riding on the sidewalk.

Yes, there were a few gravity knives. But drugs and firearms rarely appeared, let alone rape, murder or grand larceny. It's as though, having decided to "rebel," the children of an earlier era really couldn't think of much to do but strive to grow a goatee and play the bongos.

The reason this is more than mere nostalgia is that today's juvenile justice system, despite occasional reforms, is largely an artifact of that bygone era.

The notion that adolescent youths will sometimes do foolish things that are technically crimes, but that we only make a life of crime more likely if we jail them with adult thugs -- that a youthful first- or second-time offender might still contribute to society if given a chance at rehabilitation without exposure to hardened criminals -- remains true.

Where the old assumptions seem wildly out of touch with today's reality is when current law implies that a 17-year-old -- or even a 15-year-old -- arrested for a violent crime after running up a rap sheet of burglaries, car thefts and assaults as long as your arm is "basically a good kid who has just fallen in with bad company," in need of a stern talking to and a "time out."

The result has been an increase in juveniles certified by the courts to stand trial as adults -- from 66 last year in Clark County (40 more were negotiated) to 29 so far this year ... on track to reach 87 by year's end.

Seeking a new program to fit between current juvenile rehabilitation programs -- which can see an offender back on the streets in as little as four months -- and simply trying kids as adults, Family Court Judge Bill Voy now proposes a new, longer-term juvenile rehabilitation program, designed to hold youthful offenders from 18 to 24 months, which he believes might prove useful for about a dozen Clark County youths each year.

But at first glance, creating a whole new "program" (presumably with its own rules, administrators, paperwork and high-priced professional staff) -- which would be useful and appropriate for as small a number as a dozen kids per year in the state's largest county -- sounds astonishingly expensive.

In fact, Judge Voy's plan as offered, to date, sounds exceedingly vague. A lot more details are needed before taxpayers should be expected to support such a measure.