Worst. Movie. Ever.

Well, I got to experience a personal "first" tonight -- the first time I've ever walked out in the middle of a movie.

We went to a 7 p.m. screening of a film called Memorial Day, an indie flick that was described in the literature I'd read thusly: "A wild Memorial Day weekend takes an unexpected turn in this brutally thrilling roller coaster ride through over-exposed national obsessions."

Sounded like an interesting premise. I figured it would be about a group of people whose vacation weekend goes awry when something horrible happens -- murder, kidnapping, something along those lines. And the resolution would teach us something about our cultural indulgences.

It started out with cinema verite passage as the camera followed young men and women partying over said holiday weekend in Ocean City, N.J. From the setup, the message seemed to be that these kids were overindulging in a "Girls Gone Wild" kind of lifestyle, and I figured the tension would ramp up as one or more of them suffered the consequences.

Only it never happened. It just dragged on and on, 45 minutes of unlikable, unknowable characters -- we never even find out their names -- getting drunk, acting stupid and swearing up a blue streak. And because of the faux-documentary style of filmmaking, you never really knew which of the people were actors and which of them were just random party kids who were caught on film. They just kept being annoying, screaming into the camera, and generally making asses of themselves in a variety of unfunny ways.

I started fidgeting in my seat and looking for the exit about 25 minutes in, when two of the characters had sex in an SUV on the way from the bar to their hotel. The girl was a willing participant at first, then obviously wanted the guy to stop, but he was being cheered on by his buddies and kept at it (yes, it was as bad as it sounds). But when they got to the hotel, they just stood around in the parking lot as if nothing happened, then moved inside to the after-bar party.

There, it went from bad to worse as we were treated to the characters' inane and profane "conversations" about sex, booze, and whatever else seemed to be on their simple little minds at the time. The last straw for me came when one guy ranted for a couple minutes straight about "butt sex" and how he just didn't understand gays. Believe me, it was a lot more disturbing and ridiculous than it sounds -- I truly can't do it justice.

Other people began walking out about 20 minutes into the film -- including the entire front row, about eight 20-somethings who filed out grimly. We bolted and caught the second half of the Celtics-Lakers game in the food court while we waited for our nephew, Paul, who stayed around to see if it would get better.

Sadly, it didn't. Apparently the "unexpected turn" was that the characters suddenly appeared in an Abu Ghraib-style prison in Iraq, torturing the Iraqi prisoners in the manner depicted in those infamous photos. That had to be the director's "artistic intent" -- to show us that a party can turn into war, and war can turn into a party or some such crap.

Frankly, it didn't work. The first 45 minutes could have been condensed into about 10, and from what Paul said, the last 45 minutes also could have been shortened considerably. Maybe if it had been a 20-minute short, it wouldn't have failed as miserably. But it wasn't, and it did.

The weirdest thing was that we were sitting right behind the director and a few of the actors in the movie. It was the film's world premiere, so maybe they didn't know just how bad it would look. Or maybe they thought it was brilliant -- I don't know. I didn't stick around for the Q&A that followed, nor did about half of the audience by my count.

The thing is, I'm not a prude -- I have no problem with sex or violence or profanity in a movie if there's a purpose for it. And I don't mind it when a director takes a chance or three -- hell, I thoroughly enjoyed Your Name Here, even the part where a stillborn baby came back to life and talked to the main character while covered in mucous membranes. Sure, it was weird, but this is a film festival, after all, so you expect directors to push you to the edge once in awhile.

But nothing in this movie seemed to have any purpose to it. Mrs. Gopher and I both noted that the part we sat through felt exactly like being the designated driver and lone sober person in a group of obnoxious drunks. Only, you'd do that voluntarily for your friends, to ensure that they got home safely. I don't know why a director would expect you to put yourself in the same position for a bunch of strangers who are painted in the most unflattering way possible.

All in all, it was a craptacular evening, although at least now we've got a story to tell when somebody complains about a movie so bad they had to walk out in the middle. We can now join in that conversation. The Verdict: negative-infinity stars.