“Alexander” is audience retardant, promising an exciting tale, then flashing a three-hour stop sign.

It is an epically bad film – a film that will stand as a testament that big budgets and huge stars cannot guarantee you a decent opening weekend.

What makes “Alexander” so frustrating is its misdirection of a ready-made, fabulous Hollywood story. Think about it – a real life story of “one man” conquering the entire world, only to become bitterly obsessed with his goals of conquest and watch his world crumble before his eyes.

What could make “Alexander” an unforgettable film is an attempt at answering some very important questions. Why did Alexander desire to march his armies around the globe? Why did he change from a caring, sensitive man to a conquering tyrant capable of killing his own brethren?

What director Oliver Stone gives us is a lesson from a fourth grade world history book. We learn about where and when Alexander was born, which nations he conquered and what they looked like on an ancient map. We also learn Greeks spoke English in broken Irish accents. Alexander’s mother (Angelina Jolie) is the exception of course, having just arrived home from a weekend at Count Dracula’s hideaway in Transylvania.

While the acting is dreadful and the linguistic work even worse, the true failure of “Alexander” is its lack of anything important to say or feel. Its horribly misplaced musical score (Vangelis) sounds every bit as synthetic as the work from “Chariots of Fire.”

This lack of feeling occurs because of a drastic plot hole early in the film. From the opening, we see a young Alexander witness horrible acts, like his father’s attempted rape of his mother. Later, we watch him wrestling other shirtless young boys, being trained to be tough and to take pain.

Eventually, Alexander grows into stud Colin Farrell, and later, we witness a confrontation between him and his father, King Philip, in a crowded Greek bathhouse. The feminine, reserved Alexander challenges his drunken father. He stands up for his mistreated mother, threatening the life of the father-in-law to Philip’s second wife. The timid Alexander walks from the room, teary eyed after being called a “bastard child,” “arrogant brat” and many other 19th century problem-child phrases.

Suddenly, a cut – King Alexander is leading the Greek army into battle in Persia, the next step in his conquest for world domination. I’m not compressing the plot here, a gaping hole is left in the most interesting part of this saga. How did the timid, repressed Alexander become a mighty King, capable of conquering the entire world? This thought is much more interesting than any battle sword swing or any steamy shot of Farrell’s genitals.

Stone feels the most important new lessons to be learned from Alexander consist of his sexual preferences. That bisexuality was so prominent in Greek culture was news to me, but that Stone found it necessary to make homosexuality such a spectacle is perplexing. We live in an age where straight men take their everyday leisure tips from an entourage of flamboyantly gay men on a network called “Bravo.” I think the majority of Americans are over any shock value that comes from men making out with men.

Three hours later, we’re left with another bloated, big-budget epic that concentrates more on making love to itself than its audience. While there are some interesting moments in the film’s last act, the most important moment occurs in its last few minutes.

Old Ptolemy (Anthony Hopkins), existing only to tell Alexander’s story to a Greek stenographer, brushes off his three-hours of nonsensical rambling that makes the film’s narration.

“Oh, throw all that away,” he says to the shirtless, seductive male stenographer. “It’s just an old fool’s rubbish.”

“Alexander” just found its new tagline.