rated PG-13

There’s a fairly modern scene—well, at least as modern as lasers—which we all know, because we’ve seen it many times. In it, a team is attempting to execute the heist of a precious object, but first they have to navigate a long hallway, which, at first blush, seems empty and clear. One of the team is clever enough to pull out an aerosol can and spray it in the air, revealing a delicate web of laser beams the length of the hallway (In some versions, the laser beams are tripwires for some kind of booby trap, in others they actually burn you, whatever). Fortunately, one member of the team is a really hot girl wearing almost nothing so she can gymnast-flip her way right through the seemingly-impassible web at high speed, high-definition, slow-motion, capturing every flex and contortion of her body as she writhes toward victory.

In the current adaptation of “The Three Musketeers,” the team is comprised of Athos (Matthew Macfadyen), Porthos (Ray Stevenson), Aramis (Luke Evans), and Milady de Winter (Milla Jovovich). The object of desire is a secret plan for a flying warship designed by Leonardo Da Vinci. The lasers are replaced by silk threads delicately strung across the vault’s hallway, set to trigger a powerful array of crossbows hidden behind the walls as Jovovich twirls and vaults her way to sweaty, explosive triumph. If you thought for a moment this might be a delightful modernization of a classic tale, relax—it’s just another example of the absurd creative bankruptcy of Hollywood. This scene is at the very beginning of the movie, and the anachronisms only build from there.

Mysteries abound. If you want to make a movie about airship battles, why call it “The Three Musketeers?” If you want to make a dumb, kinda sexy action fantasy for teenage boys, why set it in 17th century France, which surely they could not care less about? And if you want to adapt the classic Dumas tales about adventure and intrigue in the French court, why on earth wouldn’t you pay some attention to the source material, or at least show the writing in the adaptation some love?

“Death Race,” “Alien Versus Predator,” “Resident Evil,”—director Paul W.S. Anderson, you have caused us nothing but pain. You were even responsible for 1995’s abominable “Mortal Kombat,” for which we can never forgive you since, as his last movie, it left a garish, nauseating vomit stain on the brilliant Raul Julia’s headstone. How the heck are you still finding work, especially in this economy?

That’s the only silver lining here: at least some great actors found work. Matthew Macfadyen jumps to the big screen after years of great television work, including the first few seasons of the excellent BBC series “Spooks”; everybody’s favorite 13th Legionnaire from HBO’s “Rome,” Ray Stevenson, fills his doublet with brutish good humor; Orlando Bloom plays the Duke of Buckingham with sinister aplomb; and “Inglourious Basterds’” delightful devil Christoph Waltz shows up as Cardinal Richelieu. All do their best to look busy, but it’s tough when they haven’t been given anything to do or say.

If you are forced to see this movie and hope to add a little entertainment value by opting to pay more for the 3D version, forget it, as it will just remind you what an unfortunately empty dead-end this technology is. As George W. Bush said, “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice... well, you can’t get fooled again.” While the brain might be tricked for a moment to believe in the illusory depth of the screen, it quickly adapts again and forgets all about it, leaving one with just the sense of watching a movie in a murky pool. The inherent dimness of the medium caused by the polarized light filtering away through your glasses isn’t just a technical limitation, it’s what it looks like as twilight falls on the movie industry.