If I were asked to nominate one film that symbolized the end of Western civilization, I would strongly consider “The Real Cancun” (New Line). Instead of a murky plot and undeveloped characters that have clouded the water of modern legitimate film, the audience is force-fed neither — all that is left behind is the one-dimensional frame of mind that is universally shared by the 16 people that consume the 90 minutes that is this movie.

“The Real Cancun” (as opposed to … the fake one) surrounds the idea of placing bottom-feeder lowlives and spoiled brats into the same massive condo for one week in Cancun, Mexico. The primal idea is to watch them all get drunk and get down with their bad selves — it’s “The Real World” with sex, nudity and without the profanity bleeped out. Award a single point to the film for accomplishing its own goal.

None of this is really saying I didn’t enjoy myself while watching it. There are many hilarious moments, but they’re all funny for the wrong reasons. I found myself laughing at the stupidity of these idiots, and not necessarily because anything with taste was sparking a laugh (e.g. Why was I laughing at someone peeing on another person’s leg?).

Honestly, it was a relatively good time until I ran out of popcorn. Then, I had to figure out a way to pick the popcorn out of my teeth with my tongue instead of with my fingers. After I did that, as you can imagine, it wasn’t really fun anymore.

Salvaging aspects of the movie are a few of the characters, er, real people highlighting their corresponding scenes. The socially awkward Alan provides laughs in just about every scene he’s in, probably because he most shamelessly makes an ass out himself during that time.

Casey, perhaps the world’s best example of the definition “walking loser,” thinks of himself as a babe magnet, God’s gift and sexiest man alive all rolled into one, casually asks just about every girl he sees if they want to make out. I’m not kidding.

The best scene of the entire movie is when one of the more unpretty “real Cancunees” sings an ode to the ’80s, chiming lines such as, “You’d sell your soul to be back in 1983.” This, of course, was the most personal moment for me, because after all, I was born in that great year.

Other than that, “The Real Cancun” delivers some pretty shallow depictions.

Alan, the token dork of the group, has obviously never experienced anything because he hasn’t touched alcohol. Midway through the film, all the hot girls force him to drink. After this, of course, he has fun the rest of the time and meets the girl of his dreams to boot.

If anything, this guy should be the spokesman for Al-Anon. He should serve as an example to anyone, especially those who have watched this group of flattened personalities for an hour and a half, as a guy who emotes, “If this is where the party is, I’m glad I’m not there.”

Watching “The Real Cancun” starkly reminded me of another bomb named “Gladiator.” The public crowds around the Coliseum ogling over the latest gruesome kill, mirrored with brilliance in this movie with a wet T-shirt contest. This is where about 300 guys with erections all drool over twin sisters who shake their near-naked groove things for a couple of minutes.

The sad thing is, those topless girls seem to misunderstand what a wet T-shirt contest actually is. This should tell the audience something about the people they’re watching — not to mention this scene is about as disturbing as watching the walking-in-on-my-parents-factor sex scene with Goldie Hawn and Warren Beatty in “Town and Country.”

I get the feeling this movie was made around the idea that these people are going to meet and within a week’s amount of time, there would be some sort of life-changing affirmation that will better each and every one of them.

This is why the last 10 minutes of the movie surrounds the idea of two characters at each other’s throats because one of them has cheated on the other.

Breasts with a Brain is glad because she didn’t “hook up” with suave Penis with Legs because she has the world’s greatest guy for her back home. Penis with Legs doesn’t understand why Breasts with a Brain is mad. I was waiting for his self-loving defense that he’s got an awesome body (due to his parading around sans clothing) as to why she should cut him some slack.

I’m glad the girl realized the mistake she supposedly wasn’t going to make only after he was caught with another girl. Otherwise, since she has the greatest guy in the world back home, why would she even consider bumping uglies with another guy?

“The Real Cancun” isn’t really a movie (and certainly not a documentary). There’s no point and no distinguishable characteristic among the people in the “study.” The only conclusion that I come to is due to its target audience; it’s not really worth the time or energy it takes to comment on it.

Other than the confirmation that this is a barrage of losers who don’t know where they’re going or what they’re doing, not much convinces me that this movie is worth the money you’re going to spend on it.

This movie acts as more of a cautionary tale. By the time it was over, I was glad I’ve been madly in love with the same girl for two years. I didn’t need a couple of breasts swinging in my face nor a few shots of tequila to figure it out, either.

For the 16 numbnuts in “The Real Cancun,” they should take it from me: Get a life.