Emilio Estevez called his film “Bobby” “a call to action,” but few know the true story behind the Hollywood prince’s desire to deify JFK’s lil bro…

It started on what passes for a dark and stormy night in Los Angeles — some scattered haze and a sudden drop in temperature to a chilly 68 degrees. Hollywood’s Elite Democratic Guard were worried about the impending 2008 election. True, the reign of George W. Bush would finally end, but they had no candidate to rally behind. Hillary had too-early bowed down to the must-go-to-war mantra and Obama remained putty-like, too much an unknown in comparison to be a sure thing.

It was Estevez, suddenly shot through with the powderkeg anger of Andy Clark, the jock he played in 1985’s seminal “The Breakfast Club,” finally rebelling against his dad’s warnings not to “blow his

ride,” yes, Estevez who revealed his epiphany to his entourage: Borrow the time-traveling Delorian from “Back To the Future” and save Bobby Kennedy, the late Senator and would-be heir to the Camelot throne who was gunned down in 1968.

Unfortunately for fellow enthused dinner guests William H. Macy, Sharon Stone, Helen Hunt, Laurence Fishburne, Heather Graham, Anthony Hopkins, Harry Belafonte, Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher, once they picked up the hovercraft from Michael J. Fox’s house, someone let Lindsay Lohan drive, and the magical flux capacitor got smashed quicker than Mary Kate Olsen ending a 10-day cigarette fast with a minute-long keg stand.

So Estevez and his friends banded together to make a movie that would reanimate the specter of lil’ Kennedy, if not his actual ghastly corpse.

“I believe it was one of the most important events of the 20th century,” Estevez told a British newspaper about the assassination of RFK. “I believe we went into a free fall after that. We became cynical and resigned. The killing of Bobby was the death of decency and the death of hope, the death of manners, the death of grace and formality. We unravelled culturally and spiritually after his death.”

Unfortunately, the movie unravels right from the start, with about 100 unwieldy subplots to keep track of, like an elementary school pastiche about the 60s. Look, there’s the struggling Mexican busboy. He’s going to tell us how bad racism was. Look, there’s the sweet doll who’s going to marry her friend to keep him from going to Vietnam. She’s going to tell us how bad the draft was. Look, here’s a hippie. He’s going to drop acid with the campaign workers and, well, they’re not going to tell us anything, but they’re going to stand in front of an open window naked and watch Huckleberry Hound projected on the clouds of their hallucinogenic stupor. Oh yeah, and look, here’s our golden boy, Robert Kennedy. Everyone’s got their hopes pinned on him, and if he goes, we’re useless.

“Bobby” sets itself up to be a movie about hope, and Estevez admits as much in interviews, encouraging the younger generation to get out there! Make a difference! Riot in the streets! Which is all fine and dandy except for the fact that the message depends on the younger generation forgetting history. Forgetting Jim Morrison, preaching in song to the baby boomers, the largest generation, during the most volatile time in history as they came of age, telling them “They got the guns but we got the numbers.” Yet as soon as a charismatic leader died, all those masses were useless. Unorganized. They sank into despair, bought bell bottoms, had kids, did aerobics, and, with a sigh, decided that saving the world was now the next generation’s responsibility.

It’s not up to Bobby, or Barack, or even (especially!) Lindsay Lohan to lead the charge. Ghandi said you must be the change you wish to see in the world. But Estevez’ contribution is a film basically saying, “Oops, our generation couldn’t get it together to make things differently. Here you go, kids. Enjoy.” And pawning off responsibility to the people who have inherited the mistakes of the last 40 years is no change at all. At least, not one in any forward direction — like the film, it looks backwards, and can’t see anything after that at all.

Ashley O’Dell reviews movies that aren’t in the theater anymore.