Inept, meandering and anticlimactic, “Fifty Shades Freed” does at least one thing that’s extraordinary: It brings the “Fifty Shades” series to an end.

I know this movie isn’t for me, and this trilogy wasn’t for me, and the books by E.L. James weren’t for me. And if this is for you, I don’t mean to kink-shame you for the good time you’ll have at the movies this weekend. If this is your idea of fun, God bless you and God bless America.

It’s just ... It’s just that this is one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen.

This dead-eyed romance. This lifeless procession of random plot points cast against opulent backdrops. This supposedly transgressive slice of sexy escapism that can’t hide the weak beat of its conservative heart.

This film is punishment, and, alas, I lacked the requisite masochistic tendencies to properly enjoy myself.

“Fifty Shades Freed” picks up where the previous film left off: in the middle of a story about nothing.

Book publisher Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) and emotionally damaged billionaire Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan) have left the Red Room of Pain to walk down the aisle.

After their storybook wedding, we’re greeted with a montage of Christian and Anastasia’s globe-trotting honeymoon. The film, even more than its predecessors, marinates in the never-ending vacation of the extremely rich. These movies couldn’t care less about sex. They’re turned on by luxury. By private jets and scenic views. By country estates and the brand new Audi.

Between bouts of (mostly) boring sex, the newlyweds are just enjoying their vast wealth, which (the film is quick to point out) they have earned through merit and hard work.

When they’re not shopping or schtupping, Anastasia and Christian are typically bickering about something stupid.

They are clearly not suited to each other, if they’re suited for anyone at all. He’s an obsessive control freak; she’s a pudding-brained basic who wants to tame him. They’re never honest with each other, and they handle their conflicts with the emotional maturity of children — mediocre children, at that.

As one example, Anastasia goes out for after-work drinks with a friend without telling Christian. His reaction is a little weird. When she gets home, he handcuffs her to the wall and uses their top-drawer sex toy to make a moral point.

Totally normal, healthy relationship.

They fight and make up and fight and make up and go to Aspen and fight and make up. They talk about having kids, and they smear Ben and Jerry’s ice cream on each other’s naked bodies in a nauseating display of dairy-foreplay product-placement that will haunt me to my dying day.

When it’s not horrific or unintentionally hilarious, “Fifty Shades Freed” is mostly just dull. A lot of anodyne pop songs I don’t know the names of played over montages I’ve already forgotten. There’s a B-plot involving Anastasia’s stalker that the film is sometimes interested in.

Fifteen hours later, “Fifty Shades Freed” climaxes with a recap of scenes from the previous two movies. As though the Grey/Steele romance were one of the grandest tales in all of cinema. As if we’ve just finished watching “The Godfather” trilogy or something.

Johnson and Dornan, so good in everything but these films, trudge glumly through the motions of their final “Fifty Shades” like they can’t wait to escape and do something — anything — else. Dornan, in particular, gives a performance so wooden that he’s frequently upstaged by the product placement (dairy and otherwise). I’ve seen hostage videos with line readings that felt less coerced.

I am happy that the stars (and director James Foley, who made the great “Glengarry Glen Ross,” for goodness sake), are finally free of this series.

But first, in a final bit of torture, “Fifty Shades Freed” lays all its cards on the table with a series-defining denouement.

These movies, we learn, were never about the intoxicating pleasures of the forbidden. They were about the basic comforts of family, parenthood and high-end kitchen appliances. And so a series that started with sex spanking ends with the white-hot thrill of ... domestic security?

But of course these are all just minor quibbles. This movie did everything I wanted it to do. It promised it would end. It ended. The end.

This complete guide of local music, movies, dining and entertainment will have you weekend ready

* I understand and agree that registration on or use of this site constitutes agreement to its user agreement and privacy policy.