As smoke began to pour out of my ears after about ten minutes of this horrendous piece of rhino phlegm, I began hoping -- nay, praying -- that every time someone in the audience laughed or cried in response to this film, a huge, sharp metal rod would eject from the theater seat and skewer that person like a kabob. Thus, the Idiot Kabobber. And while this may seem unnecessarily cruel, a quick trip into the afterlife is truly a gift for somebody capable of enjoying this film, because such a person would clearly have nothing positive to contribute to the good of life here on Earth.

Like an elephant with a cactus stuck in its rectum, I'm just a bit peeved that Chris Columbus is still allowed to make movies. Even once you set aside the intolerably mediocre films like "Home Alone 2" and "Mrs. Doubtfire," Chris stands apart as a man who has managed to push the envelope of modern cinema's very definition of "bad" with such saccharine soul-sucking abominations as "Nine Months" and "Only the Lonely." The War Crimes Tribunal should convene a panel try Columbus for crimes against humanity. If schmaltz and lowbrow melodrama were a toxin, this would be the equivalent of being sprayed by a firehose full of sarin.

Robin Williams plays Andrew Martin, a robot who discovers his individuality and spends the next two hundred years trying to be acknowledged as human, first by his owner (Sam Neill), then the eye of his affection, Little Miss/Portia (Embeth Davidtz), then the whole damn world. Columbus is so pedantic about every emotional moment in the film, you want to rip your eyeballs out and throw them at the screen. Andrew's long, never-ending (and I mean never-ending) journey to become human has all the emotional resonance of regurgitating stomach acid. I could have had a more significant emotional experience watching a blank screen.