Bicentennial Man stars Robin Williams as a robot who lives for 200 years. The pacing of the film is such that it sometimes feels as if he's doing it in real time.

The story begins five years from now, when Sam Neill, the cardigan-wrapped head of a rich suburban family, surprises his brood with the latest in household gadgets: a silver-plated robot that walks, talks and takes care of their every household need.

We're aware even at this early stage that we're a long way from reality here, because when Sam opens the box, the robot's computer works immediately. A real one would have required 25 yards of cabling and several visits from an engineer.

Sam is one of those people with more money than sense. His car, as well as his robot, is capable of talking to him, so his wife and children are rendered almost completely unnecessary. His home, meanwhile, is as sterile as a new box of Band-Aid, and about as interesting.

Robin Williams, encased entirely in metal, as if someone has forgotten to unpack him, begins to lumber through his daily schedule of cooking and cleaning. The family christens him Andrew when their youngest daughter, known to us only as Little Miss, mispronounces android. Andrew comes complete with a 'personality control' which can, he says, be set on or off. His is off, but the trouble is, he develops a personality anyway. It's a programming glitch that sets him instantly apart from his adopted family and which may, according to his manufacturer, cause him to run amok.

As it transpires, Andrew is too subservient to run anywhere, preferring to spend his time carving exquisite sculptures out of wood. Nevertheless, after several years in the family's employ, he develops a compelling desire to break free of their confines.

Sam, who has become visibly older by now (he has taken to wearing two cardigans instead of just the one) accedes to Andrew's request, but cautions the family: "You can't invest your emotions in a machine." That, however, is exactly what the film asks us to do, as with the passing years Andrew assumes ever more human qualities.

When he sets himself the task of trying to cure illness in humans, a surfeit of sentimentality - typical of so many of Williams' recent vehicles - sets in, and it all becomes a touch maudlin. That's a shame, because the original premise of a single life spanning four generations, as written down in short form by the Russian science fiction author Isaac Asimov, is not without fascination. Stepmom director Chris Columbus stretches Andrew's journey to such an extent, though, that at times he's just trudging through treacle.

The story's crossroads comes when Andrew, having now shed his silver armour, falls for Portia (Embeth Davidtz), the grown-up granddaughter of the Little Miss whose house he entered all those years ago.

"Can I get you a drink?" she asks him. "Sorry," replies Andrew. "I have no stomach."

He's not the only one.

David Behrens

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