I could have got my priorities in order, given Patch Adams a miss and devoted my morning to that long-postponed appointment with the dentist. I fucking should have, too.

I mean no harm to Robin Williams when I state that his death would be a gift from the gods, for his own good as well as ours - he still possesses some lingering shreds of cred as a result of his contribution to a few fine films, shreds which will be irreparably shot to shards if he lives to lend his name to another monstrosity like Patch Adams.

I reluctantly immersed myself in the allegedly heart-warming tale (based, I was disturbed to hear, on a true story) of Patch Adams, an inmate of a mental institution, who despite his blithering idiocy, seems to think he has a gift for making people laugh and thus curing their mental ills. Williams breaks the land speed record for zany hyperactivity throughout, with much in the way of red noses and silly voices, while his character sets about establishing his own mental home and incurs the wrath of the strait-laced medical establishment thanks to his unorthodox methods. If it sounds like a nightmare, it's actually worse.

Monica Potter disgraces herself in what passes for the love-interest role (this is Robin Williams, remember) while the morals and ethics of the film are truly psychotic. To illustrate: one scene features a depressed elderly inmate who is suddenly liberated from her private hell when Patch encourages her to fulfil a lifelong dream by swimming in a tub of noodles.

Not content to be merely shit-stupid, the film has a scuzzily cynical undercurrent to it which it isn't even honest enough to wear on its sleeve - in the hospital scenes, the film-makers have chosen to show real cancer-stricken children playing themselves, laughing dutifully at Williams' theatrics (as kids are entitled to do).

The fact that Patch Adams' makers held no compuction about using seriously ill children to advertise its 'charm' and boost its box-office prospects is a truly shocking indictment, which testifies more eloquently to the crassness and vileness at the very heart of this accursed film than any amount of my bitter ramblings could hope to do. I'd like to put this one behind me, needless to say. But it's easier said than done.

Back in a minute. I think I'm going to be sick.