Digging through the pile of screenplays that Jim Carrey passed on, Adam Sandler came across Click and figured it was just clever enough to be ruined with the addition of the comedian's patented brand of low-brow dimbulb humor. (Seriously, count how many times the movie re-uses a joke about dogs humping things. It's freakin' embarrassing.) In the hands of a filmmaker with even the slightest iota of talent (as opposed to, say, Frank Coraci), Click could have been a perfectly entertaining little sci-fi comedy. But since Coraci is on Sandler's list of "go-to directors" (a roster that includes names like Dennis Dugan, Steven Brill, and Peter Segal, for some ungodly reason), the Click we've been presented with feels like a fairly clever sci-fi comedy that's been overtaken by children obsessed with farts, boobs, and horny dogs.

Sandler plays vanilla architect Michael Newman, a typically harried and stressed-out professional who never misses an opportunity to disappoint his adoring wife and button-cute kids. But after a goofy visit to the "beyond" section of Bed, Bath & Beyond (yes, they're jamming alleged jokes into the product placement nowadays) Michael becomes the owner of a super-magical remote control. The device allows Mike to skip through life's boring parts, rewind back through memory lane, and pause when he feels compelled to fart in his boss' face. Truly, the first two-thirds of Click is a ceaseless carousel of fart jokes, carnally aroused dogs, and more product placement than you'll find in five random movies.

Yeah, that's the kind of humor level we're dealing with here -- which normally would be par for the Sandler course. The guy's never met a one-note concept he couldn't beat into submission through sheer force of flatulence. So after about 85 minutes of gimmicky special-effects gags, limp humor, and painfully push-button "character moments," we're expecting the flick to start wrapping itself up with just a few more urine jokes and crotch-kicks -- but instead of the end credits popping up and allowing us to silently scold ourselves for having dropped another 12 bucks on an Adam Sandler movie, Click (without warning) turns into one of the most shamelessly maudlin and unconvincingly "heartfelt" Capra ripoffs ever made.

So the equation is this: Spend 85 minutes mildly chuckling as limp schtick is paraded across the screen -- and then spend 30 minutes getting all weepy-eyed as Sandler and Coraci try to turn an extended SNL skit into something in possession of an actual heart and soul. It's borderline insulting to think that we're meant to find any of this "wistfulness" even remotely sincere or effective, but there it is all the same. The movie doesn't even have the sense or courage to simply stick to the low-rent vaudeville material; that the filmmakers feel they've earned any sense of emotional poignancy is an absolute farce.

The very pretty Kate Beckinsale wanders through Sandler's wake, careful to never take the spotlight away from the camera-hogging superstar, while the immortal Christopher Walken is given distressingly little to do. And if there's one universal rule of comedy it's this: When you get Christopher Walken in your movie, you better give the guy some funny material to work with. Against all odds, Click somehow manages to make even Christopher Walken seem tiresome, and for that I dislike the flick even more.

The special effects are pretty cool, so there's something nice I can say. Walken does earn a few stray giggles, the kiddies are cute, and Beckinsale's a doll. Other than that, Click pretty much stinks across the board. When it's not being hopelessly unfunny, it's being shamelessly sappy. It's a movie that shoots lazily for Capraesque and settles happily for Crapesque.