It’s 2044 A.D. and 99% of the human population has perished from radiation. It’s a testament to how flawed, unfortunate and cliché this movie is that I feel bad for the surviving 1% of the world who had to weather this foggy, nonsensical I, Robot knockoff.

The ROC Corporation (of course) built robots to construct walls and protect humans from radiation, but they soon became our servants, drivers, sexbots. You know, the usual. Gabe Ibanez’s dreary dystopian film borrows liberally from Isaac Asimov and his Three Laws of Robotics, which isn’t a crime (every sci-fi movie takes after the visionary author), but it’s a crime what he does with it. The Pilgrim (ironic name, no?) models are designed with just two protocols: a robot mustn’t harm humans or alter itself. These are “inalterable” rules, but we all know better. The shadowy, corrupt ROC Corporation doesn’t.

Automata’s world is a hodgepodge: the city is dark, noxious and full of garbage and filth (or Blade Runner). It’s all grey hues, as dull as this movie. I love some of the flourishes, to be sure: a gigantic holographic boxing match airs alongside skyscrapers, and if you’re not a sports fan, there’s hologram porn broadcast through the cityscape. I’m a sucker for zephyrs (especially ones with massive Matrix-like cords/entrails plugged into the earth), but they’re just window dressing; a false hope. When the action moves to the canyon addled desert, Automata takes after the Mad Max and A Boy and His Dog school of sci-fi.

I was drawn to this movie because it was a sci-fi movie starring Antonio Banderas. Unfortunately, the two prove to be a colossal mismatch, and not even in an amusing way. Banderas is JackJacq Vaucan, who works for the ROC Corporation (“You’re an insurance agent, not a cop!”), who stumbles upon a model of robot that has been changed, missing the second protocol. When Jacq tries to tell this to ROC’s scientists, they huff and puff and deny the possibility, like they’ve never seen a science fiction movie before: “it’s like trying to put a soap bubble in your pocket,” they say, describing how impossible it would be to manipulate a robot’s “bio-kernel.” WHAT? “Do you get it?” NO. Jacq’s told to leave it alone, and is even promised a transfer to the Ocean by his boss Robert Bold (a wasted Robert Forster). BUT HE CAN’T DO IT (“not bad for an insurance agent” is an actual line uttered amid the clutter). Jacq suspects Clocksmiths are behind it, like we know what those are. Sure, I can assume they’re some fun underground scientist sect that manipulate robots on the sly…but we’re never given any explanations, and Jacq feverishly holds onto their existence like it’s the only plot point in a maelstrom of dunder-headed dystopian dandruff. Oh.

The “idea” of Clocksmiths lead Jacq and Wallace to a sexbot brothel, a tried and true sci-fi tradition. Wallace is a blustery cop who pairs a poncho and sunglasses together for the first time in human history. It’s a get up that only Dylan McDermott can pull off, but that’s the only thing he manages to pull off in the entire movie. When interrogating the Madam, there’s a gut-busting moment where he blurts forced, unnecessary and out of nowhere exposition (“My wife’s dead!”) and then shoots a robot, because that’s all Wallace does. The robot in question is a sex bot named Cleo (as in Cleopatra). The most thought I dedicated to this movie was wondering where Cleo’s holes were. The holes in this movie are far easier to spot.

From there, stuff happens. There’s an inexplicable car accident in a wide open desert, when Jacq and company were in a crowded city moments before. There’s some of the most egregious overacting (McDermott) and underacting (Banderas) in a movie this year. My favorite part is when two kids appear out of nowhere and blow the head off of a seemingly important side character (if anyone can be labeled as important in this dreck), a moment that is never reconciled.

Banderas delivers a barely there performance, his dialogue spoken in perpetual whispers, disastrously coupled with incoherent slurring. Several times I had no idea what he was saying, but it hardly mattered. He seemingly ages 30 years over the course of this movie, like the viewer.

Jacq has a pregnant wife (Birgitte Hjort Sorensen) to force us to care about him (instead of actual characterization), but if it weren’t for her massive belly bump, I might have mistook Rachel for wallpaper. She can’t name the baby without Jacq or make any decision without him, and changes her mind to Jacq’s whims, and never leaves their depressing apartment until coerced.

While Jacq stumbles through the desert in this interminably long-feeling movie, there actually are villainous old men in suits discussing the history of robotics, and what the protocol breaking could mean. The movie is filled with moments pilfered from every robotic sci-fi story you’ve ever seen or read. Perhaps even more criminal than the film’s laundry list of flaws is the general apathy Automata promotes. It’s plodding, boring and incoherent; the kind of movie you wish you had napped through.

Earlier in the movie, we’re told that anyone can dance. It’s just counting, silly. The “payoff” comes in the guise of an uncomfortable scene where Jacq drunkenly teaches Cleo to dance to the oldies tunes anachronistically garbling out of a jukebox, Cleo’s latent sex-bot programming bubbling to the surface in the form of automated sex noises. Anyone can dance, sure, but not everyone can make a movie.

Millennium Entertainment will release AUTOMATA in theaters and OnDemand October 10, 2014.

San Diego Comic-Con is at a tipping point.

This was my second year at Comic-Con, so I’m by no means an expert, but I don’t think anyone would argue with me when I say that SDCC has become bloated, unwieldy, daunting and to be honest, kind of miserable, at times. It’s exhausting, insane and becoming less worth it by the year. There’s enough programming, panels and events to fit over a whole month: if that happened, the result would be much like The Hunger Games. But instead, it’s all squeezed from Wednesday night to Sunday night.

This year, there were innumerable moments when I wished I was in bed and wondering why I was operating on 2 hours sleep to hear god awful fan questions (“Can I hear your Bones laugh, Emily?” THERE ARE 189 EPISODES OF BONES TO REFER TO, WOMAN), and this time I didn’t have to set up or break down a booth and work for months before the event to prepare. It was just me, and what I wanted to do. That should be enough, except it’s impossible to do exactly what you want to do at Comic-Con.

It certainly feels like Comic-Con could very well collapse in on itself, that we’re fast approaching a Ragnarokian implosion, something that might be necessary to bring the event under control. Hollywood loves a good reboot, right?

Comic-Con bills itself as for the fans, but I think that’s a naive way of looking at it. Comic-Con is a massive money-making scheme; it’s not for the fans. It’s for the studios that are using Comic-Con and us to do the marketing and word of mouth for them, taking advantage of our passion and love for these characters. Comic-Con can make or break movies. We are killing ourselves waiting in line to watch trailers a few months before we can pay 17 dollars to see them in theaters, or watch them online for free. It’s pretty silly, yet we keep doing it year after year, and feel like we got a show.

Comic-Con has become a place where Playboy has a Bates Motel-themed party. You can’t get in unless you’re somebody, and San Diego’s Gas Lamp quarter is filled with these parties with exclusive guest lists, open bars and/or covers throughout the week. Unless you’re high ranking press or a celebrity, or you’re lucky enough to win a contest, you’re not cool enough to get in, exactly the kind of thing you’d think Comic-Con shouldn’t be about.

Bless Zachary Levi and NerdHQ, who hosted a free-for-all dance party on Thursday night, and hold panels with the benefits going to a good cause. Felicia Day’s Geek & Sundry turned Jolt ‘n Joes into a lounge and party through Wednesday and Friday, open to anybody. These are the kinds of events that Comic-Con should be about, and the equivalent of Slamdance to Comic-Con’s Sundance. Every year, more and more people flock to NerdHQ instead of the Convention Center, to the point where their panels featuring Nathan Fillion, Stephen Amell and Tatiana Maslany sell out in minutes (so maybe it’s not that accessible, but at least your money goes to Operation Smile rather than 20th Century FOX). This is the future of Comic-Con.

If you asked A., who came all the way from Moscow, her face would light up, as she promised to come back to San Diego again as soon as she could afford it. She got to meet Jamie Bamber of Battlestar Galactica, happy to pay his signing fee (even knowing it was irresponsible), and raved nonstop about John Barrowman’s hilarious panel. She also got to walk in to Hall H to see the hunks of Supernatural on Sunday, when many of us were too tired to give a fuck.

Al. flew all the way from Kitchener, Canada, and spent Friday night in line just to see The Hobbit panel, and left before Marvel and the rest of the fanfare. She came with her Mom and sister, who were happy to sleep in the hotel. I got the sense that she was drawn to San Diego for the experience, and wanted to live it, rather than needing to be in Hall H, or obsessed with the shows and movies many of us spent hours talking about while we waited.

D. has been going to Comic-Con for 8 years straight, ever since she moved to San Diego. She lives and breathes it, and coordinates line waiting with her friends, and was in Hall H every night save Thursday, when she only got in line at 5 AM before the 10 AM panels.

If there’s one upside to the lines, its making friends with who you’re stuck with. You meet people from all over the world, people who share many of the same interests as you, and will also pound mercilessly at you for the shows and movies you haven’t seen (do I really have to watch The 100?). Everyone’s different, but we’re all the same, wondering incessantly if we’re going to get into Ballroom 20 or Hall H, and debating how many in the cast will show up for the panel. Many complained, but still others accepted their fate, and were happy to camp outside.

Everyone is going to have a different experience and that is part of the beauty that remains of Comic-Con. Some people camped out to get into Hall H all four nights, and will do the same until they have crippling back injuries, and that’s worth it to them (many I think do it out of imaginary obligation, wanting to prove how much they care about a movie or show or movie star; the longer you wait in line, the bigger Walking Dead fan you are). Some actually go to San Diego to see their favorite comic book writers and artists. Whoa. Many just like to dress up, as Cosplay is an industry and sub-society on its own (and it’s wonderful). Others just want to take in the spectacle, to be where the party’s at. I wonder how many even get in; there were these two elderly women who somehow got seats in Hall H on Saturday, and looked blankly at me when I told them Marvel was up next (“What’s that?”). Seriously?

I love catching the various pilots, months before they come out, discovering the next hit shows before everyone else. The 12 year old who still resides in me who discovered Kevin Smith movies was delighted to see the man himself rejuvenated creatively, and talking excitedly about his next trilogy of movies. I got goosebumps and teary eyed watching and singing along to Buffy the Vampire Slayer‘s “Once More With Feeling” in a jam-packed room of Whedon worshipers, as Nicholas Brendon ran up to the stage to sing Xander’s songs with the rest of us, something he’s done for the past four years. That is the power and magic of Comic-Con, that still lives and breathes in corners of the Convention Center. You just have to know where to look for it.

Look, I love this stuff. I check EW, io9, Deadline, Variety, et all, ALL DAY, to the detriment of everything else I should be doing. I love following pop culture news, whether it’s casting, sequels, new films, what brand of shoes Oliver Queen will be wearing. But sometimes, enough is enough, and the negative outweighs the positive, and I think that’s what has transpired with Comic-Con.

I love the Marvel Cinematic Universe, but it’s emphasis on the overarching story, and the end credit sequences, and WHAT COMES NEXT, while addictive and something I’m so hard for, puts the onus on release dates, future events, with the story and content in the actual movies almost an after thought, the entree when we prefer the appetizers, dessert and Easter eggs. To be clear, Captain America: The Winter Soldier is the best film in the entire MCU (or right up there with Iron Man and Avengers), and it’s the most recent, but once we’ve seen the end credits, our discussion inevitably leads to what’s coming next, rather than what we just saw. That is Comic-Con in a nutshell; it feels like we’re James Woods perpetually scurrying after another piece of candy.

We’re paying tons of money for advertising. We’re waiting in line to see cast and crew promise vague greatness (“No show is like _____,” “Anything can happen on ______,” “Nobody is safe on ______”) or worse, pat their backs for a season well done (“Oh my god, can we talk about _____?”). We’re dooming our legs to a perpetual state of falling asleep so we can hear everyone toe the line when it comes to spoilers or providing any sort of useful information. “You know as much as I do [nothing],” “That’s up to the writers/producers/conglomerates to share,” “I can’t answer that, can I?” or “You’ll have to tune in to find out.” or “Insert masturbatory phrasing here.” The whole thing is decidedly masturbatory.

There’s the bizarre “we just started shooting/haven’t started shooting yet so we don’t really have any footage” dance that is played at EVERY panel, which is followed by groans and cries of protest, like we actually believe them, every time, until Zack Snyder/whomever relents, smiles/winks and says…”BUT here’s a little something.” Then we freak out, clap and are ready for what’s next, rinse, repeat.

The exhibit hall is a paradise, but that paradise has become overrun, like a Heaven with no standards, as you jostle through crowds to buy overpriced Comic-Con exclusives and things you don’t need, while hoping you don’t piss off Lou Ferrigno. It’s nerd Christmas, if everyone was trying to get their hands on the Turbo Man doll. You can meet Evangeline Lily, but you’ll have to sacrifice the entire day to do it.

George Miller and the Mad Max series is great (and Fury Road looks AWESOME), but his arrival into Hall H, and the reboot of Mad Max was marketed and promoted as something that we owed him for, that we needed to worship this legendary man making his first Comic-Con appearance. Even The Hobbit panel, which rightfully celebrated Peter Jackson and company’s extraordinary achievements with LOTR and The Hobbit trilogy, reeked of self-congratulation.

To get into Hall H on Saturday so I could see George Miller, Peter Jackson and the WB, Legendary and Marvel’s panels, I had to get in line at 9:15 PM the night before. And I barely got in, limping into the auditorium five minutes before the first panel, so I can watch these actors on the big screen (I have a better view of baseball players from the Upper Deck than the actors on the stage, oftentimes), no different than if I was watching the panels in the Playback room later on in the day.

It’s impossible to live up to the hype, to be worth the wait. Forget even the 13 hour over night wait. Many of us have been waiting all year for this, setting up impossible expectations. What do we even want to see? My imagination runs rampant for the entire month preceding it, dreaming up wild scenarios where a CGI’d James Spader struts onstage as Ultron, and if not Benedict Cumberbatch or Joaquin Phoenix as Dr. Strange, that I walk up in the red cloak, announced as the new Sorcerer Supreme. Short of Black Panther, Doctor Strange and Ms. Marvel green-lit, with the stars announced and in person/costume, a small part of me was going to be disappointed by whatever Marvel does, and they consistently put on the best show of all. I was astounded by the awesome Avengers: Age of Ultron footage we did see, and loved seeing the cast of Avengers together on stage, as excited as we all were. It truly is a treasure to see your favorite actors in person, to see how funny, charming, cute, nervous and real they are, to see the other side of a character you consider family and friend. But aside from a Guardians of the Galaxy 2 announcement that hardly felt surprising, the whole proceedings were short on news.

Plus, almost all of the sneak peaks, trailers, gag reels and previews are online as soon as we see it. There’s something to be said for seeing it first in an unparalleled atmosphere, with the stars present, surrounded by people who love and cherish these things as much as you do, but I couldn’t help but feel miffed that I could’ve watched everything save the Avengers footage from the comfort of my bedroom. And even the latter could be seen if I wanted to support the scumbags who record grainy footage on their phone/camera and post it on YouTube. I realize I sound like a cranky old man, especially to those who have never been to Comic-Con, but sometimes the fiction is better than the reality.

But I’m a sucker, and if I’m lucky enough to get press access again next year, I’ll be doing this stressful dance again, because I still feel like I’ll be missing something if I don’t. But will I? Even so, I’m going to do it a lot differently. I think I can say goodbye to Hall H, and follow along on Twitter and YouTube like the rest of the world, while getting to see some of the smaller movies and TV shows before they get into Hall H, like Sleepy Hollow, Orphan Black, Intruders, Vikings and Outlander the past couple of years. Or maybe I’ll even go to some comic book panels. What a radical idea.

It’s Saturday. Hall H. I made it. Don’t want to talk about the ordeal.

Chris Hardwick is moderating, as Marty McFly. Yeah, that’s a great omen.

We startin’ with Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. Shiiit. We get a brief intro with some gritty concept art.

Zack Snyder comes to the stage. Shooting now…have “teeny little thing” to show us. Gross.

What do we get? We get a bulked up, beefy Batman, with LED eye balls, very DKR style, turning on the bat signal on top of the rainy Gotham city. Then we see the Bat signal up into the rainy, dark Gotham skyline, with Superman staring back at him, his eyes glowing red. He’s pissed.

Then Ben Affleck, Henry Cavill and Gal Gadot come out, wave, look badass. Then we see the clip again, and the stars and Snyder disappear.

Oh also, they revealed Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman, which I somehow missed at the time:

Next up…JUPITER ASCENDING

Channing Tatum to the stage to talk about Jupiter Ascending. Tatum will walk on the floor in a mask, says he’ll be Chewbacca. Hardwick suggested he take his clothes off and do Magic Mike cosplay.

Then we get an extended batshit crazy trailer, with a TON going on. So many ships, aliens, so much action. The dreadnought-y ship in particular looks incredible. Channing mentions how wacky the Watchowski brothers are and what weird things they did, and it’s clear everything is happening in this movie, for better or for worse. I’ll say I’m more excited to see it now than I was before, but that’s probably the collective euphoria of us all being here.

MAD MAX!

Charlize Theron is shooting in South Africa, but does an apology video intro, talking about how she won the lottery to work with George Miller and work on this movie. Then we get a Mad Max revue of the old trilogy, trumpeting George Miller, and telling us to welcome the director to the stage.

We do get to see a quick nugget of Fury Road, with tons of vehicles, drums, and massive rocks in the way of a very large, sandy procession. Looks sweet.

It came off fairly arrogant, but he can do that, and he melts us when he admits this is his first comic-con, and Chris Hardwick photographs him in front of us all to show to his family.

Fury Road didn’t have a script, it had 3,500 storyboards, much like a comic book. Not a lot of dialogue in the movie; they only speak when they have to. That’s pretty awesome.

Takes place 45 years in the future; like Westerns, very “spare.” Miller loves wrecking cars.

There’s a Mel Gibson joke about how he literally turned into Mad Max.

George Miller revisited Mad Max because he couldn’t get the story out of his head. Also helped for Tom Hardy to come along.

Compares Tom Hardy to a big wild animal: don’t know what he’s doing next.

How has George Miller’s life experience since the last movies informed the new movie? Miller almost doesn’t remember how he made the first movies, working off instinct and gut.

FOOTAGE: We get a very long trailer that displays a beautiful, visually arresting film. Endless number of vehicles, car crashes, Tom Hardy in a mask (as usual), Charlize with black makeup on half her face and perhaps a prosthetic arm, Nicholas Hoult being crazy, a white-haired big teethed villain who looks terrifying. There’s a behemoth of a tornado. Tons of sand. Looks great.

HERE IT IS:

Apparently this is the movie that looks as close to what he imagined in his head.

The film is a chase, and closest to Mad Max 2: Road Warrior in style and content.

Fury Road comes out in May 2015, and looks worth the 30 year wait.

Immortan Joe is played by Hugh Keays-Byrne, who was Toecutter in the original films.

Hardwick cedes the stage to something cooler than he is. Hall H is the highlight of his year, and will be back. Farewell Chris!

Hobbit: Battle of Five Armies is up next. We get a clip of all of the movies, and finish with Stephen Colbert in Laketown garb, as one of the Bard’s many spies in the city.

AND…Stephen Colbert is moderating the panel, in his LOTR costume. It’s clear he’s a massive geek for the books and Middle-Earth, and remarks that he wishes he could show video of this to his thirteen year old self.

Colbert unleashes a wonderful soliloquy about Peter Jackson and the first set of movies and how it surpassed all expectations. His only complaint was that the movies were too short.

Clip time. And it’s an incredible never before seen set of blooper reel, with Star Wars references, Colbert’s cut scene in the film, a Ian McKellan/Gandalf strip tease and dance with some white tighties that is probably the best thing the world has ever seen. We see a lot of Ian flubbing lines, Martin Freeman having trouble with keys. It’s hilarious.

While no Martin Freeman or Ian McKellan, pretty much everyone else is here: Lee Pace, PJ, Philippa Boyens, Evangeline Lily, Luke Evans, Elijah Wood, Benedict Cumberbatch, Orlando Bloom and Cate Blanchett. Oh and Andy Serkis.

Peter Jackson is still working on the movie.

Many have never met, because scenes were separate.

Originally pitched LOTR as two movies: The Hobbit as one, and LOTR has another. Ha.

Colbert points out that Jackson owes them six more movies, becaue he stretched Hobbit to three.

Colbert to Wood: Why don’t you age? Elijah was 18 when he made Fellowship, and as Colbert asserts, is still 18.

Jackson comments that probably everyone in the room knows the ending of Hobbit. Happy to kill off some characters. Films are progressively dark.

What do they wish they could’ve included? Old Forest and Tom Bombadil. Didn’t have casting ideas, but apparently Cate Blanchett was always on their wish list for Galadriel, which is a less cool nugget.

Oh, Graham McTavis/Dwalin is here too. He argues the whole journey is about finding a female dwarf. Feels outnumbered by elven compatriots on the panel. Graham is 6’3”. Some dwarf.

Luke knew how to shoot a bow before he got the role, but got intense when he arrived on set.

Apparently Cate played Bard the Bowman in a high school production of The Hobbit. PJ promises Galadriel loses it in the next one, and gets to kick Sauron’s ass.

Stephen Colbert and Philippa Boyens did a trivia duel, and Colbert won. Colbert’s wife told Philippa afterward that it was the best day of his life. Colbert unleashes the Goldberry poem and is slaying.

When Colbert, wife and two kids went to New Zealand, felt like he should never leave.

Dominic Monaghan, Elijah and Orlando had e-mail chain a couple days ago discussing getting New Zealand residency.

Elijah Wood has still never read the books. Colbert asks if he knows how to read. He did read The Hobbit as a kid.

When Evangeline Lily read the books as a kid, she was in love with the story and loves Tolkien. She stopped Return of the King 25 pages shy because she never wanted the story to end, and she still hasn’t read those pages. Kinda awesome. Colbert: You’ve never looked more attractive. Totally.

Serkis thought he was going to go back to normal acting after 2003, and then Jackson asked him to play King Kong. Changed everything. Colbert calls Serkis the Lon Chaney of the digital age, which is a fantastic reference/good call.

Then we get the world premiere of the teaser trailer, and it’s wonderful. Has a great song (Enya?), some Galadriel/Gandalf lovin’, Smaug destruction, the armies coming together. It’s now released:

Apparently Cate didn’t wear underwear, because that’s the elf thing to do.

Hoping to do a LOTR museum some day, been holding onto the stuff/costumes. Um, cool. Jackson has many of the sets in warehouses, like Misty Mountains, Minas Tirith, etc. Wants people to see them some day.

Lily: I know how sexy a big, pointy ear can be.

Fan question time, which means Button Lady asks Benedict to say Button Lady in his Smaug voice. He rules, but still, ask better things.

There’s an awful question about where they would go in Comic-Con as they’re characters. Andy Serkis saves it because he answers it in character, debating between Smeagol and Gollum, revealing that he wants to go back stage with Stephen Colbert and figure out what’s in his cloak. It’s bliss.

Truly dumb questions right now.

Apparently there are a few scenes that have STILL not been seen on the Extended Edition LOTR movies.

FAN CONTEST: Get trip to New Zealand to see Middle-Earth, the movie before everyone else with Peter Jackson. Um, sign up: TheHobbitFanContest.com. 75 winners, with a companion. Announce two winners on the spot right now, so down to 73.

After screening the trailer again, Chris Hardwick arrives to take another photo, this time with Stephen Colbert. His twitter is gonna explode.