The Electric State, a Netflix adaptation of a graphic novel, is one of the most expensive movies ever made

Netflix has consistently spared no expense on its lineup of exclusive blockbusters, even if it means raising subscription fees again. To continually attract users, Netflix is willing to invest massive amounts of capital in producing high-quality content. This strategy highlights the company's commitment to staying competitive in the streaming landscape.

Netflix's latest heavy-hitting release is "The Electric State," a film adapted from Simon Stålenhag's dystopian graphic novel, costing $320 million and ranking among the most expensive movies ever made. Such a large investment also reflects Netflix's emphasis and expectations for this work. The scale of the production underscores the importance Netflix places on adapting visually rich and conceptually complex stories.

The film's directors, Joe and Anthony Russo, are no strangers to Hollywood mega-productions. "Avengers: Infinity War" and "Avengers: Endgame" totaled a staggering $1 billion, and these films demonstrated the Russo brothers' exceptional talent for finding a clear path through intricate plots, actor schedules, CGI battles, and merchandising deals. Their ability to manage large-scale projects is unparalleled in Hollywood. This experience is crucial for handling the complexities of "The Electric State."

"The Electric State" also brings together many of the old "Avengers" crew. Chris Pratt ("Guardians of the Galaxy") plays another Han Solo iteration, with his robot sidekick voiced by Anthony Mackie ("Captain America: Brave New World"). Writers Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely, editor Jeffrey Ford, and composer Alan Silvestri also collaborated with the Russo brothers on "Endgame." The reunion of this team aims to recreate the success and synergy of their previous collaborations.

However, even with the reassembled elite team behind the record-breaking superhero film and equipped with unlimited funding, "The Electric State" still suffocates within the Russo brothers' narrow creative limitations. The film fails to fully showcase the depth and connotation of the original work. This creative constraint ultimately undermines the potential of the adaptation.

Stålenhag's mysterious approach to world-building is immediately abandoned by an opening information-dump montage: an alternate 90s timeline in which animatronic robots rebel against their human masters, leading to all-out war. The machines are about to win—until tech CEO Ethan Skeith (Stanley Tucci) invents an army of humanoid drones (controlled via neural interfaces) that turns the tide. This sets the stage for a technologically advanced yet troubled society.

Set years after the war, "The Electric State" sees surviving robots confined to a walled-off area in New Mexico called the "Q Zone," and Skeith's technology is widely used in the form of "neurocasters": bulky helmets that sequester brainwaves into remote work and VR leisure, leaving users drooling and slack-jawed. While convenient, this technology also comes with its downsides and societal implications.

Millie Bobby Brown stars as Michelle, a rebellious teenager whose family died in a car crash during the war. At home, her foster father mostly rules her in drone form; at school, she resists the mandatory use of neurocasters. She feels dissatisfied with the status quo and yearns to find the truth. Her rebellious nature drives her to seek answers beyond the surface.

When the consciousness of her genius younger brother Christopher (Woody Norman; "C'mon C'mon") suddenly reappears in the form of a robot mascot from their favorite cartoon, she embarks on a road trip to the Q Zone—meeting Pratt's rogue smuggler Keitz along the way—to uncover the truth behind his apparent death. Michelle's journey is fraught with danger and the unknown, highlighting her determination and courage.

The sooner the film abandons its Gen-X nostalgia, the better. "The Electric State" is less a sci-fi adventure and more a saccharine nostalgia trip; the film pays homage to a bygone American era—strip malls and sugary treats—punctuated by treacly rock-anthem covers. This nostalgic sentiment may not resonate with all viewers, potentially alienating those unfamiliar with or uninterested in that era.

Nowhere is the film's consumerist fervor more off-putting than in the prominent placement of real-life peanut-butter mascot Mr. Peanut, who first appears negotiating a peace treaty with Bill Clinton—an absurd visual gag that grows less funny the more screen time he gets. Voiced by Woody Harrelson, he's the leader of the animatronic robot collective living within the Q Zone, and inexplicably becomes the film's primary voice of reason and compassion. This juxtaposition of commercialism and social commentary creates a bizarre and unsettling effect.

There are other characters in the Russo brothers' new film, but none can crawl out from the shadow cast by this civil-rights leader shaped like a walking, talking, creepy advertising meme. This characterization feels out of place and jarring within the film's narrative. The prominence of such a figure detracts from the overall seriousness and thematic depth.

Furthermore, what is there to say about Chris Pratt's turn as the reluctant masculine hero other than that he's visibly too old to be doing this schtick anymore? On the other hand, Ke Huy Quan ("Everything Everywhere All at Once") is sorely underutilized in his post-Oscar career—and stuck playing a cryptic scientist working for Skeith with only a few minutes of screen time. Both are wearing the least convincing wigs $320 million can buy. The casting choices and character development leave much to be desired.

When "The Electric State" recreates Stålenhag's famous imagery, it briefly flickers to life, particularly those gigantic, rusted mechanical colossi in misty fields or the parasitic helmets embedded in people's faces. The family-friendly blockbuster understandably omits the more unsettling implications of its world, and the despairing, melancholic tone of the Swedish artist's work, but begs the question of why adapt the graphic novel in the first place. The film's style and themes diverge significantly from the source material.

From their early experimental films to their pitch-perfect genre parodies on "Community," it's clear that the Russo brothers harbor some affection for the cinematic medium. However, their work over the past decade suggests that they have a greater passion for distilling movies into content. Their films increasingly challenge how flat and colorless an action blockbuster can be, and how overworked CGI artists can be. They seem more inclined to produce streamlined, commercial works.

They fancy themselves independent filmmakers, yet they use their extraordinary capital, goodwill, and creativity to cook up differently flavored, generic, direct-to-streaming leftovers. Their works lack the individuality and depth of independent films. This approach prioritizes mass appeal over artistic expression.

"The Electric State" doesn't just suggest that robots can have souls—it makes a convincing argument that its filmmakers are still searching for theirs. This film, perhaps, also reflects the filmmakers' own struggles and confusion. The lack of a distinct artistic vision ultimately diminishes the film's impact.