$320 million. Three hundred and twenty million dollars. That is the budget of Anthony and Joe Russo’s latest post-Avengers: Endgame blockbuster, The Electric State, an adaptation of Simon Stålenhag’s graphic novel of the same name. $320 million for a direct-to-streaming piece of “content” that will never see the light of day in a cinema beyond promotional screenings, nor will it ever make a profit. How can it make its money back through Netflix viewings? How can such a “studio” sustain profitability when its current model is making them lose money? How will they ever see this $320 million ever again?
Truth be told, we all know Netflix will raise prices in the coming year to palliate the loss that such a movie will bring them, but here’s a better question: who wants to spend $320 million on a film in an era where spending more than $100 million is risky? In the post-COVID world we live in, the moviegoing experience is at an inflection point: big-budget tent poles are flopping, independent films are flopping, and the artistic value of cinema is about to be sucked out by Artificial Intelligence, which, for some inexplicable reason, many studio-heads are incredibly bullish on?
Even Joe Russo himself is tantalized at the prospect of introducing generative AI in Hollywood, stating in 2023:
“Potentially, what you could do with AI is obviously use it to engineer storytelling and change storytelling. So you have a constantly evolving story, either in a game or in a movie or a TV show. You could walk into your house and save the AI on your streaming platform. ‘Hey, I want a movie starring my photoreal avatar and Marilyn Monroe’s photoreal avatar. I want it to be a rom-com because I’ve had a rough day,’ and it renders a very competent story with dialogue that mimics your voice. It mimics your voice, and suddenly, now you have a rom-com starring you that’s 90 minutes long. So you can curate your story specifically to you.”
Everything about this sentence sounds very grim. We’re giving unfettered money to people who vehemently despise what cinema stands for and have no individual personality or style with the projects they release (their most-known efforts, within the MCU, are directed by committee, with a well-oiled visual development department basically capturing what the movie will feel and look like before the cameras roll), while independent filmmakers with an actual voice and purpose like Brady Corbet and Cord Jefferson are struggling to make ends meet. I continuously think about what Jefferson said at the Oscars, which, even if you didn’t care about American Fiction, still speaks truth to power in how terrible of a situation the Hollywood machine is currently in, spending exorbitant amounts of money for projects that aren’t even worth half the price tag.
In his cri-de-coeur for more creativity (and financial stability) within the studio system, Jefferson said the following:
“I understand that this is a risk-averse industry. I get it. But $200 million movies are also a risk, you know. And it doesn’t always work out, but you take the risk anyway. And instead of making one $200 million movie, try making twenty $10 million movies or fifty $4 million movies. […] I felt so much joy making this movie, and I want other people to experience that joy. And they are out there, I promise you. The next Martin Scorsese is out there. The next Greta is out there, both Gretas. The next Christopher Nolan is out there, I promise you. They just want a shot, and we can give them one.”
We should heed Jefferson’s advice and give a shot to the next generation of filmmakers who care about the medium and its perennity, but Hollywood doesn’t care. They only care about numbers and profitability, which is why we’ve let people like The Russo Brothers have a blank check to turn one of the most potent image books of the last decade into soulless junk simply because their MCU efforts are some of the highest-grossing films of all time. No one will deny the financial juggernauts that were (their latest movie is struggling to break even) the Marvel Cinematic Universe at its prime. But the Russos weren’t incremental to the successes of these films. That much is clear. It’s always been Kevin Feige’s large vision of a shared universe that was patiently built over the course of ten years to culminate in a thrilling, large-stakes finale that felt like the curtain call of a cinematic television series the likes of which no one will be able to replicate, at least in our lifetimes.
When I watched The Electric State on the big screen (yes, I had the full experience, unlike 99% of the population who will see one of the most expensive movies of all time at home), I began to disintegrate at the halfway point of its painstakingly slow 128-minute runtime. I wondered if my current career trajectory was worth it when I’m forced to sit through such horrendous, listless slop that I wouldn’t even want my worst enemy to watch. It feels intense to say this, but I take no pleasure, dear reader, in lambasting an adaptation of one of the most incredible works of science fiction I’ve read in a very long time. A movie that, in the hands of filmmakers who understand what Stålenhag is capturing, would’ve been something worth watching, but the Russos possess no formal skills or knowledge in understanding what made this book stand the test of time beyond its potent imagery.
The Electric State is an empty spectacle
The Russos’ reputation as storied blockbuster filmmakers was already on a tightrope in the wake of the critical failures that were Cherry and The Gray Man, which is probably why they went back to Kevin Feige to direct the next two installments in the Avengers franchise: Doomsday and Secret Wars. They desperately need a win, but the prospect of Robert Downey Jr. returning to the MCU as Dr. Doom has ultimately nixed any excitement I might’ve had for their “grand” return to by-committee filmmaking. Will they find the same enjoyment they had making these large-scale blockbusters through the Marvel sandbox again? Time will tell, but if anything, The Electric State should warn Kevin Feige that perhaps they’re not up to the task of bringing such a multiversal story to life after failing to find their singular voice with over $600 million they wasted on three forgettable, mind-numbingly dull “movies.”
From a visual perspective, The Electric State may not be as headache-inducing as The Gray Man, but Stephen F. Windon’s cinematography still lacks any form of personality or wonder that made the book the tantalizing object it still is. Each image is either blandly composed through the Russos’ signature grey sludge with washed colors that prevent its frames from reaching the impeccable detail of Stålenhag’s drawings, or unabashedly copies the textures of another, better film. Ready Player One? Check. E.T. The Extraterrestrial? Absolutely. Guardians of the Galaxy? With Chris Pratt doing yet another imitation of Star-Lord without the complexity he brought to the character in James Gunn’s trilogy. You got it!
It even gets worse when composer Alan Silvestri doesn’t even hide the fact that he’s stealing from himself, using obvious cues from some of his greatest hits, from Back to the Future to Avengers: Endgame, and even a sprinkle of John Williams whimsy from E.T. to the mix. After all, the Russos and screenwriters Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely desperately want this movie to have the look and feel of an Amblin production, such as the aforementioned E.T. and Ready Player One. They get the basics of the aesthetic impulses moderately correct, but their images pale compared to the ones that Steven Spielberg composes, which leaves an indelible mark on us decades after we’ve first seen it. The Russos’ approach to their grand-scale compositions is more in line with how generative AI “engineers storytelling” and creates something that desperately tries to convince us is honest, but feels so devoid of any real human feeling behind the lens that it becomes nothing more than an empty spectacle.
There’s a reason why a film like E.T. stands the test of time and The Electric State will not: Spielberg makes art designed to tickle the imagination and make kids – both young and old – dream again, while the Russos are in the business of making “content” to act as a cog in an ever-expanding algorithm that shows no signs of stabilizing. These movies aren’t meant to be enjoyed in a nourishing way but are quickly consumed while being distracted by a bevy of things away from our television screen, and are immediately forgotten until the next title from the streamer forces us to do the same thing.
Spending $320 million on “content” is reckless and irresponsible, and even more so when the finished product hates the very notion of “artistic value” within cinema. Having a lead star that doesn’t even watch movies to carry its 128 minutes doesn’t feel like a problem in this grossly unimaginative hackwork because everything starts with how the Russos view Stålenhag’s graphic novel as mere fodder to create an entire commercial IP behind it, just as they failed in doing so with The Gray Man and Prime Video’s Citadel.
The Electric State strips the artistry that made the novel worth seeking out
The dense political text of Stålenhag’s graphic novel is completely gone, and is instead replaced by a deepfaked Bill Clinton signing a peace treaty with Mr. Peanut (Woody Harrelson) and a Joe Russo cameo to describe the world-ending war between humans and sentient robots. As audience members, we grasp nothing else of importance from this five-minute opening montage, which sets the tone that this MCU-ified adaptation will not be worth viewing. The basic gist of the picture has to do with the aftermath of the war, with most of the robots exterminated and tech mogul Ethan Skate (Stanley Tucci) trapping the human race with his neural device that makes society escape the bleak harshness of the real world.
But not Michelle (Millie Bobby Brown), our protagonist, who is too good for these types of devices, unlike the brainwashed generation who doesn’t ask questions and prefer to obey the orders of their superiors to fill Ethan Skate’s pockets. That alone should bring about an interesting commentary, especially considering that she lives in a household where her foster parent (played by Jason Alexander) is plugged inside his “virtual reality” 24/7. Yet, the Russos never scratch beyond the surface of their ideas. They would instead switch gears to a road trip movie where Michelle attempts to find her brother, Christopher (Woody Norman), who was thought dead after her family perished in a car accident.
One night, Christopher, repurposed inside the robot of his favorite cartoon character, Cosmo, shows up at Michelle’s doorstep and tells her he is still alive. This prompts Michelle to escape her foster home with him and find the person who knows what happened to him: Dr. Amherst (played by Ke Huy Quan, unfortunately, stuck in another bad film after this year’s Love Hurts), who experimented on Christopher for Ethan’s gain.
On the road, she meets Keats (Chris Pratt), an ex-soldier who has developed a kinship with a robot named Herman (Anthony Mackie) and operates an underground store that sells rare human goods (notably, the Big Mouth Billy Bass toy).
There’s one problem, however. Skate wants Michelle and Keats eliminated and hires bounty hunter Marshall Bradbury (Giancarlo Esposito), dubbed the “Butcher of Schenectady,” to hunt them down. Bradbury has made his mark in society by exterminating robots by any means necessary. However, he is unaware that Christopher’s human conscience is inside the machine that follows Michelle and Keats around. Will he have a redemption arc, or will the Russos not care about the revolving door of supporting characters they introduce with some of the worst wigs seen since Ricky Ko’s Out of the Shadow? I’ll let you figure out exactly where we land.
The core message of this Russo brothers film is admirable but never deepened
No one will disagree with the filmmaker’s message that screens are killing our precious time on this planet and robbing us of tangible connections with real people. As an introvert myself, working from home via Zoom and speaking to people on group chats, Messenger, and Instagram is a piece of cake, but in the real world, it seems like the biggest challenge. The Electric State urges us to challenge ourselves, step out from the comforts of our home, and speak to people face-to-face. That’s what being human is all about, and that’s what we, as human beings, should aspire to do with the resources we have, especially after the COVID-19 pandemic has robbed us of moments we could’ve spent in person and formed deeper connections.
This message would’ve been better had the film felt, in any way, human and retained the core aspect of Stålenhag’s novel instead of recreating its post-apocalyptic visuals without a shred of artistry. Windon, a usually great action cinematographer who gave life to the Fast & Furious franchise ever since collaborating with Justin Lin on Fast Five, shoots the large-scale battles of The Electric State with such a lethargic feel that none of the admittedly detailed robot designs seem alive and three-dimensional.
Most of them are only there to throw in Avengers-styled quips to lighten the larger-than-life stakes at play. The robots are comedic machines. Pratt does his Star-Lord shtick again, and it wastes the vocal talents of Harrelson, Mackie, Brian Cox, Hank Azaria, Jenny Slate, Alan Tudyk, Colman Domingo, and even what could’ve been a fun turn for NFL veteran Rob Gronkowski. With such a great voice cast, you would think someone would do something at least moderately palatable. However, the shoddily written material they’re given does them virtually no favors, as good as some of these actors consistently are (even Domingo, who just gave a magisterial vocal performance in Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man as Norman Osborn).
There’s no depth or emotional complexity to this adaptation. Everything is a comedy in the world of the Russo brothers, even the stark images they’ve retained from Stålenhag’s world. There’s always an Easter egg to something that will make anyone who understands what’s in front of them point and clap at a robot reading a West Coast Avengers comic or an orchestral cover of Oasis’ “Wonderwall” during a dramatic sequence. As expansive as Stålenhag’s drawings are, plunging the readers into a desolate hellscape with finite amounts of hope, none of it is translated to its fullest extent in the movie, despite its hefty price-tag that allows its array of well-mounted but meaningless action to at least look semi-competent.
Meaningless because we form no connection with the one-dimensional Michelle, the quip-machine Keats, and his merry band of jokey sidekicks. Millie Bobby Brown has proven how talented she can be in the Enola Holmes franchise, but is a complete shell of zero emotional range as Michelle, whether in her (non)-connection with Christopher or in the paint-by-numbers friendship she eventually forms with Keats. Brown would fare much better as an actor if she took the job seriously enough away from roles that do her little favors, such as in the horrendous Damsel, or working with filmmakers who look at cinema as a purely commercial endeavor designed only to titillate people who like to have keys jingled at their faces, and not the artform it is.
Final thoughts on The Electric State, now streaming on Netflix
The entirety of The Electric State is exactly that: key jangling. It’s one visual (or musical) reference after the next. One joke after the next. One digital action sequence after the next. The action scene always stops in the middle to tell a joke and wraps up at the end with another joke. On and on and on, with no emotional heft, no legitimate stakes, and, worse of all, no artistry. A book full of life and creativity, with images that stick with you long after you’ve read it, is turned into gobbledygook by two directors who have lost touch with what cinema is all about: an act of human creation, bound to last in the annals of society for decades, if not centuries, to come.
Spielberg’s work will always be remembered. The only thing we’ll talk about when mentioning the Russos will always be the record they held for a while with Infinity War and Endgame until James Cameron took his rightful place back on the throne as the real King of the box office and blockbuster entertainment. And he’ll do it again this Christmas, showing everyone what a real piece of populist cinema should strive to achieve beyond the meaningless numbers people care too much about.
What did you think about The Electric State or the Russo Brothers’ other recent work? Let us know on social media @mycosmiccircus or on Bluesky @TheCosmicCircus.com!
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