The few reminders that the movie is set in the 1990s, as opposed to a prolonged, never-ending ’80s, could also do with some fact checking. Viewers who weren’t even alive at the time (and even ones who, like me, are not American) know Bill Clinton wasn’t inaugurated until 1993 — right out of the gate, in the opening montage, we see him presiding over a war that took place at some point in 1991. It’s a small detail, but one that summates all the movie’s flaws by minute five; it’s a film that cares more about triggering nostalgic flashbacks in audiences than about accurately building out a sci-fi world worth emotionally investing in. If a movie this far-fetched can’t make you suspend disbelief before the narrative has even been established, it’s dead on arrival.

As for the mascots themselves, you will likely find yourself frantically Googling to find out why such hideous monstrosities of design can be found in a movie with a $320 million price tag, and why such garish CGI was used instead of practical effects (I refuse to believe that would have inflated the budget, if brought to life with the thrifty inventiveness of, say, a vintage Tim Burton). Maybe the only redeeming factor is that some of the voice actors — especially a delightfully hammy Brian Cox as baseball mascot Popfly — sound like they’re having fun in the booth, and I can only hope some of that budget went toward something positive, like them getting a new kitchen fitted.

But there’s no imagination to how any of the ensemble is utilized, with both physical and vocal presences cast to type, unable to elevate the material due to how little of interest is on the page. It’s not just the archetypal heroes on their generic quest, but also their nemeses, with both Stanley Tucci and Giancarlo Esposito asleep at the wheel in unimaginative villain roles they’ve both played to far better effect before. In the case of Esposito, I feel casting directors need to enforce a decade-long ban on him being hired in bad guy roles; his recent turn as a charismatic, sleazy Hollywood agent in “MaXXXine” was a reminder of just how versatile an actor he can be when not being asked to retread his “Breaking Bad” performance under a different character name.

I’ve always maintained that the worst kind of bad movies aren’t the likes of “Madame Web” or “Megalopolis” (to name two recent examples) — as those at least are entertaining, even if they don’t function in the ways their respective creators intended. No, “The Electric State” is a soulless exercise in the same vein as a “Borderlands” or an “Argylle,” a joyless affair that feels cobbled together by studio executives who are trying so desperately hard to manufacture a crowd-pleasing success by replicating formulaic genre beats and characterizations, that they never once stop to ask why anybody would care about the story they’re trying to tell. Joe and Anthony Russo have made charming blockbusters before, but here, they’re both thinking with that executive mindset, following an algorithmic, overfamiliar storytelling formula to the point of feeling like ChatGPT should demand the DGA should revoke their credits.

“The Electric State” enters limited theatrical release on March 7, and hits Netflix on March 14.