The Electric State: Everything You Need to Know Before Watching
When Netflix dropped The Electric State in
March 2025, it did more than just add another sci-fi title to its swelling
catalogue; it reignited a cultural conversation about technology, humanity, and
the future we’re hurtling toward.
Directed by Marvel veterans Anthony and Joe Russo, and
adapted from Simon Stålenhag's moody graphic novel, the film was touted as a
genre-defining event. The expectations were towering—and so was the price tag,
with an eye-watering reported budget of $320 million, making it one of the most
expensive films ever released on a streaming platform.
And yet, as the initial reviews rolled in, many critics
sharpened their pens. "Top-dollar tedium," declared The Times;
Paste went further, calling it "the most banal way you can spend
$320 million."
According to Rotten Tomatoes, only 15% of
critics offered positive reviews, and Metacritic echoed the sentiment
with a grim score of 29/100. But here lies the paradox: despite savage
critiques,
The Electric State debuted as Netflix’s
number one film globally, proving once again that audience appetite can
outweigh critical disdain.
The Electric State – Plot Summary
Set in a dystopian version of 1990s America, The
Electric State tells the story of Michelle Greene (Millie Bobby Brown),
a resilient teenage girl navigating a society forever altered by war and
technology.
After a brutal war between humans and artificial
intelligences, humanity won—but at a cost. A powerful tech conglomerate called Sentre,
led by Ethan Skate (Stanley Tucci), developed a system called Neurocaster,
which allows humans to upload their consciousness into drones. This technology
becomes widely adopted, with many choosing to live virtually, leaving their
physical bodies in semi-vegetative states while robotic drones dominate the
workforce.
Michelle lives with an abusive foster parent, Ted (Jason
Alexander), after supposedly losing her parents and younger brother Christopher
in a tragic car crash. Traumatized and disconnected from this bleak world, she
rejects the societal norm of virtual learning through Neurocasters.
Everything changes when a small, quirky robot named Cosmo
finds her. Though he can only communicate using basic phrases and gestures,
Cosmo is revealed to be connected to Christopher—whose consciousness is somehow
still alive.
Convinced her brother survived, Michelle decides to find
him, beginning a journey across the fractured American landscape.
Along the way, she meets John D. Keats (Chris
Pratt), a former soldier with a painful past, and Herman (Anthony
Mackie), a shape-shifting robot. They travel through forbidden zones populated
by banished robots, eventually finding refuge among a resistance group led by a
mysterious figure named Mr. Peanut (Woody Harrelson).
The group encounters Dr. Amherst (Ke Huy
Quan), a scientist who once worked with Sentre. Amherst reveals that
Christopher’s brilliant mind had been used—without consent—to power the very
Neurocaster technology that gave humans the edge in the war. He explains that
Christopher, after being presumed brain-dead, had been kept alive by Sentre and
exploited for his neurological capabilities.
When Christopher briefly awakened from his coma, Amherst
built a digital escape route for his mind.
Just as the truth comes to light, Sentre’s military forces,
led by Colonel Bradbury (Giancarlo Esposito), ambush the
sanctuary. Christopher is recaptured, the haven is destroyed, and Dr. Amherst
is killed. Disillusioned by Sentre’s ruthlessness, Bradbury switches sides.
In a daring infiltration, Michelle, Keats, and Herman storm
Sentre’s heavily fortified headquarters. While robots led by Mr. Peanut battle
Skate’s army of drones, Michelle finds Christopher in a comatose state, his
mind imprisoned in the Neurocaster network.
Inside the virtual realm, she reunites with her brother.
Christopher, conscious but weary, pleads to be released from his digital
prison. Heartbroken but respectful of his wishes, Michelle disconnects
him—ending his life but freeing his mind.
Meanwhile, the rebellion culminates in Skate’s defeat. With
the Neurocaster system shut down, millions are freed from virtual bondage.
Skate is arrested, and the world begins the slow process of healing.
In the film’s final moments, Michelle broadcasts a powerful
message to the world, exposing the truth behind Neurocaster and inviting
survivors to rebuild a peaceful life in the exclusion zone.
The film ends with a haunting yet hopeful image: Cosmo’s
seemingly lifeless body discarded in a junkyard… suddenly stirs. This suggests
that a piece of Christopher’s consciousness may still remain—within the robot
he once guided.
A Cautionary Tale in a Digitized World
In a time when movies are increasingly made to be
half-watched while doing laundry—as The Hollywood Reporter cynically
noted—the film's success raises a crucial question: what does it mean to truly
connect with a story in the streaming age?
As someone who has followed the Russo Brothers' evolution
since their Community days, and who appreciates both quiet speculative
fiction and blockbuster cinema, I found The Electric State to be a bold,
if imperfect, synthesis of ambition and reflection.
Despite the blistering takedowns, it’s clear the film
attempted something meaningful. Millie Bobby Brown plays Michelle Greene, a
teen caught in a post-apocalyptic, robot-ravaged America, searching for her
lost brother with the help of a sentient robot named Cosmo.
Her performance, while divisive, anchors a story that
wrestles with themes of grief, identity, and technological dependence. The
film's visual language borrows heavily from Stålenhag's surreal,
retro-futuristic aesthetic—a blend of 1990s nostalgia and digital decay—but
adds its own cinematic flavor.
According to the BBC, Netflix’s approach to content
creation prioritizes algorithmic success over critical acclaim, with projects
like Red Notice (2021) and Atlas (2024) following a similar
trajectory: low critic scores, high viewer numbers.
The Electric State,
however, had more to prove, not just because of its budget, but because it
carried the weight of a beloved source material. As The
Guardian put it, the film is "a cross between AI:
Artificial Intelligence and Toy Story," and while that
sounds contradictory, it encapsulates the Russo Brothers' ambitious blend of
melancholy and marketability.
That said, the production journey wasn’t without hurdles.
Originally acquired by Universal Pictures in 2020, the rights later moved to
Netflix in 2022. Filming began in 2022 under the working title Stormwind
in Atlanta, but tragedy struck when a crew member died off-set, briefly pausing
production.
The emotional undercurrent of loss and searching, both in
the plot and in real life, added a strangely poignant layer to the film’s
release.
Then there’s the marketing. A teaser dropped at New York
Comic Con in 2024, sparking mixed reactions. Fans of the graphic novel
expressed dismay at the film’s divergence from the source, with many arguing
that the adaptation missed the point.
The original book—muted, haunting, introspective—was
replaced by a louder, more action-oriented narrative. But as Anthony Russo
stated, the goal was never a literal adaptation: "We used the artwork as
inspiration to tell our own story."
Still, one cannot ignore the irony. In a film critiquing the
escapism and dangers of digital overstimulation, the experience of watching it
on Netflix—often distractedly, often alone—mirrors the very dystopia it
portrays. Characters in The Electric State wear neural headsets
to live out alternative realities while their bodies languish in real life. As
a viewer, I couldn't help but reflect on our collective willingness to do the
same with streaming content.
The film also marks a reunion of sorts. Alan Silvestri, who
scored Avengers: Endgame, returned to compose the hauntingly nostalgic
soundtrack.
Chris Pratt, Ke Huy Quan, and Stanley Tucci round out a cast
designed for maximum recognition, even if their roles feel more like
touchstones than transformative performances. In fact, Variety
criticized the film's emotional arc as "a reductive, rote conflict between
humankind and robots."
Yet, buried beneath the blockbuster gloss is a meditation on
what it means to be human. Cosmo, voiced by Alan Tudyk, is as much a mirror as
he is a machine—a vessel for Michelle's grief and longing. The exclusion zone
they journey through is not just a setting, but a metaphor for the emotional
terrain we avoid in our hyperconnected lives.
To dismiss The Electric State as a soulless spectacle
is to miss its ambition. It may stumble in execution, but it reaches for
something larger: a story about memory, identity, and the blurred boundaries
between human and machine. As Joe Russo told The
Hollywood Reporter, "People still believe in ambition."
And ambition, flawed as it may be, is the engine of storytelling.
Streaming success is no longer a validation of artistic
merit, but rather an indicator of cultural reach. Whether or not The
Electric State achieves longevity remains to be seen. But in the
pantheon of 21st-century sci-fi, it has etched its name—not as a masterpiece,
but as a mirror.
And maybe that's enough.