The Electric State

Rust, Neon, and the Ghosts of Yesterday

It’s funny how movies about the end of the world often feel like they’re trying to build a new one. I sat down to watch *The Electric State* expecting the usual Russo brothers sprawl—that relentless, hyper-kinetic pacing that feels like a camera lens trying to outrun its own shutter speed. And yet, for all the inevitable CGI machinery and the grand scale of a world gone sideways, the film kept pulling me back into something much smaller, quieter, and frankly, more confused. It’s a road movie, really. A story about a girl, a brother she’s trying to find, and a landscape that feels like a discarded 1990s Sunday morning.



The film hangs its hat on the aesthetic of Simon Stålenhag—that specific, haunting intersection of rural decay and impossible, looming technology. The Russos have done something interesting here; they haven’t tried to make this look "cool." The robots aren't sleek or terrifyingly efficient. They look like old household appliances that decided to go for a walk. They’re dented, dusty, and strangely lonely. It captures a kind of analog sadness that’s rare in modern blockbusters, where everything is usually rendered with a high-gloss, digital sheen. Here, the world feels lived-in, like a basement filled with toys you forgot you owned, only now those toys are sentient and abandoned.

But the film lives or dies on Millie Bobby Brown’s shoulders. After years of playing figures of immense, telekinetic power, there’s a deliberate exhaustion to her performance here that I found oddly grounding. She plays Michelle with a defensive slouch, her eyes constantly scanning the horizon not for monsters, but for something that might just let her be. Watch the way she handles the quiet moments with her robot companion; there’s a tentative tenderness in her fingers, a hesitation that suggests she’s terrified to get close to anything that can’t promise her it’ll last. It’s a restrained performance, and I’m thankful for it. It keeps the movie from drifting off into pure spectacle.



There’s a scene about halfway through that I’ve been replaying in my head. They’re stopped at a gas station that time—and society—has clearly forgotten. It’s not an action sequence. It’s just the four of them (or is it three, plus the machine?) huddled in the back of a truck, sharing space. The dialogue isn't about saving the world or unraveling the mystery of the "electric state." It’s just about how they’re going to get to the next town. You see Chris Pratt—who plays the smuggler with a charming, slightly desperate edge—actually drop the swagger for a second. He looks at his own hands, maybe realizing he doesn’t have a plan. It’s a small, fragile beat. In a movie about giant, hulking machines, it’s these little pockets of human uncertainty that actually land.

Critics have often pointed out that the Russos struggle to let a scene breathe, and while I suspect some might find the pacing here a bit lumpy, I see it as a choice. Or maybe, a failure of impulse control. Either way, the film’s best moments are when it dares to be bored.



Ke Huy Quan adds a layer of genuine warmth to the ensemble that feels essential. Given his own career arc—that long, long wait for the right role—there is a palpable sense of sincerity in his presence. He doesn't need to do much to convey the weight of a life spent in the margins. He just *is*. It’s a masterclass in how to be present in a frame without demanding the audience's full attention at every second.

I walked away from *The Electric State* feeling a little bit like the characters: a bit tired, a bit dusty, and perhaps surprisingly fond of the broken things I’d spent two hours with. It isn't perfect. The plot gets tangled in its own wires, and there are moments where the sheer scale of the world swallows the people within it. But there is a pulse here. It’s a movie that, despite its high-concept trappings, recognizes that the most important thing we can do in a falling world is just keep driving, hoping the next town looks a little more like home than the last one did.