It has been 15 years since a film by James L. Brooks graced the big screen (How Do You Know), so from the outset, a new movie from him is good news. Given the long absence, let’s recap: Terms of Endearment and Broadcast News are modern classics that still captivate. As Good as It Gets and Spanglish are terrific dramedies of the kind that are now barely made—even if certain well-intentioned optics now feel démodé. Yet is his dramaturgy—which once balanced drama and comedy with such effectiveness, filled with complex, imperfect characters, and original stories brimming with optimism and hope—truly a thing of the past?

Ella McCay arrives in a cinematic landscape entirely different from the one that once elevated the American director. Sure, we don’t expect Brooks to suddenly make a radically different kind of film than what we associate with his talent. Even so, the level of misfire on display is genuinely surprising. It is not really a case of cinema having changed enough to render Brooks wholly obsolete, but rather of a director of his stature failing to immerse himself in the surrounding world to say something valuable and worthwhile about how much (or how little) we have changed since his last outing.

Brooks opts instead for a retread built upon an initial statement both questionable and tone-deaf. A narrator informs us that the story is set in 2008, in an America where—despite economic recession—people still liked each other. The soothing and sympathetic old-lady voice belongs to Julie Kavner (the recognizable voice behind Marge Simpson). This vague disclaimer already feels reductionist regarding the political turmoil that defines our present, but it becomes downright ridiculous and childish in what ultimately turns out to be a story set within the inevitably political realm of electoral campaigns, fundraising, and transitions of power in an unnamed U.S. state. (Let’s say Rhode Island, since the movie was mostly filmed there.)

Ella McCay is played by Emma Mackey, an inevitably self-distracting choice when the protagonist’s name sounds phonetically almost identical to that of the real actress playing her. Meta-joke or coincidence? Either way, one can only imagine the syntactic nightmare this poses for copy editors and PR machinery. McCay—an idealistic lawyer who, at 34, is the lieutenant governor of her home state—juggles bureaucracy and filibustering to get policies passed that might improve people’s lives (like dental insurance for children). She is quirky and proactive, sometimes over-energized, and so forward that she risks alienating others. Meanwhile, the charismatic Governor Bill (Albert Brooks) spends hours calling voters (and donors), delegating everything that does not require his great talent for public relations. But a change of plans arises when the governor accepts a position in the presidential cabinet (presumably Obama’s), and Ella becomes governor.

Problems and opposition appear immediately, and her term lasts only three days. Thus, the movie, as narrated by her loyal secretary Estelle (Kavner), who admits she is not objective because she is “nuts about her,” is an account of those three days in office. It is also a psychological x-ray of Ella: her mother died of cancer, she was sidelined by her father, then raised by her aunt, and has ended up as the heroine of a pseudo-Capra movie narrated by someone who has not actually seen one but is trying to recall how someone else once described it. If you thought the film might take the opportunity to offer a sharp, sincere observation about the difference in expectations and pressures placed on women in American politics, then you are thinking too much. In any case, you are probably thinking differently than Brooks did when writing this movie: without any notion grounded in historical, political, or even emotional reality.

So, we have Ella McCay navigating marital troubles with Ryan (Jack Lowden), her useless husband and teenage sweetheart, who pushes for a role that almost reads as becoming co-governor. Or Ella trying to get ahead of public opinion by revealing that an apartment meant for work was used for personal reasons (having sex with her husband). Or Ella dodging her deadbeat father (Woody Harrelson), who wants her forgiveness so he can date his “new love of his life,” who will not accept him until his family forgives him. Or Ella finding refuge and a place where she will always be heard at the home of Aunt Helen (Jamie Lee Curtis). There are flashbacks to Ella’s adolescence with terrible wigs and lighting tricks that distract far away from their purpose, warnings about how her “marriage is a ticking bomb,” and a story that ends up tangled with undercooked subplots and side characters.

Some moments recall the brilliance of Brooks: a breakup conversation, some shared screams held back until the perfect moment to let them out, a pile of BlackBerrys vibrating with messages and calls outside a meeting where phones are not allowed. A piece of political advice near the end almost justifies the price of admission, but for the most part Ella McCay feels like it was written by an extraterrestrial being who has consumed too much media from the 1990s and 2000s and, from that alone, attempts to re-create how the human species behaves. Though harmless, it is unfunny and redefines bad screenwriting as emotional gibberish. Maybe there is cult-like potential entertainment here. We have not had an undeniable turkey this endearing from a seasoned filmmaker in a long time.