Starring Jamie Foxx and Quvenzhané Wallis. Rated G.

Maybe tomorrow an interesting version of Annie can be made with black leads giving a timely twist to the tale of a spunky orphan who inspires the president to tax the rich to help the poor. (Did you know that was the original Annie’s ending?) Until then, we’re stuck with this Annie, an aggressively superficial fantasy about happy-go-lucky foster kids, overworked rich folks, and bitter also-rans who just need someone to love. Brought to you by Jay-Z and the Pinkett-Smiths, of all people.

The first scene hints at something more. After a redheaded Annie tap-dances in front of her class, the teacher brings up “Annie B” (Beasts of the Southern Wild’s Quvenzhané Wallis). She leads the class in a chant reflecting how FDR—the president she’s kidsplaining—closed the gap between rich and poor. It’s a neat moment that showcases both Wallis’s confidence and the film’s optimistic vision of cheerfully supportive children. (In a real New York City classroom, you can bet your bottom dollar this chant would devolve into dirty raps.)

Politics are scrapped after that. What’s worse, while a gap between fantasy and reality is expected in any musical, this film keeps flubbing the heart-tugging moments that are supposed to balance that out. Wallis’s self-assurance means Annie never seems forlorn or wanting for anything, really. Jamie Foxx’s billionaire mayoral candidate—who takes in Annie to soften his image—keeps cracking jokes whenever the mood gets heavy. They both seem glib. And Cameron Diaz plays the alcoholic foster mom with such screechiness it’s easier to imagine her head exploding than her conscience ever bothering her.

The musical numbers are Auto-Tuned, funkified shadows of their original selves. That may be because these actors can’t sing (or in Foxx’s case, don’t realize their soul groove isn’t appropriate), but it doesn’t help the fake vibe. Rihanna, Mila Kunis, and Ashton Kutcher make cameos, if you need more reasons to stay away.