By now, the studio-as-multiverse that is Marvel has so cluttered up its franchises, timelines, characters and platforms those characers are seen on that only hardcore devotees can come close to keeping it all straight.

God knows Marvel isn’t.

As their pictures drift clear of the debris from the Russo Brothers’ “Avengers” era, one can’t but notice how chintzy Marvel and their Disney paylords have gotten with the supporting players. A lifetime contract for Samuel L. Jackson means no room for any other big “name?”

And there’s that multiverse-driven feeling with the whole genre that maybe comic book movies are running out of things to show us long after they pretty much ran out of things to say.

But there’s something downright fizzy about the hard left turn that “The Marvels” does to this money-minting machine. “Candyman/Little Woods” director Nia DaCosta’s film is lighthearted and sometimes laugh-out-loud funny, with dazzling spaceflight/space-fight effects that raise the bar yet again on such enterprises.

The striking difference between comic book movies directed by men and those directed by women include characters with more compassion and self-reflection, recognizing that violent actions have consequences, an effortless inclusiveness here as well as flawless glam-shot makeup on one and all with special attention paid to flattering midriff-baring attire and nary a hair out of place when the camera rolls.

“Marvels” is still a bit of a muddle, with the usual “It is what it is” story shortcomings and endless over-the-top brawls. But there are moments of playful invention that reminded me of Douglas Adams’ “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”

Visiting a planet where all the beautiful people sing to communicate is a “Glee!” sized showstopper. And the biggest letdown in staying through the credits –as Marvel movies have taught us to do — is realizing that one-time girl singer Brie Larson needed a “dance double” for a hilariously out-of-character waltz.

The “This is a fangirl’s movie” tone is set straight away with new not-quite-Avenger Ms. Marvel, the teen-who-saved-Jersey-City Kamala Khan (Iman Vellani) letting us into her bedroom where her teen “team” “twinsies” fantasies about her idol and role model, Captain Marvel, are in every piece of decor.

But we’ve already seen the other version of the “bangle” bracelet that gives Ms. Marvel her powers acquired by the vengeance-seeking Cree queen Dar-Benn (Zawe Ashton). Something about the way this new threat uses that bangle causes Captain Marvel/Carol Danvers (Larson), her onetime goddaughter-protege-now-astronaut with “powers” Monica Rambeau (Teyonah Parris) and Kamala to switch places any time one of them uses her powers.

A lot of bouncing through space and time — much of it played for laughs as Kamala finds herself in the middle of a Marvel fight/chase the Captain is experiencing, etc — has the two women and the teen confused, until they all wind up in Kamala’s Jersey City home with her trying-to-accept-all-this parents (Zenobia Shroff, Mohan Kapur).

The Marvels — Monica resists Kamala’s “Professor Marvel,””Frequency,” “Pulsar” and “Lady of Light” “codename” pitches — find themselves scooting around the universe trying to solve this space-time puzzle and foil the actions of the Mean Ol’Cree.

Meanwhile, Nick Fury’s up on a space station, communicating with the Marvels and coping with assorted crises — some comical — of his own.

The plot complications have a soap operatic confusion about them, something adding Marvel content and characters via streaming series is only making worse. It’s hard to give “fan service” to everybody you’ve introduced when you’ve introduced so many, virtually none of them with the star power/name-recognition/charisma that Jackson brings to his glue-that-connects-everybody, Nick Fury.

Larson’s take on her character, quick-tempered and a little rash, is interesting. But nobody else here really registers as a character with a supposed interior life. Vellani plays a lot of shrieks of shock (“Goose” the alien-shape-shifting cat is not alone) and “OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod” fangirling, which gets old. Quick.

I kept expecting a bigger name to turn up in this surprise waltz partner (Korean pop and TV star Park Seo-Joon) or that disgruntled victim/emperor (Gary Lewis).

Even the easy laughs from the doting Indian-American family feel muted, not quite all they could have been, despite Zenobia Shroff being a familiar face and not bad at landing a stereotypical punchline.

But the fizziness of it all kind of overwhelms some of the shortcomings and distracts us from others. Maybe the actors will grow into the parts, and we aren’t looking at a Marvel Universe peopled by Terrence Howards and Ioann Griffuds — good actors bland at the Larger than Life superhero thing.

Maybe the screenwriters who just returned from the picket line have an idea or two of how to lift these convoluted, formulaic scripts to the next level.

And perhaps the whole genre, whose adherents can never get enough “content,” will migrate to streaming, interrupting the big screen assembly line long enough for all involved to figure out what’s working, what’s played-out and how to make the fizzy scenes into three acts of fizz movies for the big screen.

Rating: PG-13 for action/violence and profanity

Cast: Brie Larson, Teyonnah Parris, Iman Vellani, Zawe Ashton, Gary Lewis, Zenobia Shroff,
Mohan Kapur, Park Seo-joon, Abraham Popoola and Samuel L. Jackson.

Credits: Directed by Nia DaCosta, scripted by Nia DaCosta, Megan McDonnell and Elissa Karasik. A Marvel Studios release.

Running time: 1:45