“Hotel Bitcoin” is a screwy Spanish variation on the well-worn “We’ve got the winning lottery ticket” formula. Broke people — the more careless and impulsive the better — find themselves theoretically flush, for once. The “fun” is in seeing how wrong they are and how badly they handle this.

The laughs here come from the usual places — clumsy, chatterbox dummies who can’t hide “We’re RICH!” as they evade family, mobsters and opportunists. But this time the payoff is in crypto currency.

We laugh at the many “How could they BE that stupid?” indiscretions and stumbles, or rather we’re meant to. We ignore the patchwork plotting and cardboard character “types” and giggle away at the reckoning we figure is coming for our four heroes, lifelong pals who have passed themselves off as “The Fantastic Four” since long before Marvel’s many attempts to turn that comic book into a movie.

It doesn’t work, but yes, those involved in comedy have hit on a great hook.

Alejo (Alejo Sauras) narrates this saga about the lifelong friends who have followed him off other financial cliffs before. Burly Tano (Pablo Chiapella) is “the tough one,” Pascual (Mauricio Ochmann) is the guy born in Mexico, still trying to just “fit in” all these years later. They’re all single.

Lucas (Canco Rodríguez)? He’s got a wife (Leonor Lavada) and two kids, so naturally he’s the “henpecked” one in their foursome.

Alejo is in deep with a rich mobster/loan shark, so deep he’s got to flee the country. But when Pascual pops open an old laptop left over from a previous failed business venture, he finds a stranger loaded all this Bitcoin on it years ago. And now it’s worth over 100 million Euros.

OK. Sure.

Alejo, “thinking” fast, insists they grab the laptop and dash off to the nearest high-end hotel, a five-star place in Mirasierra, one of Madrid’s toniest districts. They’ll get by for the weekend on the few Euros they have in their pockets, and on the biggest limit credit card among them until Monday, when they’ll track down a broker who can turn their Bitcoin into real cash and make them all rich.

What could go wrong? Who will screw up first? Whose unwanted attention will these loud louts grab?

The problems pile up like bodies in the bathtub, or out-of-their-league babes who get their attention in the nightclub. Could they be sex workers? Even Mar (Marta Hazas), the one who says she “knows” Alejo?

Is that cocaine? What’s the dumbest way a screenwriter ever introduced a pistol into a narrative? A nosy bellhop (Antonio Gómez), a wedding they might crash, a poetry convention as cover and a too-curious, permanently-depressed former classmate (Sergio Bezos) figure in all this.

They’re mostly blown opportunities in a comedy that never gets up a head of steam.

There’s almost a laugh in how the script, by co-directors Manuel Sanabria and Carlos Villaverde, with screenwriter Ángela Obón, evades “explaining” crypto to the four dopes who stumble into it and, by extension, to the audience. There’s a good documentary about it, and of course the steady stream of scandals, schemes, fortunes lost, etc. in the news is out there for anybody who wonders where the next Great Depression will begin.

Yeah, crypto bros bet BIG on the con artist in chief.

The “Oh no they DIDN’Ts” are in so many scenes that it’s a pity they’re rarely worth a giggle. The dimwittedness undercuts any credibility in the “cunning” the quartet is meant to suddenly acquire later on.

The few possibly-funny characters don’t have enough to work with, the violence is treated like a glib (and blood and brains-spilling) afterthought.

All of which underscores the sad truth about “Hotel Bitcoin.” The comic possibilities are here. They’re almost never allowed to pay off.

Rating: TV-MA, violence, drug abuse, sexual situations.

Cast: Alejo Sauras, Pablo Chiapella, Marta Hazas, Canco Rodríguez, Leonor Lavado,
Mauricio Ochmann, Sergio Bezos and Antonio Gómez

Credits: Directed by Manuel Sanabria and Carlos Villaverde, scripted by Manuel Sanabria, Carlos Villaverde and Ángela Obón. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:40