The animation renaissance that began with Disney’s movie musicals in the late 1980s moved into a new phase when Pixar released “Toy Story” in 1995. Now, when an animated movie is released, audiences expect a film with a solid script, a gripping story, detailed characterizations, a slick design sense, sophisticated jokes that’ll appeal to adults as well as children, and physics-defying camerawork.

“Chicken Little” is not one of these movies. Rather, it’s a Pixar knockoff with all the charm, craftsmanship, and authenticity of a fake Balenciaga bag bought in Chinatown, an example of crass corporate filmmaking at its worst.

The film starts out in the town of Oakey Oaks with the titular Chicken (Zach Braff) ringing the alarm bell and proclaiming that the sky is falling. Panic and in-jokes ensue. It turns out it was just an acorn that hit this chick on his congenitally enormous head, and he has upset everyone for no good reason.

His dad, Buck Cluck (Garry Marshall), is embarrassed by his son and begs him to keep his mouth shut. Eventually, with the aid of Abby Mallard (Joan Cusack) and Runt of the Litter (Steve Zahn), Chicken Little discovers that UFOs are invading Earth. He and his Happy Meal-ready pals sneak on board and discover a plush, non-toxic alien baby who’s one part troll doll and one part marital aid.

The emotional message of the movie in a nutshell – which is hammered into the audience over and over again – is that Buck should have believed in his son a little bit more. If he took the time to find out what a wonderful person Chicken Little is on the inside, they would both find happiness. There’s even a gag-inducing song that goes, “I bruise you / You bruise me / We bruise each other so easily,” followed by a shot of Buck Cluck staring at a picture of his dead wife and sighing.

Such unforgivable lines sink the film. If there’s one thing a children’s films needs, it’s a good script. Most animation companies tinker with their scripts forever, making sure they really fly before beginning the labor-intensive work of animating them. By the time an animated feature goes into production, it’s as watertight as anything Billy Wilder or Herman Mankiewicz turned out. Children demand a solid story, and they can tell when they’re being patronized.

In “Chicken Little,” by contrast, the script seems to have been an after thought. There are five montages set to pop songs in this movie. Five. The only movie that even comes close to that is “Shrek” and it only had three, including the end credits.

Almost as bad as the script, surprisingly, is the animation itself. Most of the characters have the unpleasant, lumpy texture of old dough.This is one ugly movie, and watching it feels like getting poked in the eye with a stick. While the animators brag that 55,000 individual feathers compose Chicken Little’s head, I would have found it just as believable if they’d told me his head consisted of a lump of gum.

Disney, once synonymous with great animation, has had three box-office bombs in a row, and I expect that only to continue. Their corporate image has received one black eye after another in recent years, and we can only hope “Chicken Little” will force them to do what they should have done long ago: Close down their tired animation production division and let those poor, obviously weary animators go free. Everyone deserves better.