When Love Death + Robots, the animated anthology series by Tim Miller and David Fincher, first premiered in 2019, it became an instant hit. It bewildered the audience, and rightfully so, with its extraordinary animation, widely different genres, and mind-blowing scripts, spanning everything from dystopian futures to psychological horror. 

Across its first three volumes, it won over fans and critics alike, racking up 13 Emmy Awards and establishing itself as one of Netflix’s boldest experiments in short-form storytelling. Especially Jibaro from season 3, which portrays greed and toxic relationship in such horrifyingly beautiful animation, is still a talked-about episode.

Love Death + Robots has made its most anticipated return with 10 more episodes but Volume 4 somewhat falls short of the greatness compared to its previous seasons. 

It lacks the originality that made the show a cult favourite. What we’re left with is a mixed bag: a few standout episodes surrounded by undercooked concepts and indulgent fillers.

The season opens on a baffling note with “Can’t Stop,” a six-minute animated re-creation of the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ 2003 Slane Castle performance in Ireland. 

Despite being technically impressive—rendered in the puppet-like Supermarionation style—there’s no twist, no tension, no narrative payoff. This feels like a glorified music video masquerading as an episode. The show has delivered bizarre before—but never this empty.

While some entries echo the series’ former brilliance, even they tend to draw on familiar templates. Diego Porral’s How Zeke Got Religion stands out with its Nazi occult horror and gorgeous 2D animation, but its Lovecraftian dread echoes Hellboy just a little too closely. Miller’s The Screaming of the Tyrannosaur, a tale of gladiator revenge, is thrilling and gorgeously animated, but again, it’s style over new substance.

Another relative high point is For He Can Creep, adapted from Siobhan Carroll’s short story and inspired by Christopher Smart’s eccentric poem about his cat Jeoffrey. It’s absurd in concept—cats vs. the Devil in a poetic apocalypse—but saved by Dan Stevens’ devilish voice work and whimsical animation. 

Golgotha flirts with profundity, examining how an alien species might respond to finding their Messiah among Earth’s animals. It’s conceptually rich, but still never quite lands emotionally.

Spider Rose begins with promise—a cyborg woman mourning her lover and finding solace in a strange, intelligent creature—but the end felt rather abrupt. 

Smart Appliances, Stupid Owners is amusing in a SNL-meets-Black Mirror kind of way, but doesn’t build to anything meaningful beyond clever casting (Kevin Hart as an air purifier, Amy Sedaris as a camera, Brett Goldstein as a smart toilet).

Other entries like The Other Large Thing and Close Encounters of the Mini Kind are charming diversions at best—more concept sketches than compelling stories. They’re technically sound, but narratively hollow.

Volume 4 feels like a diluted version of its predecessors. Although there’s still love, death, and robots here. But for now, the magic feels like it’s on autopilot.