Netflix’s latest animated series is a show I’d never have imagined being made. Each short episode consists of a completely different animation-style, plot and general emotion to the point of it being bizarre as to why these increasingly contrasting episodes are being brought together in the first place, unlike, for instance, Black Mirror, which has a consistent narrative atmosphere and relating themes.
Here, episodes range from being apocalyptic and a science-fictional spectacle, to being unnerving and surreal, to just being dumbfoundingly absurd. In an odd way, these extreme contrasts ironically seems to bring the show together as an explosive chemistry set of animation which hits or misses key points. Some of these shorts are inevitably better than others, with some failing altogether as a confusing mess and even having you questioning as to why the designers even bothered bringing such waste-of-time narratives to life, as well as some animation being more visually-pleasing and unique than other presented types. Plus, this show’s flourishing imagination with space exploration, supernatural horrors, survival grit and alternate realities doesn’t take away from it franticly grasping onto its 18 rating like a child with a rattle as it crams over half its episodes with as much body parts and needless nudity as one could put onto a drawing board (guess the ‘love’ and ‘death’ parts don’t play around here, huh?).
Luckily this isn’t enough to take away from the show’s general charm. But given how hit or miss it stands I’d like to give my thoughts on the episodes I think stand out best for me personally rather than giving a hashed poorly-written disappointment as much attention as a gorgeously-crafted psychological spectacle. This impressive spark could be in their message, animation style, surrealism or general writing: as you can see, I’m keeping all options open to give each story a chance to shine in their unique way (or run-of-the-mill boresome way). Here’s why I think these particular entrees of this oddball of an animated cyborg fest stand out.
THREE ROBOTS
A harmless comedic episode about a three-stooge robot gang that embark on a sightseeing trip to a post-apocalyptic earth, thrilled to discover what the planet’s long-dead ancestors were truly like.
Going from gym to diner, each bot has their own unique personality and humorous baffled reactions to the simple human lifestyle. So, as you might expect, the key element in this episode is the chemistry sparked from these three contrasting characters as they confusedly view the charred remains of the planet. Moments such as when the red bot enthusiastically obsesses over the wonders of basketball, only to strictly know a singular bounce, or when he and the Xbot 4000 debate about the uselessness of the human digestive system after encountering a diner are greatly charming, seeing the past human lives from the doubtful, witty perspectives of machines.
However, as comedic as it might be, Three Robots does have some heavier philosophical themes of humanity and ancestry, such as when Xbot discovers a destroyed Xbot 3, which turned out to be a simple game console, and when the sarcastic GLaDOS-like bot recounts how humanity’s stupidity brought its own demise after they were the dominant species, so its weighty apocalyptic atmosphere weighs out nicely with its bright but complex characters. The animation, while not the show’s most unique, perfectly captures the tone of a gravely fallen world being humorously observed, making Three Robots a light-hearted pleasant surprise with energetic writing and near perfect pacing, but without the show’s hard-hitting psychological punch to boost.
BEYOND THE AQUILA RIFT
Wow what a sudden contrast. Going from one of the most marshmallow-fluff-light episodes to the most psychologically daunting one of the show. Beyond the Aquila Rift sports rock-hard space-voyaging sci-fi with no time to give history lessons, as our protagonists of the Blue Goose are swept lightyears into space to accept a new job. Upon awakening from his sleeping tank after an apparent rerouting error, Thom begins to question his surroundings and existence as he emerges hundreds of years later, thousands of lightyears off his course with no way back home, as well as a rescue from a past ‘friendly face’ being almost too coincidental to seem real.
If there’s anything to say about Aquila Rift at first, it’s the spectacular animation. From the massive-scaled opening of ship-launching to the brilliant motion-capture animation of characters feeling a step away from reality (ironic given the episode’s events), which makes it glorious to witness but also makes the finale all the more endearing. And here’s where we reach the episode’s most renowned element: the twist. After Thom suspects his lost lover to being a false imposter, he’s revealed to still be dwelling in his tank and has been in a false simulation since, with the manipulator posing as Gwenyth claiming many like him have misfortunately trapped themselves in her home before and she tries to give them an easing death.
The manipulating alien and reveal of its hive-like station is genuinely horrifying and is where we’re shown some of the best cinematography of the show. I loved the morbid pull to reality conjured from having the same shot of Thom from his simulated fantasy world self and then his aged, malnourished self in the hellish hive. This is when the episode sheds its Alien-atmosphere and dives into Dead Space territory, gradually panning out to entangled destroyed ships and the unfortunate pilots that are now decaying skeletons. The sudden reveal is rather brilliant and is amplified when we see the true form of ‘Gwenyth’, who’s cleverly teased as a curvy female figure from the shadows, only to turn out to be a demonic fleshy arachnid monster. The philosophy of this is even more impacting, with the concept of a benevolent creature unable to help any captured travellers and instead feeds them a paradisical illusion before they age and die is both tragic and disturbing.
How the episode slowly unveils this unease through a short focused run time is impressive and even leaves hints of artificiality here and there, such as with Thom’s friend’s unstable outburst at Gwenyth when she awakens disturbingly suggesting she’s been under the simulation several times and has aged significantly more.
But unfortunately, the episode isn’t perfect. The writing sometimes seems too light and stereotypically uneasy even to the point of being cheesy, with Gwenyth giving laughably unreal dialogue like ‘maybe it’s fate, Thom. Written in the stars’ and ‘You’re safe here….with me’ making things a bit too obvious. The strong mood and foreshadowing is even shot apart at one point with a hilariously overdone sex scene which seems way too long to fit into such a dense narrative and is just there to show off how ‘realistic’ they can make these things look with 3D animation.
But for what it’s worth, Beyond the Aquila Rift remains a radically existential tale of the capabilities of otherworldly beings and dives into the darkest side of where space exploration could lead. Tense and creatively brought to life with a nicely unique narrative, it tells a new side to what it means to accept fate.
THE WITNESS
While Love Death and Robots experiments with animation styles and uses of colour relatively well, no episode even comes close to being as visually stunning as The Witness. Animated by the recently renowned Justin Thompson (who worked on the smash hit Into the Spiderverse), this episode shows a woman witnessing a murder from her window, which embarks on a stretched chase with her and the killer journeying through an isolated purgatory-like dystopian city. Apart from the slick eye-popping art-style and colour format, my favourite attribute of this episode is its consistent variation with scale. Throughout the consistent chase we’re treated to many extreme long-shots of the characters going past the tall husky buildings, capturing the weight and feel of this surreal cyberpunk city and absorbing the silent, ghostly atmosphere of it flawlessly. These characters are therefore shown as the only focus, also due to how their colours constantly clash with their dull and damp surroundings. The close-quartered cinematography, such as the long-shots down corridors are also engagingly energetic, as well as some clever dutch and dolly angles giving an intriguing sense of perspective, so the soul essence of a tense but mysterious chase is nailed.
But there’s clearly more to this, which is shown once the girl escapes to her sex house which turns out to specialise in latex fetish. The mute fetishists and eccentric devil-like host give a surreal, perverse allusion of hell. What’s even weirder (and perverse) is the girl’s performance: an uncomfortable strip dance on a sofa with deafening crashes. None of this makes sense and it’s up to you to see if the mood and brashness work as a surrealist art, which I did.
The Witness’ plot is undoubtably the most disjointed in the show, with the woman ending up getting cornered and re-enacts the murder she witnessed but with reversed roles, seeing the same man witness it from his window and discovering she’s in an eternal time loop. While I can see this as pure open-ended surrealism with no summary, there are hints scattered around that she was the killer from the start and is running from the guilt-fed ghost of her victim, possibly a partner whom took advantage of her (hinted in a couple of shots where he suddenly becomes plainly animated like a demon). But it all depends in what way you look at it.
The downside to this episode however, which is the big reason why people are thrashing this show, is the unnecessary abundance of sexual objectification, which I admit makes it really uncomfortable to watch at some points. Seeing our protagonist running through the streets with an open kimono through the second half and her pretty graphic strip dance in the latex club are all but necessary. But this intensity diffuses throughout the rest of the episode, having one of the longest run times, so its art style isn’t interrupted.
For the spectacular wide-scale feel of isolation and tension captured through gorgeous animation, top-notch cinematography and brutal surrealism: The Witness is undoubtably one of the most impacting episodes of Love Death and Robots, as well as having a strikingly twisting yet loosely-drawn narrative that makes you see something new with each watch.
ZIMA BLUE
Astounding. There’s no other word that can sum up this immaculate achievement of philosophical art. When a mere ten-minute-long animation can leave you questioning your perception of the universe and enlightenment for hours after viewing makes it crystal clear that this is touching masterpiece material. A material in the shape of a perfect blue square.
A world-famous artist finally confesses his history to a journalist after announcing his final work. Known for being increasingly unsatisfied with producing immaculate art exploring people, the stars above him and eventually the cosmos itself, Zima Blue started to incorporate an increasing shape of blue in his art, which’s work started to expand entire planets. After gaining hard polymer skin to be able to voyage planets and speak with the universe to furtherly influence his art, he nonetheless remained unsatisfied and disconnected from his destined purpose despite his fame.
Upon following a journalist through her memories of admiration during her travel to his interview, we’re then greeted to the site of his ultimate masterpiece: a swimming pool. Upon hearing his reasoning for such an unusual catalyst as an infinitely-influential artist, we learn Zima Blue was originally a tiny machine designed by a craftswoman to clean her pool, barely enough hardware to work a brush. After being generationally improved into a conscious humanoid being, Zima Blue claims it’s been harder for him to remember who he was the further he thinks back even as a machine, with only the perfect Zima blue colour of the pool tiles being imprinted and memorised in his mind as his rooted self. It was his world and therefore tried to find meaning for himself by applying this root colour memory to the scale of planets and solar systems, only to never be enough. The only way to reach enlightenment would be to experience it in a state where nothing else but this foundational colour was his world, free from other distraction: as his simple, attentive first form as a pool scrubber.
Zima Blue’s finale is one of the most surreally entrancing moments I’ve witnessed in animation. Our main character comes into acceptance with himself as he strips his body apart in the pool in front of his audience, coming down to his first form as he rises from the depths of his metallic carcass reborn, suggesting he’s re-emerged through nirvana and abandoned everything unnecessary that brought him superficial fame, carefully cleaning the Zima blue pool as the episode concludes on a wonderfully tranquil note.
Yes, I am aware I’ve literally spelled out the entire plot there, but I simply couldn’t express my thoughts on this episode without diving (pun intended) into its narrative themes and philosophical identity. Zima blue is everything animation should aspire to be. Inspiring creativity and open-mindedness about the meaning of true self-happiness and peace by taking full advantage of its format. The perfectly-fitting cell-shaded animation, seeming almost like a brought-yo-life pop art, brings out the hyperbolically-stylised narrative brilliantly, which itself uniquely explores self-purpose through art and just how purposefully and consciously different we could possibly be from machines wonderfully in just ten minutes through a carefully-unfolding pace. It’s tranquil but delicately melancholic. Sentimental while freeing from the chains of unnecessaries. It shows you can spend centuries walking the stars and trying to embrace the universe, only to realise your happiness was right inside you all along. A perfectly-executed message for a perfect animation. Zima Blue only gets better when you revisit it.