‘Bass X Machina’ (2026) Netflix Series Review - A Dime-Store Moral Lesson Wrapped in Steampunk

Set in a lawless Steampunk West, LeSean Thomas's Bass X Machina reworks and transplants a real historical figure, Bass Reeves, into a sci-fi world for a dime-store moral lesson. The real Reeves was among the first Black deputy U.S. marshals west of the Mississippi River, and the series' Bass, voiced by Brian Tyree Henry, is a bounty hunter and husband who wants to become a deputy. Since he exists at a time when America is still openly racist, white men come up with all kinds of excuses not to grant him the title. Bass is even underpaid for his bounties. When the series opens, Bass completes what's supposed to be his final bounty mission, but when he isn't paid the money he was promised, he's forced to take on one last job to secure his family's future. He's tasked with retrieving a missing scientist, and this hunt leads him to cross paths with Dana Starr (Tati Gabrielle), an aspiring engineer related to the scientist. If Bass is the "tough guy" who prefers to grunt rather than chat idly, Dana is a chatterbox exploding with curiosity. She's the obligatory "friend of the hero" character, providing comic relief to balance the solemnity of the lead. Dana also hides a secret about her racial identity that allows the show to cuddle up to that trope where a character eventually learns to accept their individuality. Aww, so sweet.

Thomas's intention in making what's known as an "adult" animated series (I don't agree with the adult part, given how childish the text usually is) isn't that different from other creators' intentions when making similar animated series: to go pow pow, boom boom, whoosh whoosh while indulging in simplistic, fortune-cookie morality. The one in Bass X Machina is about rejecting violence because violence begets violence, which, in itself, is mighty fine, but it's baked into a second-hand story about missing uncles, thin sentimental bonds, cheap cliffhangers, and last-minute twists. The script is schematic, the characters are functional, the images reek of "subtext," and the dialogue is on the nose, chugging the whole vehicle along perfunctorily. How does Dana embrace her identity? By letting go of her hat, which is a "symbol" of shame and cowardice. Why does Bass warm up to Dana despite finding her annoying? Because that's what's supposed to happen conventionally. In fact, this particular observation could serve as the basis for an entire critique of Bass X Machina, which is worked out according to a fixed template that's all too familiar and generic. Nothing especially surprises you; nothing leaves you awestruck or gasping with delight.

Even its treatment of racism feels perfunctory. There are segregated train compartments and ticket counters, and the white characters are cartoonishly racist, but none of this has any real bite because the script is too busy shuffling through its conventional plot beats. Racism becomes little more than a convenient excuse for the fights, the thin drama, and the giant robots and gadgets. Everything exists to facilitate something else, but nothing seems to have much of a life of its own. For a show that claims to speak against violence and racism, Bass X Machina does make sure the blood and gore make us giddy (it's another matter that, after a while, the tedium makes you feel nothing), that the killing machines manage to look kickass, and that the white characters come across as caricatures. In other words, it misses its targets by a mile. Perhaps Thomas should have taken some lessons from Bass to sharpen his shooting skills. Instead of a headshot, he shoots himself in the foot and walks away with a limp.