For three seasons, Miracle Workers has been a miracle of its own. A high-concept, low-budget TBS comedy that puts together an explicable yet excellent ensemble that boasts Daniel Radcliffe, Steve Buscemi, Geraldine Viswanathan, and Karan Soni, the series began with the irreverent terrain of angels in an office comedy, where God was a comically terrible boss. Season 2 pivoted and added the subtitle Dark Ages, keeping the cast but chucking the concept to become an anthology series, with that season set in medieval times, then transforming into a Western for the wacky Oregon Trail season. 

Along the way, creator Simon Rich crafted one of the most delightfully weird shows on television, and yet Miracle Workers has been firmly on the fringe of social media obsession and outcast watercooler conversation. So when Season 4 — titled Miracle Workers: End Times — got unceremoniously bumped off TBS's January release calendar, devotees like myself worried it might be among the growing number of series whose latest arc would be lost to the ravenous streaming write-down beast. So, it was with a dizzying relief that I finally sat down to behold the first three episodes of Miracle Workers: End Times. 

I'm elated to report that the cast is back and crackling in cringe comedy chemistry as ever before. However, their new setting gets them off to a rocky start. 

"Welcome to Boomtown" drops the Miracle Workers troupe into a harsh desert wasteland, where a road warrior called Sid (a surprisingly ripped Radcliffe) is doing battle with a warlord known as Freya Exaltada (Viswanathan). Strapped in leather and car parts, caked in grime, and generally furious but horny, the pair seem to have tumbled straight out of the Mad Max movies. Rolling into the rust-caked Boomtown, they'll collide with character archetypes cherrypicked from Dune and the Terminator movies, with a peppering of Matrix-style elements. 

In a shiny leather biker jacket, sporting sunglasses over his glowing red eyes, Karan Soni struts onto the scene as TI-90 (or Ti for short), a lusty robo-assassin who values violence and Matrix Reloaded cave raves. In episode two, Dune's David Dastmalchian makes a chaotically entertaining appearance as a decadent titan reminiscent of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. And Buscemi swans in as a "literal garbage person" — a smug capitalist who distrusts robots, looks down on Wastelanders, and trades in junk to amass a fortune in bird beaks.

Every season, the writers of Miracle Workers gleefully hand Buscemi increasingly ludicrous characters. And every season, he mesmerizingly flings himself into these scenarios, whether introducing a Donna Reed-esque hologram wife (Blade Runner) or humping a skeleton with the sexual gusto of a teenager. 

There's certainly fun to be had picking out the references scattered throughout this parody mash-up. But the collision of such different styles of end times is jarring, and likely to pester those who prefer world-building to make some semblance of sense. However, Miracle Workers refuses to take its latest setting all that seriously, using it instead as a wild terrain to tackle their latest satirical target: married life in the suburbs.

The previous seasons of Miracle Workers had focused on Radcliffe and Viswanathan's characters in a will-they-won't-they romance, which was always winsome (and honestly, I could watch them flirt, fuck up, and fall in love forever). End Times has them meet-cute, kiss, and marry all in the cold open of the premiere episode, ceremoniously crushing a skull underfoot at their Wasteland wedding. 

Their adventure this time 'round is settling down in Boomtown, a cozy settlement far from the frenzied wilderness of the Wasteland. While Sid leaves his warring behind to eagerly take to the grind of an "office" job under Buscemi's junk dealer, Freya finds a new enemy in the H.O.A. (aka the homeowners association), which has beef with her lawn ornaments. Apparently, the decapitated heads of her enemies don't meet the neighborhood aesthetics. 

Alongside the spoofing of post-apocalyptic movies, End Times plays with the cliches of suburb-set comedies, foisting this couple into awkward dinner parties, moral conflicts at work, and a desperate bid to save their sex lives, which leads to some VR play that is bonkers in only the way Miracle Workers dares to be. Some of it's shocking (literally). Some of it's hot (did I mention how beefy Radcliffe had gotten?). Some of it is wonderfully stupid, like casting the fearless Jon Bass, the series' devout whipping boy, as a war dog who wears spiked bondage gear and is literally a pet to Freya, sleeping at the foot of their bed, chasing the postman, and trashing their house when distraught over being left home alone. Much of it is sensationally fun.

Amid all of this silliness, there's an alarming relevance to End Times satire. While the world around them is a literal wasteland, these characters still cling to petty trinkets of civility, like wearing a tie to work, using the proper fork, or scheming to dominate the local queen bee. Anyone who's endured the orange skies from raging Canadian wildfires or suffers from climate change anxiety might see shades of themselves in these Boomtownies. In this case, the escapist fun might well be compromised for being too timely. 

Beyond that, the first two episodes are clunky in establishing so many disparate elements, characters, and the central conceit, but episode three finds its stride, focusing chiefly on the heroes who've made every season such a heartfelt hoot.

While part of me laments the chance to watch Radcliffe and Viswanathan do their enchanting rom-com dance again, it's a fresh thrill to watch them play a couple who's into each other and also ridden with the creeping anxieties of married life. The silly sex scenes of Oregon Trail go to absolutely goofy extremes in this anything-goes setting. But more than that, this relationship being established allows the show more room to embrace other bonds. 

Miracle Workers often plays with fans' expectations of casting in delightful ways. For example, Soni has typically played an enemy or rival across the series, so when Ti strides up to Freya and claims he's there to "eliminate her," that feels expected. But then he finishes the sentence: "for being a messy bitch." The two excitedly jump up in down in reunion, because it turns out Ti is Freya's famously shady bestie. Their joy feels sincere and a bit meta, reflecting the general vibe of the series itself. From the start, that vibe has always been "Let's put on a show!" with its campily scrappy production design, wild guest appearance (Quinta Brunson! Paul F. Tompkins! Margaret Cho!) and cast chemistry that is timelessly enthralling.

Meanwhile, Buscemi has gone from playing God to a literal shit-shoveler, a deluded bandit, and now a pompous trash-peddler. Viswanathan has played cool girls across time, always defiant, charming, and trouble with a capital "T." But a new wrinkle is offered in how she collides with Radcliffe, who, despite being a producer on the show, is often a stooge, baring his ass or getting hot and heavy with a boulder. There's a radiant pleasure each season in just seeing how these pieces of the cast will click together, and what bizarre gags they'll pull next. 

Overall, Miracle Workers: End Times is a welcomed addition to one of the best under-sung shows on television. So, do yourself a favor and watch the lot. Because it's an anthology, you can start with any season. Plus, they get better with every re-watch. Binge away and revel in the twisted delights of this supremely ludicrous and addictive anthology.

How to watch: Miracle Workers Seasons 1-3 are now streaming on Max.

Miracle Workers Season 4 premieres July 10 on TBS, with new episodes every Monday.