Oh, Ryan Murphy. What a strange, chaotic little world you’ve built here with Grotesquerie, a show that seems to want to be Se7en, American Horror Story, and a gory nun procedural all rolled into one. Too bad it ends up feeling like leftovers reheated one too many times. And the smell? It’s sulfur dioxide—which, fun fact, is biblical brimstone and an accidental metaphor for the show itself. Welcome to Grotesquerie, where everything smells, everyone sucks, and somehow the nun is the most suspicious character of all.

Niecy Nash-Betts stars as Detective Lois Tryon, a grizzled cop whose hobbies include solving grotesque murders, binge-drinking vodka straight from the desk drawer, and low-key wishing her comatose husband would flatline already. Her partner in crime-solving is Sister Megan (Micaela Diamond), a nun-slash-journalist whose investigative methods include quoting Bible verses and looking way too excited about ritual murders. Together, they’re on the trail of a deranged killer leaving behind dismembered bodies, sulfuric goo, and some seriously extra Last Supper recreations. The killer even signs his work with the name “Grotesquerie,” because subtlety is for cowards.

Murphy’s fingerprints are all over this thing. The melodrama? Check. The campy-yet-serious tone? Oh, you bet. Gratuitous gore so over-the-top it’s almost funny? You’re soaking in it. Full disclosure: I can’t stand American Horror Story, so here it feels like a lukewarm stew of ideas he’s cooked before—but with more black goo.

Tonally, Grotesquerie is all over the map. One minute it’s a police procedural with horrifying crime scenes, and the next it’s a soap opera about Lois’s dysfunctional family. Her daughter Merritt (Raven Goodwin) is eating her way toward reality TV fame, her husband Marshall (Courtney B. Vance) is cheating and in a coma—multitasking king—and Nurse Redd (Lesley Manville) might be the most absurdly unhinged character in the show, which is saying something. And let’s not even start on the pedaling priest, Father Charlie (Nicholas Chavez), who’s too busy flagellating himself between murders to do much priesting.

The writing completely lacks subtlety. The killer’s calling cards? Biblical references so obvious you’d think a middle school youth group wrote them. The dialogue? Overstuffed with pseudo-philosophical musings that sound like they were cobbled together from Reddit threads. Even the pacing is a mess. Each episode feels like it’s stalling for time, packing scenes with meandering monologues that could’ve been edited down to a shrug and a head nod.

And don’t get me started on the characters. Lois is your standard “I’m broken, but I’m good at my job” detective, but her alcoholism is treated with all the nuance of a Very Special Episode. Merritt’s subplot about binge-eating her feelings might as well have “B-Plot” stamped across her forehead. And Sister Megan? She’s so sketchy I half expected her to pull off her habit to reveal a killer clown wig.

Niecy Nash-Betts is undeniably talented, but even she can’t elevate Lois above cliché. Micaela Diamond’s Sister Megan is probably the most intriguing character, though not by much—her smug, “I know more than you” energy wears thin after a few episodes. Courtney B. Vance, bless his heart, spends most of the season comatose, which is a pretty accurate metaphor for how this show treats its male characters. And Lesley Manville’s Nurse Redd? She’s chewing scenery so hard she’s going to need dental work.

Visually, Grotesquerie looks like someone forgot to pay the electric bill. The perpetual rain, dim lighting, and gray-on-gray color palette are meant to evoke dread but mostly just make you squint. The crime scenes, while grotesque, lean so far into “gory art installation” territory they stop being shocking and start being silly. By the time we got to the dismembered homeless Last Supper, I half expected someone to pull out an Instagram filter.

The show wants to be deep. It really does. But its attempts to explore sin, guilt, and redemption come off as half-baked and try-hard. The killer’s religious motivations? Yawn. Lois’s struggle with her own demons? Seen it. Even the subplot about Father Charlie’s self-flagellation feels like Murphy ticking a box labeled “Edgy Catholic Imagery.”

Look, if you’re here for creative kills, Grotesquerie delivers. Bodies boiled, roasted, crucified, and turned into unholy jigsaw puzzles? Check, check, and double-check. The killer’s grotesque creativity is the one area where the show seems to genuinely have fun and probably the only reason I kept watching. Too bad it’s surrounded by 40 minutes of boring people talking about how sad they are.

The pacing drags. The characters are flat. The dialogue is cringe. The tonal whiplash will give you vertigo. And the “big twist”? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but in retrospect? I just have to shrug.

Grotesquerie is a show that wants to shock and awe but mostly just annoys. It’s a mishmash of Murphy’s greatest hits with none of the charm, coherence, or campy fun that made his other projects appeal to audiences. If you’re a die-hard Ryan Murphy fan or just really, really into gore, you might find something to like here. Otherwise, save yourself the headache and skip it.

Verdict? Grotesquerie isn’t so much grotesque as it is groan-inducing.