Four More Shots Please 4 Review: Ends Its Run With Lust, Laughter and Lingering Fatigue

The Girls Are Back, But the World Has Moved On

Season 4 opens exactly the way Four More Shots Please! always has: loud, chaotic, glossy, and emotionally messy. Siddhi is dressed as a bride, panicking before her wedding, while the girls throw dramatic one-liners at each other that sound meant to shock rather than land. The energy is familiar, almost comforting. And yet, something feels slightly off.

The show has returned after a four-year gap, and while flashbacks try to refresh our memory, the emotional continuity feels shaky. It is not just about forgetting Season 3. It is about how much the audience has evolved since then. Conversations around feminism, sexuality, independence, and female friendships are no longer radical. They are part of everyday life. But the show still treats them like declarations that need to be shouted.

There are moments of warmth. The friendship still works. The girls still feel like chosen family. But the storytelling often feels stuck, circling the same emotional patterns without offering deeper insight. What once felt rebellious now feels repetitive. What once felt bold now sometimes feels loud for the sake of being loud. And yet, like all guilty pleasures, once you start watching, you want to finish.

Sex, Lust, and the Fine Line Between Honest and Excessive

Sex has always been central to Four More Shots Please!, and Season 4 doubles down on it, sometimes to its own detriment. Lust is everywhere. Conversations revolve around it. Conflicts stem from it. Outfits, situations, jokes, and emotional arcs repeatedly lead back to sex, often without adding anything new to the characters.

Siddhi’s arc suffers the most here. Newly married, she spends most of the season openly discussing her unsatisfying sex life through her open mic sessions. The idea itself is not flawed. Sexual frustration is real. Talking about it openly should not be taboo. But the execution reduces her entire emotional world to one obsession. Her life begins to feel like it revolves only around getting good sex, with little room left for nuance.

Repeated scenes of her trying to entice her husband, wearing skimpy outfits, and constantly spiralling into dissatisfaction cross a line from honesty into awkward exaggeration. At times, it feels less like character exploration and more like provocation. Lust is loud, but vulnerability feels rushed.

Anjana and Rohan: The Season’s Most Effortless Equation

If one storyline benefits from the show’s glossy fantasy, it is Anjana’s. Kirti Kulhari plays her with a calm confidence that makes her the most grounded of the four this season. She is raising her daughter, managing her space, and allowing herself pleasure without guilt.

Her bond with her daughter is handled with surprising warmth. Their conversations about crushes, dating, and growing up feel modern and honest, without trying too hard to shock. It is one of the few spaces where the show feels naturally in sync with the present.

Enter Dino Morea as Rohan. He walks in quietly, shares a co-working space with Anjana, and lets the chemistry build slowly. No dramatic declarations. No instant obsession. Just two adults enjoying companionship, adventure, and attraction. The no-strings arrangement feels earned, not forced.

Yes, the show indulges in glossy visuals. Rohan bikes, surfs, goes shirtless, and exists like a fantasy poster boy. But Dino Morea carries it with ease. His screen presence adds charm rather than distraction. Their steamy scenes feel organic, not desperate. For once, sex is part of a life, not the whole point of it.

Damini, Ash, and the Season’s Most Honest Relationship

Damini’s arc finally shifts focus from romance to something far more compelling: family. While her unresolved feelings around Jeh still linger, they no longer dominate her emotional journey. Instead, the show introduces Ash, her brother, played brilliantly by Kunaal Roy Kapur.

This sibling relationship becomes the emotional backbone of the season. Their conversations are messy, funny, painful, and deeply relatable. They argue, blame each other, tease, break down, and hold space in ways that feel raw and lived-in.

Sayani Gupta and Kunaal Roy Kapur share effortless chemistry. Their scenes crackle with truth. There is no gloss here. No forced empowerment. Just two flawed adults carrying shared history and unresolved hurt. It is easily the best-written and best-performed dynamic of the season.

Damini’s professional life, including her podcast, adds texture, but it is her emotional grounding with Ash that finally gives her arc weight. A quiet scene involving Damini and Jeh, shot through exchanged glances rather than dialogue, stands out as one of the season’s most beautifully composed moments. Sometimes, restraint speaks louder than speeches.

Umang, Siddhi, and Arcs That Never Fully Land

Umang’s journey feels like the weakest link this time. She experiments with dating, meets new people, and tries to move past her baggage with Samara. On paper, there is potential. On screen, it feels scattered.

The emotional beats do not fully connect. Even when major developments happen, they lack impact. Umang’s growth feels rushed, resolved more by circumstance than inner change. While the arc eventually ties itself neatly, it does not leave a lasting impression.

Siddhi, despite having plenty to do, struggles with tonal imbalance. She is ambitious, creative, and constantly hustling, yet her emotional conflicts feel oddly shallow. The show wants her to be a go-getter but frames her struggles in a very surface-level way. Her inability to balance marriage and career is shown, but rarely explored beyond obvious beats. Maanvi Gagroo, however, holds it together with sheer performance. Even when the writing falters, she brings sincerity, making Siddhi watchable even when frustrating.

Style, Scale, and the Fantasy of Convenience

Visually, the show looks expensive and polished. Mumbai glows. Goa feels breezy. Bangkok turns into a hangover montage filled with drinking, dancing, exes, and conveniently timed revelations. The production value is unmistakable. Money is on the screen.

But with that gloss comes a growing sense of unreality. Everyone owns their time. Careers bend easily. Travel plans align magically. Exes appear at just the right moment, often thanking the women for their emotional damage because it somehow helped them find better lives. It is amusing. It is indulgent. It is also increasingly unbelievable.

The show ends on a neat, almost Bollywood-style closure. Loose ends are tied. Lessons are learned. Journeys are embarked upon. Anjana learns to ride a bike and sets off on a solo path, symbolising freedom in the most literal way possible. It works emotionally, even if logically it raises questions.