30 Best Shows Of 2023 On Amazon Prime

It’s refreshing to watch stories about queer people in the Global South unfold with this much joy and love and excitement. Many films and TV shows will have you believe that it’s all tragedy, and while the queer experience is certainly without its struggles, it seems unfair to hyperfocus on that aspect alone when there’s a lot of tenderness to go around. Rainbow Rishta finds the perfect balance between realism and romance, between strife and pride, in delivering the stories of its subjects. In doing so, it deepens our understanding of the global LGBTQ community. 

Domestic abuse is a delicate matter, and onscreen depictions always run the risk of being either too sensational or mopey. The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart, thankfully, is neither. It sensitively and creatively tells the story of Alice and all the other survivors who June shelters on her flower farm. More than just decor, these flowers serve as a lifeline to the girls: not only do they grow and sell them to earn a living, but they’ve also made a special secret language out of them. Different blooms mean different things, and when you live in a world where your pain is systematically ignored, it makes sense to communicate in hiding. Granted, the Lost Flowers of Alice Hart can get overly dramatic at times. Some plotlines include hiding who the child’s real father is and fighting to get custody of said child. But it’s unfair to dismiss the series as mere melodrama. It’s doing important work by shedding light on the manifold ways women are mistreated, and it does so in a commendably original and artful way.

There’s not a lot of good sumo representation out there. The ancient Japanese sport is often caricatured for laughs; in fact, it has a rich and complex history spanning centuries. It’s cultural but questionably brutal, revered but unable to compete against newer combat sports. And while sumo negotiates its role in an increasingly modern world, its participants continue to rely on it for a living, making it at once outdated and necessary.  

Enter Sanctuary, a Japanese Netflix original that captures all this nuance to the best of its ability. The drama is a gritty and realistic behind-the-scenes look at the sport, a raw portrait of all the literal blood, sweat, and tears that go into it. If you can stomach a fair amount of violence and gore, then you’ll appreciate what Sanctuary tries to do, which is smartly reintroduce sumo to a new generation.

It’s easy to see With Love and mistake it for a Hallmark special; both are filled with pretty people who spend the holidays looking for love. But where Hallmark tends to be simple and sappy, With Love is refreshingly complex and earnest. The characters, mostly Latino and queer, rarely sugarcoat their problems and desires, even though each episode ends on a relatively sweet note. 

In a joyous move, every one of them takes place during a different holiday too—Christmas, New Year, Valentine’s, Día de los Muertos. And every time, we delve deeper into the lives of our leads and witness the ways they take on universal problems with modern and diverse approaches. It’s breezy and at times raunchy, making it a fun companion for any holiday.

When life gets tough, especially without money or opportunities, it can be hard to cling onto life. There’s the real temptation to end it all, but what if Death is tired of this last resort? Death’s Game reimagines life after Choi’s suicide as a video game, whose limited lives function like reincarnation into different save points, and whose game over means eternal damnation in hell. With such an interesting premise from the popular webtoon, some of the best actors in Korea, and no way of being able to predict what would happen in Choi’s multiple, varied lives, Death’s Game reinvents plenty of today’s K-Drama tropes while possibly reconceptualizing how we feel about life and death… if it’s able to stick the landing when the second half drops this January.

Art Deco, opium dealings, and cutting off tongues… China then is different from China now, but that short period of time before World War II still fascinates people with how different the country could have been. Tencent Picture took advantage of that fascination through their microdrama Provoke, mixing in a revenge plot that comes straight from the film noir popular at the time. Of course, there’s only so much plot points one can fit into less than 15-minute episodes, and because of this, the camera lingers a bit too long on the cast’s gorgeous faces in order to stretch out the story for 25 episodes. That being said, the whole production is so stunning to watch that fans of the genre might be willing to forgive that the story is spread too thin. Provoke might have been more cohesive as a movie, but it’s intriguing enough to binge as is after the end of a long work day.

As a spin-off of The Boys, Gen V returns to the same well of explicit, hyperviolent satire about seemingly benevolent superheroes—touching on many ideas that the franchise has already explored more strikingly before. This series’ first three episodes are at their least effective when they get hung up on the shock factor of it all, with its satire often appearing as “cool” as the thing that it aims to satirize. But when the show quiets down and finally focuses up on its handful of main characters, it finds fresh ground for commentary.

At its heart this is a story about how the education system can be so easily bought by wealthy stakeholders who care more about producing star graduates than actually helping young people excel and find a place in the world. These kids are also immediately much easier to root for than Billy Butcher and his antihero crew, as each of them gradually reveals the trauma they’re recovering from as a result of being experimented on and exploited. Gen V’s central mysteries are slow to develop so far, but just seeing how this school-slash-factory is run helps make up for the slower pace.

Based on the first three episodes watched for this review, Club Hooligans (titled onscreen as Barrabrava) is at its best when it illustrates how disorganized the gang at the center of the narrative really is, especially when their leader’s position is threatened. This inherent lack of loyalty and structure contrasts nicely with the stricter culture of family obligation for its lead characters—even though the gang is still where these men find greater meaning. Unfortunately, the show can’t quite build as strong a sense of urgency as it thinks, with far too little development happening for both plot and character in the first three episodes. And while the series clearly has production value to spare, its overly familiar gritty style ultimately does Club Hooligans no favors, as it struggles to come up with its own voice and identity.

While the identity of the post-Daniel Craig James Bond hangs in limbo, the franchise is branching out into TV with this mid-octane game show, which riffs on tried-and-tested reality TV competitions: its multiple choice questions and climb-the-ladder approach to prize money are evidently borrowed from Who Wants to be a Millionaire?, while its globetrotting recalls The Amazing Race.

For all its snazzy backdrops, though, this still feels like a half-hearted effort. The editing is partly to blame: in the first two episodes, for example, we only meet four of the nine pairs, and we’re constantly jumping back to the opening challenge in the Scottish Highlands for their introductions. There’s also zero interaction between any of the duos: they never meet or even acknowledge each other’s existence, which dulls the drama and leaves you to suspect their scenes were all shot entirely in isolation. (You get the same impression from Brian Cox, who plays the mysterious mastermind behind the challenges and whose vague commentary is clearly designed so editors can slot it in wherever.) While there are plenty of Easter eggs for eagle-eyed Bond fans to spot, the show is definitively of the background-watch kind of TV: moderately interesting, but never as gripping as the movies whose coattails it’s plainly riding.

With Korean dramas captivating viewers today, Amazon Prime Video finally took a step into that market with My Man is Cupid, the first original Korean series created by the streaming service. The absolutely gorgeous Nana and the charismatic Jang Dong-yoon team up in this Eros and Psyche-inspired modern retelling, complete with the standard K-drama tropes. There are times when it struggles to balance its subplots, most especially with the uneasy integration of a serial killer in the mix, but the resulting series still works as a fairly fluffy endeavor. The show could have delved deeper into the mythology, and the streamer could have made a more daring start, but fans of the genre might still enjoy the comfort and predictability of My Man is Cupid.