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If I had a nickel for 2025 church-set murder mysteries solved by priests portrayed by handsome English actors, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t much, but it’s weird that it happened twice. This show across the pond takes on a cozier, nostalgic vibe, though. Adapting the first part of the Canon Clement mystery series, this show has its priest protagonist free from suspicion, as a possible intended victim. As such, Clement doesn’t go on a crisis of faith that Wake Up Dead Man has, taking on a more affable buddy-cop situation with DS Neil Vanloo. If anything, Clement isn’t as much the focus here– it’s the community that we get to learn and grow alongside with. Nonetheless, like that later film, Murder Before Evensong contemplates the way faith has closed itself off and allowed their teachings to be the basis of prejudice.

Murderbot takes time finding its pace—the first three episodes are bogged down by heavy narration, which isn’t always helped by Skarsgård’s deadpan delivery. But once it settles into its groove, the show turns into a delightful smorgasbord of different genres. It’s sci-fi, sure, but it’s also a workplace comedy, a thriller, and perhaps indirectly, a heartwarming tribute to how outcasts can find comfort in communities and found families. Don’t be fooled by Murderbot’s name: this is a sweet show, one where an anti-human killer robot (who presumably stands in for the pessimists among us) is eventually endeared to a group of quirky, lovable, and frequently funny humans.

From the creators of Scavengers Reign and Veep comes Common Side Effects, a show that’s at once quirkily funny and chillingly relevant. It’s about Marshall, a fungi expert who finds a mushroom that heals all wounds and illnesses. As a result, he becomes a target of big pharma, insurance companies, and even government agencies, all of whom, according to Marshall, insist on keeping the mushroom from the public so they can continue to profit off people’s sickness. It sounds silly at first, like the kind of fearmongering, fact-less posts you roll your eyes at when they hit your timeline. And the show is silly, but in a different way. It has the absurdity and quirks that make adult cartoons so delightful, yes, but as a condemnation of capitalist exploitation and greed? It can’t be any sharper, especially now that medical costs are skyrocketing and the public are starting to fight back.

Alien has done it again. Another prequel installment, Alien: Earth gives another glimpse into the sci-fi vision that fans of the franchise would likely enjoy. This time around, it’s in show form. The extra runtime gives showrunner Noah Hawley more space to build the Alien universe, and he takes that time to flesh out fundamental story lore, like the human push to create cyborgs, synthetics (AI), and hybrids of the two. It’s an interesting decision that mirrors today’s concerns with AI, and there are moments that the show gets a bit uneven because of it. Ultimately, however, Hawley’s vision honors the original story in both style and themes.

Led by Brian Tyree Henry (Atlanta, The Fire Inside, Bullet Train), Dope Thief is a thrilling if uneven crime comedy following two grifters (the other played by Wagner Moura) who get into deep trouble after a fake drug bust goes wrong. With cartel men and the feds chasing them, Henry and Moura’s characters must find a way to protect themselves and their loved ones, all while they process some unresolved grief and trauma. Moura is reliably great, but Henry juggles plenty of hats here—he is the emotional core, as well as often the funniest guy in the room. It gets uneven midway, but nothing some impressive and enjoyable performances can’t fix.

Why worry if your place is haunted, when it’s so difficult to even get one nowadays? These uncertain times make haunted houses somewhat passé, but Haunted Hotel proves there’s still some life left to the concept. It’s pretty funny. Rather than confronting their past, or uncovering unfinished business, the living owners of the Undervale Hotel are already desensitized to their fellow ghostly visitors, so the way Katherine wearily responds to the haunted shenanigans is hilarious. That being said, the jokes go beyond frustration for the hospitality business. It’s also a family business, with the living reckoning with their distance from the dead, especially between Katherine and her ghost brother Nathan. There are bits that feel a tad derivative, but Haunted Hotel provides a fairly pleasant stay, albeit with some demon summonings and exorcisms in between.

Set in Nunavut in northern Canada, North of North follows the joys and trials of Siaja (Lambe), a 26-year-old Inuit woman who is, for the first time, learning to live for and learn more about herself. “I went from taking care of you to taking care of him,” she tells her mother after deciding to split with her narcissistic husband. It’s a desire any ambitious person stuck in a small town or unhappy marriage will sympathize with, but things like class and race complicate Siaja’s situation. “You’re acting like a white girl with options,” her mother replies. But Siaja forges on and applies for a job in the town center. The show is mostly sweet, comedic, and inspiring (think Reservation Dogs and Parks and Recreation). Romantic comedy and workplace hijinks abound. But it doesn’t glaze over the Inuit community’s bleak history and realities. Siaja’s mom’s unfortunate experience with residential schooling, for one, and the town’s struggle with climate change, for another, provide sobering, thought-provoking moments. North of North isn’t without its flaws—the writing can be sharper and the directing tighter, with less unintentionally awkward pauses—but for the most part, it’s pleasant and hopeful, which is refreshing to watch with everything going on.

Adults is a show that tries to capture its generation’s specific joys and woes, much like what Friends did in the 90s, How I Met Your Mother did in the 2000s, Girls did in the 2010s…you get it. Like them, Adults’ core cast is comprised of a group of friends who are funny, relatable, confused, and frustrating—sometimes, to the point of annoying obnoxiousness, but it all goes back to age: these are people in their 20s. They (we) rarely make sense. At least in the 30-minute episodes the show offers, that mayhem is wrapped in bittersweet delight. It’s not without its faults, to be sure. The characters and plots are thinly sketched, saved only by the cast’s charisma and chemistry. But the first season is promising; like any young adult, it just needs time to figure out its voice.

With the fresh-faced cast and the sleek camerawork, Black Warrant, at first, didn’t seem to be the gritty adaptation of the exposé outlining the systemic corruption of the Tihar Jail in the 1980s. But, aesthetic aside, that’s precisely what Black Warrant is. Opening to Zahan Kapoor as Sunil Gupta being interviewed for the job as jailer, the show takes him and the audience to the tour of the notorious prison, and it’s a gripping one not because of the usual prisoner shenanigans, but because of the way the officers themselves happen to be in on the drugs and alcohol trade inside– and they’re ready to pin it all on Gupta if things go down. Showrunner Vikramaditya Motwane pulls it all together with excellent performances from the cast, an eerie score, and the real life headlines of some of India’s notorious prisoners.

In Pee-wee as Himself, actor Paul Reubens tells all about his notoriously private life. He sets the record straight about his sexuality. He addresses the scandals that broke out during the peak of his fame. But most importantly and interestingly, he talks about his creative process and how he created the iconic character, Pee-wee Herman. Here, too, Rubens talks about how the character consumed him to the point where he didn’t know where he started and Pee-wee ended. His insights are illuminating for any aspiring artist and actor. But the film, directed by Matt Wolf (Teenage), is also a masterclass in documentary-making. Wolf melds archival footage and photograps with Ruebens’ dreamy absurdist aesthetic, all while going head-to-head with Ruebens on the interview. Both want to control the narrative, and while their exchanges are initially playful, they turn increasingly tense and culminate in a surprising and moving ending.

Apple Cider Vinegar follows Belle Gibson, the real-life convicted scammer who founded a wellness empire based on alternative medicine. The series is an interesting character study as it paints Gibson in different shades, which Dever brings so much life into. Here she’s an exploitative scammer, tech visionary, psychopathic liar, hustler, and mother all rolled into one, so it’s not as easy as hating or feeling sorry for her character. Along with Gibson, we also follow Milli (Alycia Debnam-Carey) and Lucy (Tilda Cobham-Hervey), actual cancer patients battling the sickness in their own ways. At times, the show takes on a Mean Girls tone as Milli and Belle go head to girlboss head, but the show is at its strongest when it softens up and gives the women space to feel their specific pains. The show is sharp, entertaining, and moving enough, but I do wish it didn’t have to bury its message in layers of satire. It revels too much in that gray area between alternative living and pseudoscience when it should’ve made the dangers of the latter explicit.

Duster isn’t doing anything new by taking on organized crime and cloaking it in vibrant retro garb. But it does spin something familiar into something enjoyable to watch. The period drama is reminiscent of 1970s exploitation films—it’s funny, fast-paced, and stylish—but it never feels like a caricature of the genre. Holloway and Hilson inject their characters with plenty of heart, so whether you’re following his rugged anti-hero or her rule-breaking FBI agent, it still makes for a thrilling ride.

Stick is Apple TV+’s blatant attempt to follow up on Ted Lasso’s success. Like it, Stick is a sports dramedy that follows a washed-up, middle-aged, well-meaning man in pursuit of collective greatness. But despite their obvious similarities, Stick finds its footing and quickly becomes its own funny, moving, and irresistibly charming thing. This has a lot to do with the core characters, a group of people who can’t be any more different, and yet who connect in meaningful ways as they spend time on the road and on the course. Their chemistry and character arcs more than make up for the lack of an original story. The entire ensemble cast is great, but it’s the adults of the group—Wilson, Marc Maron, and Mariana Treviño—who give the show depth as they explore loss and grief in relatable ways. Stick sometimes feels too optimistic, but never too weepy.

The most surprising thing about Overcompensating is that, underneath the sexual romps and irreverent humor, there exists something sweet in the form of Benny and Carmen’s friendship. Yes, the show is largely about college and exploring the boundaries of freedom. It’s also about the different performances we put on in an awkward attempt to fit in and realize Who We Are. But it can also feel like it’s tackling too much at times, without a lot of novelty. College-set films and shows like Undeclared, The Sex Lives of College Girls, and even Neighbors have already treaded similar ground in sharper and funnier ways. But Overcompensating is still worth the watch, if only to see how Benny and Carmen grow and find platonic comfort in each other. Campy characters like Hallie (Holmes) and Esther (Kaia Gerber) also provide plenty of laughs and elevate it into something truly memorable.

From the creator of Peaky Blinders comes House of Guinness, a historical drama based on the family that founded the titular beer. Specifically, it follows the four heirs to the Guinness throne: hotheaded Arthur, power-hungry Edward, enlightened Anne, and troublemaker Benjamin. Like Succession before it, much of the show’s watchability stems from the siblings’ unrelenting rivalry to get what’s theirs. But in the process, the show sheds interesting, informative light on the history of Ireland. You might not learn about the brewing process, necessarily, but you will be entertained by the drama, history, and forbidden romances.

In many ways, the NBA is the face of basketball. They don’t just develop athletes, they create superstars—idols that people turn to for hope and inspiration. But even though the NBA is technically American, it’s never been more populated with international players than today. When it comes to the Olympics, that means fierce and exciting global competition. It’s hard to capture the enormity of all that, but Court of Gold succeeds with flying colors. The show strays from run-of-the-mill narration and generic footage. Instead, it gives us what we want: inside access into what goes down behind the scenes. We follow the top four teams in the games—USA, France, Serbia, and Canada—and hear from the athletes themselves. Kevin Durant, Victor Wembanyama, Nikola Jokić, and Shai Gilgeous-Alexander are some of the representatives who stand out the most. Some of these interviews and fly-on-the-wall moments prove to be even just as (if not more) exciting than the showdown on the court. But the latter is undeniably thrilling. It doesn’t matter that you know who takes the gold, or even that you care enough about the game. Court of Gold is a well-made example of showmanship and athleticism, as well as a wonderful attempt at humanizing larger-than-life stars.

Rivals is a heady dose of 1980s maximalism set against the backdrop of a seemingly quiet British countryside. The result is intoxicating: bored wives and polite language conceal carnal desires and immoral methods to reach the top. There’s a lot of sex, but it’s not necessarily sexy. It’s more campy than steamy, even though some characters do forge relationships that turn out to be romantic and true. There’s a lot of shouting and slapstick humor, as well as messages advocating sexual empowerment, which went against the conservatism that was rampant in the ‘80s. It’s reminiscent of Netflix’s Sex Education in that way, even and especially in terms of its bingeability (I finished the first season in one sitting). There’s a lot to like, after all. For every David Tennant and Aidan Turner screaming their heads off, there are more subtle performances from the likes of Nafessa Williams, Bella Maclean, Claire Rushbrook, Danny Dyer, and the ever-lovely Katherine Parkinson.

The Residence is a treat for fans of whodunnit mysteries, primarily because it plays homage to the genre more than anything. Each episode is titled after a well-known mystery, like “Dial M for Murder” and “Knives Out,” which speaks to its self-awareness. But the show is more than just a Sherlock knock-off. It boasts a colorful cast of characters, many of whom are given enough backstory and depth for us to empathize with. Most striking of all is Detective Cupp herself, who is eccentric, confident, and very easy to like. She whizzes through The White House’s hundreds of rooms equipped with quirky one-liners and a jazzy score, so it never feels like she overstays her welcome. As far as murder mysteries go, The Residence may not present the trickiest puzzle nor the most cerebral dialogue, but it’s smart, funny, and likable. By the end of the finale, you’ll wish to see more of the cast.

A town with no crime is a dream everywhere. It means safety, security, and trust for the residents within, so surely anyone would like to preserve that. That’s the case for the fictional town of Dhadakpur, the setting of Dupahiya. As the robbery happens, it understandably causes chaos in the town, but as the Jha family tries to solve the mystery, they also introduce us to the villagers– the humorous synchronicities that the town has, their simple but honest hopes and dreams, and the wit they have precisely because of their shared community– through various interconnected quests to preserve their individual, familial, and town’s reputations. It takes a while to all come together, but Dupahiya effortlessly weaves its threads through thoughtful writing and care for its characters.

When a mix-up in the school pick-up line turns out to be a kidnapping, it’s the beginning of the nightmare for the whole Irvine family. Except, as this crime thriller investigates the case, most side-eye and imply that it’s All Her Fault. The blame rests on the mothers’ shoulders, but mainly because the burden of the mental load and all the logistics rest on the shoulders of Marissa Irvine and Jenny Kaminski for their respective families. While the crime itself unfolds to somewhat melodramatic motives, the series ultimately works because of the incredible performances. Sarah Snook and Dakota Fanning portray a compelling bond formed by the empathy they both grant each other, when the rest of the world wouldn’t.

Lockerbie is a devastating time-hopping journey that tells the story of how the UK’s deadliest terror attacks came to be and how the victims’ loved ones coped and pursued justice, despite all odds. It takes on multiple perspectives—political, psychological—and resembles many genres at once—thriller, mystery, drama. But more than anything, it’s a story about grief, trauma, and as the title suggests, an inspiring pursuit of the truth. at its core, it’s a story about grief. Swire’s family is traumatized, and they all cope in different ways. It’s about what people, a community, can do when they’re sad and wronged. They can band together and demand justice in inspiring ways. It’s moving, but it has teeth too. It takes down the apathy and the secrecy of institutions more interested in protecting their own than the greater good.

Romantic comedies used to be a dime a dozen in the 2000s, but now it seems like a dying genre, filled with mere shadows of what once was. That’s why when a good one comes along, you recognize it immediately: a good romcom revitalizes our ideas of love and life. It’s injected with a freshness that makes old feelings seem brand new. You get that in the British film Rye Lane, the Apple TV+ series Platonic series, and the Aussie gem Colin from Accounts, to name some recent examples. You can also find that same spark in Nobody Wants This, a breezy and effortlessly funny romantic comedy about two star-crossed adults trying to make their relationship work despite family disapproval, work demands, and that nagging fear of being hurt once more. The series is helmed by an impressive roster of writers and directors including Greg Mottola (Adventureland, Superbad), Karen Maine (Obvious Child), and Oz Rodriguez (The Last Man on Earth). It’s reminiscent of the indie romcoms of the last decade while shedding some much-needed spotlight on middle-aged dating. My only gripe is that this would’ve worked so much better as a punchy feature film. Instead, it’s dragged to the typical Netflix length of 10 episodes, but at least each runs only for a breezy 30 minutes.

Hitmen are just cool. But rather than bring us the same fists and bullets that we usually see with these killers, Sakamoto of Sakamoto Days does his best to keep to his normal humdrum life, rather than jump back into the bloodshed. It’s an interesting twist to the gangster thriller. Rather than try to surpass any choreographed fights, or bring up the angst by killing everyone dear, the series humorously contrasts the over-the-top drama these assassins have over the straightforward ordinary life, which, as Shin realizes, is actually great. Sakamoto Days celebrates ordinary life as something worth protecting, and it’s pretty fun to see the crew do so.

With the gorgeous period costumes, the romance, and the familial dynamics, you would think that Like Water for Chocolate’s latest screen adaptation would be just the same as the film, albeit with a Bridgerton-esque style. To a certain extent, this is true, as the essence of the novel still remains intact and the production is greatly upgraded, however, the added runtime allows this latest adaptation to expand on the novel’s commentary on race and class, and how this played out within the Mexican revolution that was mostly glossed over in the film. Como Agua Para Chocolate captures the novel’s much more rich and layered flavors, in much more fulfilling and scrumptious ways.

It’s a tall order to depict One Hundred Years of Solitude. Considered to be one of the world’s most important novels to read, expectations were high, the magic realism required a hefty budget, and the sprawling seven-generation plotline felt like it couldn’t fit within a feature film, or around 90-120 minutes. It’s because of this that author Gabriel García Márquez held out on selling the rights, and the family followed suit after his death. Luckily, more than half a century later, streaming television garnered enough prestige and profit to finally adapt the classic. Netflix thankfully stuck to the family’s wishes of having it filmed in Spanish, in Colombia, with Colombian actors, but it also expanded on the layered text in ways video can only do so– like fleshing out the story visually and aurally, having an omniscient narrator, and taking advantage of the medium through editing, direction, and excellent performances from the cast. Cien años de soledad doesn’t just work– it makes it so much easier to understand hype and the themes for people completely new to the text.

You’d be forgiven for assuming Celtics City would be like most sports documentaries on TV—unremarkable and over-the-top. But in this case, Celtics City deserves to be over the top. The NBA team, perhaps more than any in the league, has such a rich history, filled with wins and losses, joys and failures, shame and impact, that it makes sense to tell their story in multiple episodes. It’s not indulgent or forced, it’s deserved. The first part alone is an expertly woven argument about how race and sports, at least in America, are inextricable. You can’t talk about the Boston Celtics without recognizing the incredible things Bill Russell has done for the team, and yet that’s what happened in the ‘50s. This smart discourse, along with the thrilling footage of past games and the exclusive interviews with Celtics members past and present make Celtics City stand out among the many, many sports docs out there.

I would be okay if Black Doves was just a straightforward spy thriller; Knightley and Whishaw have enough charm, enigma, and kick-ass competence to make it work. But beyond the show’s cool and slick demeanor lies a wealth of other gems. It’s a heartwarming friendship tale for one, and a heartbreaking romance for another. It also manages to be funny at the right times, thanks to Sam’s bumbling accomplices, while evoking Christmas cheer. It sounds like a random mishmash of things, but Black Doves effortlessly blends its many tones and genres. Knightley and Whishaw ground the show’s ambition with their affecting performance as two cold-blooded killers who depend on each other’s trust and friendship. It also helps that there’s a depth to the deaths in Black Doves. There’s a nuance here that’s missing in most crime and action thrillers. Bodies are still dispensable, but you know why and how they’ve reached that point. If you want something smart and gripping that isn’t Die Hard to put on this holiday season, this could be it.

After the only war the Americans have lost, American post-Vietnam war portrayals tend to lean as patriotic revenge fantasies or romanticized disillusionment, but rarely do they portray the people caught in between. HBO’s The Sympathizer is an adaptation of the Pulitzer winning novel of the same name, and while it’s mainly an American production, Park Chan-wook and Robert Downey Jr.’s collaboration sticks to the Captain’s perspective, as the unnamed mole protagonist writes his confession years after from a jail in Vietnam. Chan-wook excellently mirrors his approach to Viet Thanh Nguyen’s agile storytelling, shifting time periods and languages the same way the Captain shifts perspectives, though Nguyen’s dry humor sometimes wavers when translated to the screen. Still, it’s certainly a well-crafted, ambitious depiction coming from a unique perspective.

A more cynical viewer might be put off by the pity party that happens in the first hour of When Live Gives You Tangerines (although as far as K-dramas go, this one is pretty mild). There is plenty of crying, especially by the child actors who seem forced to do the act. But it’s worth sitting through; the events that follow are lovely and moving. Set in the countryside of post-war South Korea, the series follows a young couple as they elope and raise a family with little means. It gets cheesy at times but leads IU and Park Bo-gum nail their characters to the ground, always keeping them relatable, likable, and true to times. The immersive production design and the clever time jumps pull you in and keep you longing for the next episode.

Untamed moves slowly at first, but the pace pays off once you realize how Turner’s story is as much of a mystery as the case he’s solving, and how people can turn out to be as savage as the wild. It’s this balance between inner turmoil and outer chaos, bolstered by A-plus performances from the cast, that elevates Untamed from your typical murder mystery. Untamed is also a picturesque show. Even in its wildest and goriest moments (and even if most of it was filmed in Canada, not Yosemite), it remains stunning to look at.

Set in a high-crime neighborhood in Philadelphia, the series follows Mickey (Seyfried), a cop in search of her missing sister Kacey (Ashleigh Cummings), a struggling addict. Mickey believes her disappearance is connected to the strange series of deaths among female addicts in the city, but because her department would rather keep a blind eye, she has to investigate both cases in secret. All the while, she’s raising a child on her own and battling personal demons that trace back to her childhood. The premise, admittedly, is nothing you haven’t seen before. It even looks like the many other police thrillers out there, what with its grayed coloring and serious demeanors. It’s also paced similarly: slowly and surely. But what the series lacks in originality and speed, it more than makes up for in heart. It reframes common narratives about addicts—do they deserve help?—and urges us to sympathize with them, instead of ignoring or altogether ostracizing them.

Set in Tulsa, The Lowdown follows Lee Raybon (Ethan Hawke), a bookstore owner by day and investigative journalist by night. When he uncovers secrets harbored by the powers-that-be in Oklahoma, he finds himself in tricky situations, which he navigates with an amusing mix of awkwardness and finesse. The premise is nothing new, but Hawke delivers a hell of a performance: he’s electric, never stagnant, and dials up the general tone without ever being too much. The script is sharp and funny enough, but it’s Hawke and his peers’ performances that solidify The Lowdown as a must-watch, especially for fans of noir.

It’s hard not to be swept away by the epicness of Masters of the Air. Produced by Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks, with the first four episodes directed by Cary Joji Fukunaga (No Time to Die, True Detective), it’s made sure to flex its massive $250-million budget. Everything is accounted for here, from the sweeping and historically accurate production design to the stacked cast of rising male stars (Oscar nominees Austin Butler and Barry Keoghan easily steal the show). Even the rousing score and sound design, while bordering on melodrama at times, build up tension and add a premium air to it. It’s a visual and sonic feast bolstered by upstanding performances and an endearing show of brotherhood. Whenever it risks being propagandistic or misguidedly patriotic, it’s the believable relationship between the boys and their grave understanding of war that ground it and give it heart. And of course, the air combats are edge-of-your-seat thrilling. Like Band of Brothers and The Pacific before it, it’s a visceral entry in the genre of World War II must-sees.

The title character of Kotaro Lives Alone is such an unusual child. Sure, he plays pretend as an old feudal lord, has the characteristic precociousness main characters have, and he is drawn in the old school blocky anime style for young kids’ shows. But despite these markers for lighthearted entertainment, there’s something undeniably poignant behind this quirky character that his adult neighbors thankfully notice. As lazy next door neighbor Shin Karino gets to know him, and the residents of the complex band together, this slice-of-life series brings on the laughs, while simultaneously stabbing the heart with each realization. Kotaro Lives Alone works because it examines the actual ramifications of living without parents.