20 Best Shows Of 2023 On Itunes

Succession centers in on a global mega-corporation called Waystar RoyCo (based loosely on Disney) and the Roy family that runs it, who might also evoke parallels to other well-known real-world dynasties. Following the declining health of Logan Roy, the pater familias played by Brian Cox, the company’s heir apparent Kendall Roy (Jeremy Strong) sees himself challenged for succession by his siblings Roman (Kieran Culkin, yes, he’s Macaulay’s younger brother), Connor (Alan Ruck), and sister Shivy (Sarah Snook).

The writing of this HBO-produced series is sharp, the humor biting, and anarchy abundant, but watching Succession feels like a vice: it’s a guilty sneak-peek into the privileged but scary world of the mega-rich, making you a spectator of family dysfunction. Guilty also because you constantly find yourself rooting for people and causes, that are actually pretty awful. In addition to writing and wit, the cast and characters are all amazing, but watch out for Cousin Greg!

Set in 1980s Hollywood, Winning Time doesn’t just borrow from the decade, it imbibes it in its very fiber. It’s dizzyingly fast-paced and dazzlingly glamorous, pulling out all the stops from the cinematography, which employs a hybrid of film and tube camera, to the all-star cast, which includes Sally Field, Adrien Brody, and Jason Segel. It’s a technical feat, but amazingly, it also excels as a character study for Lakers legends Magic Johnson (Quincy Isaiah) and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar (Solomon Hughes), as well as the team’s charismatic owner, Jerry Buss (John C. Reilly). The writers go in-depth into their histories and weave a story so gripping, you can’t help but binge all 10 episodes in one go (and research the truth right after). If you’re an NBA fan, you might be disappointed to know that a big chunk of the script doesn’t adhere to real events, but you will no doubt be delighted to watch basketball in the way it was intended to be watched: riveting and nail-biting, with a lot of drama and glamor to match. 

While the BBC is famous for making some great understated drama series about the dark side of detective work (Luther, Line of Duty, Broadchurch), it has raised the bar with Happy Valley. It’s so good, it successfully breathes new life into the middle-aged but strong-willed small-town police officer trope, taking it to some uncomfortable and difficult places with exceptional writing.

Said small-town police officer is Catherine Cawood from West Yorkshire, impressively portrayed by Sarah Lancashire. Cawood has a hard time coming to terms with the release of a man from prison, who she is connected to in a fateful way and whose comeback coincides with a kidnapping attempt by a local drug kingpin. These events reveal the criminal underbelly of a seemingly quaint small town. Hidden behind its ironic title, Happy Valley will keep you on your toes with understated suspense, dry humor, and a quietly devastating storyline.

When Elle Fanning and Nicholas Hoult play power-hungry monarchs, what else more is there to say? The actors are very much in their element here, having already perfected similar roles in many films prior (one of them being The Favourite, which was co-written by The Great’s creator). They are the picture of elegance and royalty, and we need no convincing that they can hold 18th-century court.

Which is why when The Great takes us into its true, crude depths, they transform from simply credible to incredible. Aided by a wonderfully offbeat cast and the one-two punch of a hilarious and raunchy script, Fanning and Hoult deliver splendidly.

To be sure, this satirical show is not always funny. Sometimes, it takes dark turns to underscore the cruelty of the era, and other times it is genuinely moving in its drama. But this revisionist take on Russia’s Last Empress will always be a ball to watch, if only to see the artifice of aristocracy be stripped off and mocked with acerbic wit and might.

From the very start, Poker Face lays out all its cards—it shows us who dies and in the hands of whom. That is how an episode always opens, but in each case, we’re in a different corner of rural America, bumping elbows with different folks. That’s because our unwitting detective, the human lie detector Charlie (Natasha Lyonne) is on the run from a crime syndicate. So with nothing but her trusty car and the clothes on her back, she races through the US while making friends and enemies along the way.

There is a pattern to the story, but the thrill lies not in seeing when Charlie inevitably solves the case but in how she does it, which is full of heart and wry humor. Lyonne is absolutely magnetic, and her performance is only one of the show’s many hit-making elements. With a star-studded cast, beautiful Americana backdrop, and masterful editing (whose camerawork and coloring recall the show it references, Columbo), Poker Face sure is a trip to watch.

After struggling to recapture the magic of the first few Star Trek series for the better part of two decades, the franchise has finally returned to its original formula of self-contained space adventures, progressive politics, and an unabashedly hopeful tone—all to magnificent results. Strange New Worlds is classic Trek in every sense: from its truly out-there, ’60s-style sci-fi stories; to its warm sense of humor; to its welcome focus on sentiment and emotion even amid large battles and dangerous situations. The series accomplishes all of this while keeping every member of its crew unique and charismatic, crafting powerful character moments for them even in the thick of things—elevated by uniformly brilliant performances from its cast, led by a commanding Anson Mount. It’s Star Trek for old and new fans alike, and a great reminder of the distinct strengths of episodic TV.

That The Curse is squirm-inducingly awkward won’t be news to anyone who’s watched a Nathan Fielder show before, but TV’s king of cringe digs his heels in on that approach here. The Curse chronicles the making of another show: HGTV’s inelegantly named “Flipanthropy,” which follows Fielder’s Asher and wife Whitney Siegel (Emma Stone) as they perform (the operative word) good deeds in a struggling New Mexico town. Flipanthropy is also a means through which the well-to-do white couple can shill the eco-friendly homes they’re gentrifying the town with — a galling conflict of interest that plays as a running satire of TV.

The uneasy tension between what the Siegels say they want to do versus what they actually do is the heart of the show. In true Fielder fashion, their hypocrisy is revealed through excruciatingly awkward, tortuously long scenes takes, such as the one that gives the show its title (the socially inept Asher angers a little girl, who puts a curse on him). This scene is also an example of the insane left takes The Curse constantly takes, which speak to Fielder’s ability to make his shows feel like they’re falling apart all while building to towering complexity. Suffice it to say, there’s nothing else like this on TV.

Taking the violence and offbeat comedy of the original movie and adding constantly expanding narratives on top of it, Noah Hawley’s TV adaptation of Fargo arguably becomes an even richer portrait of the dark side of human nature hiding inside modern, polite society. All four complete seasons of the anthology series (with a fifth currently ongoing at the time of this writing) are an exercise in seeing how many dominoes can topple from a series of mismanaged coincidences. The resulting chaos then becomes more of a reflection on the kind of facades these characters would rather maintain for the sake of some semblance of control.

And perhaps with the exception of the show’s ambitious but sluggish fourth season, every Fargo story is dripping in suspense and cinematic polish, with plenty of chilling visuals and intricate music and sound design—not to mention ensemble casts who are almost always at the height of their powers. Each season has at least one stand-out, be it Alison Tolman and Billy Bob Thornton in season one, Carrie Coon and David Thewlis in season three, Ben Whishaw in season four, and practically everybody from season two. These are all actors who understand exactly how to inhabit the world Hawley has deepened, through wry humor and surprising pathos.

In just eight episodes, this densely packed miniseries manages to be a beautifully told queer romance, a riveting political thriller, and an important snapshot of 20th-century America. It’s nothing short of an epic. Matt Bomer and Jonathan Bailey effortlessly carry the series on their backs. Their chemistry is undeniable, but they shine just as well in their political scenes. McCarthyism and the Lavander Scare in the ‘50s, the rampant protests in the ‘60s, the carefree parties of the ‘70s, and finally the AIDs crisis in the ‘80s, where present-day Hawk and Tim live in—all are consistently compelling thanks to the actor’s powerful, decades-spanning performances and showrunner ​​Daniel Minahan’s stable direction. The end may be (unsurprisingly) tragic, but it’s nonetheless moving because of the strong storytelling that preceded it.

Even without doing the important and long overdue work of uplifting Native American voices, Dark Winds manages to be an intriguing mystery, layered with complex performances and bolstered by the majestic expanse of the American Southwest (in the ‘70s no less!). Finally released from the shackles of supporting roles, Zahn McClarnon shines here; he’s in top form as the gritty but softhearted police officer who protects his tribe from encroaching federal forces. The mysteries that propel the show are compelling too; they have the same beats as any you’d expect from a crime thriller, but they’re seeped deep into Native American mysticism, making them intriguing and wholly unique. 

Produced by National Geographic, A Small Light is a ten-part miniseries that tells the incredible true story of Miep Gies (Bel Powley), the Dutch woman who bravely hid her Jewish friends from the Nazis during World War II. Among these friends is her kindly mentor Otto Frank (Liev Schreiber) and his daughter Anne (Billie Boullet), both of whom form a tight bond with Miep. 

More than just re-adapting Anne Frank’s story to the screen, A Small Light further fleshes it out by introducing other characters in depth and giving surrounding heroes their due. In fact, it’s as much about courage as it is about survival as it highlights what it takes to lend a hand (and possibly lose it) when you don’t need to. It also helps that this noble message comes with a massive budget and excellent performers, elements that tie everything together in this high-quality series.

It’s difficult to describe Mrs. Davis without sounding a little bit insane. It is, after all, a sci-fi series that takes on the spiritual and the technological with an irreverent tone. It’s hilarious and action-packed, meta and ambitious, and it’s all led by a devoted nun taking down an all-knowing AI. 

Believe me when I say there’s nothing quite like it at the moment, and it gets major props for being truly out of this world. But Mrs. Davis doesn’t get by on novelty alone. It’s a balanced piece of work, impressively stable despite the weight of all it’s trying to be, and it soars as both a satire, a thriller, and a genre show. It also keeps you guessing with each new scene, so if you like to be kept on your toes at all times, then this funny, fantastical, and wholly absurd show will surely be an enjoyable watch.

It’s horrifying to think that there’s a sociopathic surgeon out there who, whether intentionally or not, is screwing up spinal operations so that innocent patients are either maimed or killed. But it is a reality that Dr. Death brings to the fore with great skill and sensitivity. The pacing is brisk, making it bingeable and frankly hard to put down once you start watching it. It also rightfully divides screentime between understanding the criminal’s motives, the system that allows it, and the people who are determined to put an end to this insanity. But the real highlight is how well-casted the series is. In season 1, Joshua Jackson is unnerving as Dr. Duntsch, while Alec Baldwin and Christian Slater’s buddy cop rapport makes the show more gripping than it already is. Season 2 guns for romance with Édgar Ramírez and Mandy Moore as conflicted lovers, and Lifetime-level cheesiness aside, it actually works to deliver something equally compelling as the first season. With Dr. Death, Peacock has built a worthwhile if terrifying anthology.

Fans of the iconic crime series 24 will find much to like in Rabbit Hole, not least because Kiefer Sutherland reprises a similar role as an above-average agent embroiled in high-profile criminal cases. Despite the years between those two shows, Sutherland still turns in a top-notch performance each time, regardless if he’s in a high-stakes chase or a charged tête-à-tête. 

Filled with twisty mind games and action-packed scenes, Rabbit Hole is a must-watch for fans of excellent thrillers.

Crass, violent, and deeply unserious, this adult animated series gets around its rough edges by acknowledging its title character’s reputation. Often seen only in the context of her twisted romance with a much more recognizable villain, Harley Quinn tends to be viewed as merely victim or vixen. But this show has her break free and claim her own story, taking shots not just at her emotionally abusive ex, the Joker, but at the entire DC Comics brand and at any other moving target it can find. The result is a series that has the tendency to feel scattershot, but whose anarchic energy still leads to the catharsis of untethering oneself from an unhealthy addiction and learning to be rebuild.

And though the show’s writing and animation can get too stiff or stilted (especially in later seasons), much of it still works thanks to its bonkers sense of humor, as well as an excellent voice cast. Kaley Cuoco is exactly as brash and expressive as Harley needs to be, and supporting turns from an extensive range of actors (including Lake Bell, whose Poison Ivy eventually becomes Harley’s most important relationship) ensure that every corner of this world has something hilarious to offer.

Black Snow has the sleek style of a modern murder mystery, but its concern with Australia’s colonial past that sets this show apart. As a neo-noir series centered on a murder, the show has all the classic elements: the hardboiled detective, the suspicious townsfolk, and the murder. As the murder is set in 1994, nostalgic summer-tinged high school scenes make it easy to root for justice for the show’s young victim.

But the series stands out as it’s always mindful of Isabel Baker, always concerned with her and her dynamics with her friends, family, and her South Sea Islander (ASSI) community. Supported by the strong performance of newcomer Talijah Blackman-Corowa, and even consulting the ASSI community personally in the show’s development and production, Black Snow is excellent not just as a murder mystery but also as a depiction of a community that’s rarely portrayed on screen.

If you have the patience to get through its rocky first season, Star Trek: Lower Decks proves itself to be an adult animated series that’s deeply committed to getting significantly better with every season. What started as a sort of budget Rick and Morty riff with grating humor and stiff animation has turned into an effortlessly witty sci-fi show with plenty of life in the way it moves. It’s still mostly concerned with having silly little adventures at the end of the day, but what’s striking is how complete its adventures and sci-fi ideas are in the span of its 20- to 30-minute episodes.

And as it’s found its footing, Lower Decks has also gained the confidence to begin telling more overarching stories by its fourth season, with an even stronger focus on character. These kinds of animated comedies could easily avoid any profound development for its protagonists—and this show doesn’t exactly have the most deeply-written crew members in Trek history—but there’s real heart in how the lower decks crew reflect on the modesty of their stations and how they view themselves within a larger institution. If it doesn’t seem too groundbreaking, that’s part of the appeal too; smaller stories still deserve to be told.

Bright, breezy, and refreshingly unburdened by the seriousness of so many live-action Superman shows and movies, this new animated series wipes the slate clean and boils down the titular hero to his most endearing qualities. Here, Clark Kent is still learning to be more in touch with his identity and emotions—most evident in his enigmatic flashbacks to his childhood, and in his absolute nervousness around the energetic and spontaneous Lois Lane. So while the action and the intrigue in My Adventures with Superman are still somewhat ordinary for an animated series, the undeniable, bashful chemistry between its two leads is what keeps these adventures worth going on. It’s a romcom and a coming-of-age story wrapped in a classic superhero adventure, where selflessness and courage are firmly at the heart of everything.

Undead Unluck is such a strange anime with such a strange duo. Named after their respective powers, the undead Andy seems familiar with his Deadpool-like regeneration, albeit with such a fast rate that he can shoot out body parts with such gruesome animation. However it’s the unlucky Fuuko that brings them to the most absurd comedic scenarios, including, but not limited to, surviving a giant truck crash, a lightning strike, and a whole meteor. In order to achieve their goal of dying, they have to build up a bond to maximize her unluck. As they learn more about Fuuko’s abilities, as well as the organization hunting them down, it’s likely that they’ll go through wackier situations that will escalate as the show progresses. It’s definitely something uniquely watchable, if you can handle the off-putting gore that’s part and parcel of Andy’s powers.

This comedy created by and starring Danny McBride is about a dysfunctional family of superstar televangelists. He plays the eldest son who gets blackmailed with a video from one of his not-so-virtuous nights. Watch it for easy laughs, especially if you’re used to McBride’s brand of humor, but maybe skip it if not. Also with John Goodman and Adam DeVine.

Despite featuring a sharp script and solid performances, Party Down struggled to rake in views when it premiered in 2009, and sadly had to quit after just two seasons in. But since then, its small cast had gone on to become TV luminaries and its sardonic humor garnered newfound appreciation among the younger crowd. Even the show’s hustle culture premise, which was quite novel then, can be found in almost every show now. 

So it’s not a stretch to call Party Down a pioneering comedy. It’s simple and efficient, with each episode taking place at a different event, but it’s also deeply funny and keenly aware of the ironies and hypocrisies of the industry it’s a part of. People, myself included, were afraid that it might lose some of its underdog edge when it was rebooted in 2023, but rest assured, it remains as knife-sharp and hilarious as ever.  

You just wouldn’t expect yet another superhero show from The CW to carry the sort of emotional weight typically reserved for prestige melodramas, but Superman & Lois gets close. In contrast to recent darker portrayals of the Man of Steel, this series allows Clark Kent to remain a nerdy, wholesome dad, whose greatest challenges come from the problems he can’t solve with his powers. In fact, some of the superheroics only slow the show down from doing what it does best: navigating different relationships within the Smallville community, exploring various conflicts that can still pop up in a loving marriage, and looking at how Clark and Lois’s kids deal with the secrecy around having (or not having) powers.

Strong, character-focused writing and mature, measured performances help put Superman & Lois above a number of its superhero contemporaries. It still falls victim to cheesy situations and occasional stretches of monotony (especially in the second season), but its dedication to human drama over action set pieces and expanding its lore makes it easy to be moved by their most personal problems. This is what DC has needed all this time.

In fantasy worlds, races with different lifespans are a given, but rarely does a work actually contemplate how these variations would affect relationships between them. Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End starts after a great war, at the moment of peace, and to the titular elf, her shared journey with the human Himmel and their party feels like a blip in her life, their ten years of friendship blurred amongst her thousand years… until Himmel dies, which shifts her perspective on mortality. Frieren won’t have that much extravaganza we’re used to in other fantasy shows, but the way Frieren tries to reconnect with her former comrades, and the way she remembers their memory through flashbacks, all become a gentle and moving meditation on purpose, meaning, and connection, all paired with outstanding art and some of the best worldbuilding we’ve seen in anime.

Nolly is a three-part series following the titular British soap actress during her twilight years. Apart from being a biopic, the series also shines a light on how deep-rooted problems like ageism and sexism derail ambitious women like Nolly, all while offering an amusing glimpse into TV production. Since Nolly is a miniseries (and just a three-parter at that), things move pretty quickly, making it an easy watch if that’s what you’re looking for. The downside, however, is that the show fails to tie plenty of loose ends by the finale—which is a shame, because it introduces plenty of interesting characters and ideas, but only scratches their surface. With more time, Nolly could be a great show, but as it stands, it’s a good one featuring the always impressive, sufficiently outsized Helena Bonham-Carter.

Set in 1930s Hollywood, a decadent city festering with crime and corruption, Perry Mason is a stylish noir series that fully recalls the crime classics of its era. It has the hallmarks of an old-fashioned mystery, the most prominent of which is the titular detective himself, Perry Mason—a boozy antihero with a heart of rusty gold—but it keeps plenty of secrets up its sleeve, making it fresh and surprising at almost every turn. 

Sometimes, it gets ahead of itself and takes on too many plot lines for its own good, but if you can forgive the occasional convolutedness, the show rewards you with shocking twists and rich performances.  

Despite its name, Funny Woman isn’t all laughs. Though it follows Barbara in her quest to become a comic, it’s also a serious drama that tackles the sexism she faces in a male-dominated field and the prejudice she’s dealt with as a lower-class Northerner. Through secondary characters, we also get to see the show deal with racism and homophobia. These elements make the show feel modern, but they also make it feel less realistic. Many of the characters already share progressive views, which doesn’t just leave little room for growth, but also feels dishonest to the times. The back-and-forth between slapstick and serious can also make for jarring viewing. Thankfully, the show’s problems take a backseat to its wonderful performances. Arterton isn’t always funny (at times, she’s upstaged by her roommate Marj, played by Alexa Davies) but she has a lot of heart and charm, as does the show itself, which ultimately makes it an entertaining and comforting watch.

Created by Boyz N’ The Hood director John Singleton, Snowfall is an epic crime drama that tracks the rise of the crack epidemic in the United States, mostly through the lens of Franklin Saint (Damson Idris). Over the seasons, we follow Franklin and a host of characters separately but equally involved in the drug trade. There’s someone from the government, someone from the other side of the border, and someone from a gang. These sectors and more are represented in this large-scale examination of crime and corruption, and though the show initially struggles to tie connections in a cohesive way, it eventually rises to the occasion in compelling ways. 

Snowfall is the type of show that only gets better each turnout, so if you’re not so sure about the first season, you might want to give the next ones a shot to make sure you don’t miss out.

Knowing better than to dwell on its title character’s early life in bondage, Lawmen: Bass Reeves grants him his freedom early on and establishes him as a man of inherent dignity and complex emotion. Even in the first two episodes watched for this review, Reeves (thanks to a stellar performance by David Oyelowo) is defined by a wide range of relationships and skills—all of which is unified in the character’s realization that emancipation has not automatically led to peace, and that America remains a relatively lawless land. It’s all handsomely mounted, with high production values and a willingness to breathe through quiet moments that give its somewhat obligatory western action the gravity it needs.

What does corporate heaven, the Dark Ages, the Oregon Trail, and a post-apocalyptic world have in common? Nothing, except that they are all settings for each season of Miracle Workers. The eccentric comedy anthology series plays out somewhat like a set of extended Saturday Night Live skits, with one of its youngest writers Simon Rich running the show, but the absurd humor works as Rich juxtaposes today’s modern behavior in these novel settings each season. It’s quirky and light on its feet, focusing on silly situations, but through these short episodes, Miracle Workers do create miracles in the way Daniel Radcliffe, Steve Buscemi, and Geraldine Viswanathan’s characters resolve to make a meaningful change, despite terrible circumstances. It’s not as in-depth and profound as The Good Place, but it’s funny and surprisingly witty, dealing with ideas about what’s good and how to get the will to do it.

Will Trent is a crime procedural that tackles a new mystery every few episodes. It doesn’t differ from other detective shows in that way, but what makes Will Trent interesting is that the intrigue of each case never takes away from the intrigue of the personal lives of the lead characters. 

Will Trent, in particular, remains the biggest mystery in the series. Much like Sherlock Holmes or Monk before him, he’s troubled but kindhearted, gifted but hated by all. He’s one of the most awkward detectives you’ll meet, but what he lacks in social graces he more than makes up for in outstanding smarts. Unraveling Trent, his colleagues, and his subjects is a fun ride, one that makes the 40 minutes or so of watching well worth it.

Making a bucket list at the height of a zombie outbreak seems ridiculous, yet totally reasonable when you’ve spent the last three years overworked and undervalued. In real life, our workforce already feels zombified as higher-ups enslave the working class to high production and insufficient pay, so it’s nice to see Zom 100 exemplify that notion. Zom 100 also immediately captures that essential reminder to “live now,” which has become especially relevant as the Covid-19 pandemic found most people rekindling old hobbies and discovering new ones as death and sickness felt ever near.

Though there isn’t a lot of character-building in episode one, the titular 100-item bucket list promises an eye-opening, personal journey with our protagonist Akira. Thankfully, the opening didn’t shy away from the gore and electrifying tension of the zombie attacks, making this an interesting horror/slice-of-life/coming-of-age/drama to keep an eye on. 

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.

From Me to You: Kimi ni Todoke is a high school romance drama. It’s sweet, it’s wholesome, and it’s comfortingly familiar. It leans more on its romance than its comedy. It doesn’t have high stakes fantasy or action-packed battles, but it captures the high school experience in such a lovely way. Of course, the show would likely reach its romantic happy ending, but what makes the show compelling isn’t just the thrill of connecting with a crush– it’s the inspiration for Sawako to open up, and enable her to connect and have friends. The live action adaptation may not fully capture everything from the original and it speeds through the plot, but it retains the parts that make it work, even for viewers totally unfamiliar with the story.

Like some of his best roles, Bob Odenkirk plays the unlikeable but relatable lead in titular Lucky Hank. He’s a celebrated writer, but hasn’t written for years. He’s the head of the literary department, but works for an underfunded college in the middle of nowhere. He’s constantly judging other people’s lives while hating his own, no matter how good it seems to outsiders. In other words, he’s a smart fool who gets in the way of his own success and happiness, and with the right actor (which Odenkirk most certainly is), those types are always fun to watch. Bleak and dry, but fun nonetheless. And thankfully, despite what the title suggests, Lucky Hank isn’t a sole character study but a wonderfully packed ensemble dramedy. We’re just as privy to Hank’s life as we are to his academic colleagues, students, and family, who all speak to the realness of working in academic spaces.

Part court drama, part medical procedural, and part detective mystery, The Apothecary Diaries is the sort of anime that easily handles multiple genres and does it so well. With the insatiably curious Maomao investigating certain court ailments as a poison tester, it naturally creates a new mystery of the week, all deduced from her apothecary beginnings and her life in the red light district. It’s also integrated well into the main plot, as Maomao’s whole promotion starts from her sense of justice, with each mystery carefully revealing the court dynamics, various motivations each player has, and how the overall world of this Imperial China-inspired court operates. The Apothecary Diaries ties it all together with excellent writing.

From the creators of the beloved sitcom Brooklyn Nine-Nine comes Killing It, an offbeat but endearing show starring Craig Robinson. Down on his luck and out of viable financial options, the show’s lead (also named Craig) turns to python hunting in Florida to earn some extra income.

It’s an absurd premise that gives way to fun and hijinks, but for all its silliness, Killing It touches on important topics such as class and race. It walks a tightrope between comedy and criticism and gracefully succeeds, all while having something of value to say.

A parody of the true crime industry, Based on a True Story is as dark as a comedy can go. It follows Ava and Nate (Kaley Cuoco and Chris Messina), a couple who, in an attempt to save their marriage and bank accounts, partner up with serial killer Matt (Tom Bateman) to create a podcast about Matt’s killing sprees. It proves to be a hit in murder-obsessed America, but Ava and Nate soon realize that their success comes with a bloody price.

Based on a True Story is the type of show that has a lot of fun trying on different hats—all at once, it’s a satire, thriller, horror, and romance—and though it’s not always successful at balancing them out, there’s something addictive about watching it try. Even when the constant tonal shifts and murky morals threaten to tear the show down, you can’t bring yourself to look away. This is mostly thanks to Cuoco and Messina, whose dynamic chemistry and live-wire performances all but prove their status as sitcom veterans. Bateman is also effectively terrifying, able to maintain his killer guise amidst ever-shifting genre backgrounds.

Often, the show treads the fine line between making light of and shedding light on violence in modern-day America. But the risk pays off, making it a killer watch for anyone willing to give it a try.

While this spin-off of Netflix’s previous Castlevania series doesn’t have the most interesting take on vampires, Nocturne’s stellar action scenes and its use of the French revolution as a historical backdrop are enough to give it a personality worth keeping an eye on beyond the first two episodes watched for this review. There isn’t all that much plot in these early installments, and neither are there memorable vocal performances that really capture these characters. But when the show has to be grisly and exciting (which is often), it hits the stake on the head. And even in its more static moments, the vampire characters cast a large shadow over everything, appearing exactly as seductive and monstrous as they’re meant to be—just like the aristocracy they’re meant to represent.

You don’t have to be familiar with the book series to appreciate this adaptation of The Wheel of Time, but you might need to be a fantasy fan to understand that sometimes it takes a while (like a season long) to build a world as detailed and expansive as this one. Once you give it that grace, The Wheel of Time becomes a satisfying watch. It’s utterly fascinating in its rules, lore, mystery, and language. It relies on that all-too-common Chosen One trope, sure, but it subverts it too and surprises by the time it reveals who among Moiraine’s team that person is. Though it never reaches GOT levels of grandeur (the CGI could be better), its ever-expanding world of characters and magic delight and enthrall.

The curious case of Paul T. Goldman could’ve been a simple true-crime documentary or a fictionalized series—instead, the resulting project is a strange and hilarious blend of both. Behind-the-scenes footage intercut reenactments intercut interviews. The show is as much about Goldman’s reaction to the scam (which is admittedly way more interesting) as it is about the actual scam. You should watch for the spectacle, but stay for the larger-than-life character that is Goldman—he’s a goof, but an endearing and fascinating one nonetheless. 

A murder mystery on one hand and a supernatural dramedy on the other, School Spirits is an engaging teen series that recalls plenty of past movies and shows before it. Like Ghost and The Lovely Bones, the protagonist is a murder victim attempting to solve the mystery of her death, and like the BBC/CBS show Ghosts, it gathers an eclectic group of spirts from different eras and plays off their obvious differences. 

It’s spirited and spunky, and though it sometimes edges on soapy territory, it’s mostly saved by the confident performances of its young actors. Watch this if you’re looking for to binge a good whodunnit or an unconventional high school drama (or both)—it’s both those things, and little more.

Part Mr. and Mrs. Smith and part Parasite, The Company You Keep follows conman Charlie (Milo Ventimiglia) and CIA agent Emma (Catherine Haena Kim) as they pursue a whirlwind romance while keeping their real identities from each other. Charlie pulls off heists with the help of his family, all of whom are part of his crime business, while making sure to target only the Big Bads (that is, wealthy criminals who have yet to be caught). It’s not long before Charlie and Emma cross paths as their true selves, but till then, the show makes sure it has a lot of fun with close encounters, hijinks, and elaborate capers filled with delightful disguises. 

If you’re looking for an easy watch that has everything—romance, crime, drama, comedy—then this should be on your to-watch list.

Unabashedly embracing the ridiculous twists, rotating romantic pairings, and other tropes common to young-adult comedy-dramas, Good Trouble offers a massive number of storylines that are always delivered with an easygoing charm and real filmmaking flair. Set in a communal living space in Los Angeles, each character’s personal drama often intersects with everyone else’s—allowing the show to look at every issue through a wide range of perspectives, and letting the authentic mess of human emotion and miscommunication drive the stories forward. It’s undeniably cheesy most of the time, but the energy in the show’s filmmaking and the fun chemistry among its actors helps dignify even the smallest everyday occurrence as something meaningful.

It’s ironic that Pete Davidson is the least interesting part of Bupkis, an autobiographical series about the ins and outs of Davidson’s life. The half-hour comedy takes on the same raunchy, stoner, and self-deprecating humor Davidson is known for, so if you’ve seen some of his stand-up specials, SNL segments, and the film The King of Staten Island (a much better outing, in this writer’s opinion), you’ll know what to expect in Bupkis: a lot of Davidson revisiting his childhood trauma and poking fun at himself for being the internet’s reluctant star.  

That’s all fine and funny enough, but what really makes Bupkis much better than your standard sitcom is the people around Davidson. If you can appreciate anything about Davidson, it’s his appreciation for the people most others would usually forget after fame. Hometown locals, childhood friends, extended families—they’re all here and they all shine much brighter than the series’ star. Brilliantly, Joe Pesci plays Davidson’s grandfather, Edie Falco his mother, and Bobby Cannavale his uncle. They’re fully fleshed and superbly acted, bringing much-needed tenderness and humbleness to the picture. It’s a pleasant surprise to see them in a series that is teetering on the verge of self-indulgence. So with Bupkis, you can come out of curiosity, but you will stay for the supporting characters, who truly live up to their role and hold this show up with mighty skill.

Mesmerizing as its idol, Oshi No Ko is a spellbinding adaptation of the original manga hit. Centered around an idol’s secret twin children, this binge-worthy anime brilliantly takes the reincarnation trope to tackle the Japanese entertainment industry. The premise alone is brilliant, but stunning animation and catchy tracks elevate the source material. The show isn’t afraid to go in-depth– as the twins progress through their careers, certain scenes effectively explain quirks in the industry that regular viewers wouldn’t know. However, the show remains mindful of its young characters, ensuring a careful discussion without going too far. Oshi No Ko uncovers what makes stars so captivating, without sacrificing the glitz and glamor in its explanation.

It’s chilly this summer with vengeful spirits, cursed hands and double pupils in the horror-comedy Dark Gathering. Keitarō Gentōga has always attracted ghosts, and despite his fear, he is ready to socialize again after two years. Unlucky for him, his first student as a tutor is Yayoi Hôzuki, his best friend’s cousin obsessed with finding the ghost that stole her mother. Although Yayoi’s obsession with using a reluctant Keitarō is played up for laughs, her moe appearance preserves a level of disturbing (thanks to her double pupils). By episode two, the story still feels shallow, but there’s enough spook to carry you through the heat. 

It’s a new term at Kimberly Magic School, an academy with an 80% survival rate. Immediately we are introduced to the school’s magical compound and our two main leads, Oliver Horn and Nanao Hibiya. Nanao, in particular, sticks out in her samurai garb and nonchalance toward danger (and most social cues), which is saying something since this is already an odd world filled with talking plants, magical creatures, and a busty, threatening headmistress. Because it chooses worldbuilding over backstories, the fantasy series doesn’t seem as formulaic as it could be. But it does expertly set up the dangers the students will experience in the next seven years. It’s also interesting that the magical students rely on swords instead of the usual wands; the possibility of even deadlier fights later in the series makes it an easy draw.

The success of Average Joe’s humor lies in showing how ordinary people realistically react to extraordinary events (in this case, being hunted down by the Russian mafia). Joe and his friends are blue-collar workers who barely make ends meet, so it makes sense that they won’t immediately know expert self-defense. They’re no John Wick, they don’t have combat skills hidden up their sleeves. And even with a police accomplice, they wouldn’t know how to hide bodies and launder money. But they’re forced to try, and those attempts are as clumsy as they are darkly funny. One of Joe’s friends fumbles over a body part they try to hide and vomits at the sight of blood. Meanwhile, his wife comes up with all sorts of uncanny solutions, like slathering peanut butter on dead bodies to attract hungry animals in the woods. The tonal shifts can be jarring sometimes, but the show is consistently funny and frightening. It’s also just refreshing to see everyday people go through all the fuss action stars do. What would we really do when placed in their shoes? Joe and his friends are just like us, but funnier and way more prone to gore.

The love parents have for their child is powerful, but most parents normally don’t resort to murder for them. Of course, most families don’t actually need to, but like Tetsuo Tosu, they might if their daughter’s yakuza boyfriend plans to murder her first. My Home Hero depicts this scenario, slowly going into the potential sequence of events that could happen, realistically portrayed by Kuranosuke Sasaki, Tae Kimura, and Asuka Saito as the loving family. The family might be a bit cookie-cutter – we’ve seen similar characters in other series before – but they’re relatable enough to make My Home Hero a fairly decent, though generic, crime drama.

After delving into the secrets of giants under the sea, James Cameron and National Geographic now explores the giants above ground in Secrets of the Elephants. Natalie Portman narrates the intricate social behavior of four elephant families from around the world, as each family adapts to their specific environments, as well as living beside, and sometimes, together with, the human world. Of course, the show offers picturesque views and fun facts about these gentle giants, but it recalls the same sociological approach that defined Secrets of the Whales as they treat the elephants’ behaviors as its own human-like culture.

Fans of Dan Harmon, the brain behind beloved shows like Community and Rick and Morty, will notice his signature touch in Krapopolis. The jokes are thought-provoking, the characters are lovably flawed, and most importantly, the premise is bonkers—but if you’re used to Harmon’s world, perhaps not bonkers enough. Maybe this is because of its 20-minute runtime, but Krapopolis feels more restrained than Harmon’s usual work, which revels in the bizarre. It also moves too fast to be appreciated, so you’ll need to spend more time and episodes with the characters to fully appreciate them. But if you’re coming into Krapopolis with no knowledge of Harmon’s previous work, then the show can actually be as fun and lighthearted as any good raunchy adult cartoon. 

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.

If Special Ops: Lioness seems like one of the many muscly, male-targeted shows out there but, you know, girlified, that could be because it’s created by Taylor Sheridan, the mastermind behind such hypermasculine epics as Yellowstone, Tulsa King, and Mayor of Kingstown. Lioness could have been a chance for Sheridan to prove his versatility by showing us the female side of things for once; he could’ve explored the unique and complex situation female members of the military go through, and maybe jump into that rich discourse of intersectionality, but the show never really digs far beyond its spy thriller surface. Filled with soapy cliches, I’m-not-like-other-women takes, and what could only be product placements for the US Marines, Lioness doesn’t really seem like anything other than generic fare. 

Based on a PlayStation game of the same name, Twisted Metal has a lot of the bullet-heavy, high-speed action of the original but with a lot more characters and backstory thrown in the mix. It certainly scratches a nostalgic itch for those who played the game growing up, especially once big names like Anthony Mackie, Stephanie Beatriz, and Will Arnet (or his voice at least) bring familiar characters to life. But beyond all the furtive action and winks and nods made to the video game, there is little about Twisted Metal that’s likable, much less watchable. Sure, it’s fun to see guns go boom and cars go vroom, but the core of the series never feels substantial enough to justify its existence. You might enjoy watching it, but you likely won’t remember much of it. 

Whether or not its intentionally messy, erratically paced style resonates with you, there’s something undeniably special about having a show like Rain Dogs in our current television landscape. Almost aggressively opposed to the idea of comfort viewing and easily marketable drama, the series deals with characters who are at rock bottom for all eight episodes. There’s a particular restlessness to its storytelling that keeps it thoroughly unpredictable, and allows Daisy May Cooper and Jack Farthing to play razor-sharp, open-hearted roles without any pretension whatsoever. But Rain Dogs’ unique personality also means it can be especially challenging to latch on to its story—especially when the momentum is rarely carried over from one episode to the next. We become trapped in the show’s central toxic friendship to the point of overemphasis. And that’s a rare, valuable thing, but it can also be much too frustrating.

It would be unfair to demand the same things out of The Continental that the John Wick film series already does so well. And this three-episode prequel definitely works as its own animal; even if you haven’t seen those increasingly elaborate Keanu Reeves movies, this miniseries easily finds a whole group of sympathetic characters worth rooting for and builds to a series of exciting set pieces full of personality and excellent choreography. The groundedness of The Continental’s ensemble of heroes emerging from the seedy streets of this fictionalized 1970s New York works surprisingly well against the arrogance of the show’s villains. And the world they all inhabit is rendered just as slickly as in the films.

But in its search for an identity of its own, The Continental becomes a reminder for why the John Wick movies work so well—and why this series just can’t capture the same spark. Those are simple, primal movies that contrast Reeves’ stoic, mythic protagonist against a bizarre world of colorful enemies. The Continental, in contrast, borrows from many hardboiled crime dramas but never actually provides any insight into the systems or rules that govern all the factions involved. Individual characters may achieve their goals by the end, but it’s ultimately hard to see how they add to the grander ideas of revenge and redemption at play.

Starting off as the 24th(!) overall season of this long-running TV franchise at the time of its release, The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon understandably treads very familiar ground: general paranoia and distrust, humanity divided into survivalist factions, a search for a cure. In its early episodes, though, this series gets a boost from its uniquely historical setting—which creates a feeling of these characters stuck in a previous century—as well as a strong focus on religious faith in the time of the apocalypse. Still, this spin-off continues to go through the same action-horror motions, sticking to what’s expected at the expense of any suspense or meaningful development for its stoic title character.

As the world tries to shift to more environmentally-friendly tech, it would be interesting to see how these shifts will play out. MF Ghost presents a near future world where street racing is the last arena standing for internal combustion cars, as the spiritual successor for the popular 90s manga Initial D. MF Ghost’s animation improves on Initial D’s art style, incorporating 3D models for more accurate racing, and cleaner character designs. Unfortunately, the introduction kills any intrigue in Kanata’s search for his father, as well as the dynamic between him and the family he’s staying with. Viewers already a fan of street racing might enjoy the stunning car racing, but when not focused on the sport, MF Ghost falters in making its characters compelling.

While based on a rom-com novel, Not Dead Yet adapts it with a supernatural twist… And proceeds to forget about it. The book that inspired the series is structured like personal journal entries, with the classic gratitude list, from a forty-year-old writer wanting to restart her life. Unfortunately, the US series removes the confessional vibe, by shoehorning ghosts into the plot. Instead of developing an appreciation for life through interviewing dead people’s loved ones, the ghosts lecture it for her, individually doing so until they disappear when their obit gets published. As a result, lessons aren’t internally realized and the relationships she forms feel hollow. Any dynamic she forms with a fleeting ghost or their loved ones could easily be brushed away in the succeeding episode. In adding the twist, Not Dead Yet fails to juggle its additional ghostly plot line, while also missing the empathy wanted by millennials missing generational markers.

Though it features strong talent in front of the camera from Lena Headey and Stephan James, Beacon 23 ultimately doesn’t do enough to draw us into what should be a tale of tense paranoia. It throws us directly into the story without nearly a clear enough idea of what’s at stake—which may be part of the genre’s appeal to some, but even our protagonists possess little to latch on to at the beginning. Even if the constant ramping up of the situation, with new secrets and betrayals revealed at every turn, is entertaining on a base level, the series just can’t overcome the blandness of the overall story and of the dull, metallic greys of its production design.

Being reincarnated as a vending machine is, admittedly, a good hook. But when you’re watching a machine fight frogs in a new dimension, the plot starts to lose you. At its core, it’s an easy watch, without any nefarious characters (yet), but even though Boxxo always finds a way to utilize the powers of his new vending machine body and has a genuine, endearing personality, the gimmick doesn’t hold attention past that. It is a wholesome isekai adventure, but the vending machine-loving vending machine isn’t as memorable as you’d think.

Despite the efforts of this young cast, who all seem understandably excited about the little they’ve been given to work with, Pretty Freekin Scary consistently makes dull decisions that fail to take advantage of the show’s weirdly dark premise. One would hope for a more offbeat tone à la Beetlejuice or The Addams Family, but instead we get subpar Disney Channel shenanigans rendered in visually unappealing ways, with no coherent concept behind its version of the Underworld. And in the show’s absolute resistance to engaging with tricky subject matter such as death (even in a satirical way), it only ends up making light of what its protagonist is living through. Certainly not the most appropriate time in America to release a series that’s so nonchalant about children’s safety.