100 Best 2024 Shows You Should Watch Right Now

Both poetic and epic in scale, Pachinko (adapted from the bestselling novel of the same name) tells the story of a family spanning four generations, three nations, and one dream: to ensure a better life for their children, and their children, and so on. Because the story is rooted both in the unique experience of immigrant life and in the universal values of family life, it can seem painfully striking and relatable all at once.

Despite the many places and eras it traverses, Pachinko also feels less nostalgic and more real-time, deeply immersed in whatever setting it’s in, taking us breathlessly for the ride.

Sensitively directed by Kogonada (Columbus, After Yang) and movingly acted by veteran Youn Yuh-jung and breakout star Minha Kim, Pachinko is certainly one for the books: an arresting adaptation through and through.

With plenty of classics being remade, many have cried about Hollywood playing it safe, not matching up to the source material, and at worst, being unoriginal. After 40 years, the groundbreaking 1980 Shogun miniseries now has a new adaptation, but unlike its fellow remakes, this new series goes beyond expectations to deliver a mesmerizing, epic political drama that we’ve been hoping for. The 2024 remake still maintains plenty of the jawdropping firsts that shocked America then, but it also decentralized its perspective, expanding past the English outsider Blackthorne, and prioritizing the perspective of its Japanese characters, particularly Lord Yoshii Toranaga and Lady Toda Mariko. Hulu’s Shogun may be another remake, but their takes provides something new, with its spectacular production and its epic storytelling.

This British comedy is about Lady Parts, an all-female, all-Muslim Punk band. Their latest member is Amina, a Ph.D student who is a great guitar player but has a form of stage fright that gives her bursts of diarrhea and vomiting.

To add to this serious obstacle, Amina is also not very “punk”. The reason she joins Lady Parts is to score a blind date with the brother of one of the band members – in hopes of marrying him.

It’s a fun, unapologetic show that, like the Hulu hit Ramy, digs up the humour in the complexities of being young and Muslim in today’s world.

It’s amazing how shows fueled only by fast talk can feel as gripping as any thriller out there. The Diplomat is cerebral and heavy on geopolitical jargon, but somehow, it manages to feel genuinely exciting, each new episode impossible to not play next. Thanks is due in large part to Keri Russell who, fresh out of her incredible stint in The Americans, returns here as messy and intense and endearing as ever. On the one hand, The Diplomat is about the delicacy of diplomacy, about how every decision made at this level has ripples of consequences throughout the globe. But it’s also, amusingly, a marriage story. Russell plays a woman who has long been defined by her more renowned if egotistical husband, played perfectly by Rufus Sewell. They have a complex relationship that is as much a career partnership as it is a romantic one, and part of the show’s charm is blending all these story arcs seamlessly. Fans of West Wing, Veep, and Homeland will find much to like in this series, especially because of its informative takes and engaging performances.

You don’t necessarily need a lot of money to make a sci-fi series good, but it doesn’t hurt to have either. In Silo, high production value ballasts a solid script and committed acting to make an impressively detailed and astonishing future world set deep in the underground.

No one knows why or how they got to where they are, and part of the show’s charm is that it’s able to sustain that mystery and hold off exposition until absolutely necessary. A master class in storytelling (the pilot episode is one of the best I’ve seen in a while), Silo is an exciting and prestigious entry into the sci-fi genre—closer to the gritty likes of Dune and Westworld than to the fizzier Doctor Who and Star Trek.

Industry has all the markings of an HBO show: an abundance of sex, drugs, alcohol, and sure enough, an inextinguishable affinity for the F word. Like Succession, The Sopranos, and even Euphoria before it, it revels in its freedom to explore the nitty-grittiest parts of its subject matter and put its gruesome findings on full display. But instead of capitalism, organized crime, or teenhood, Industry incisively takes on hustle culture.

Through the eyes of four new hires at a premier investment bank in London, we see the dangerous means people put themselves through in order to achieve some semblance of respect, recognition, or at the very least stability. Bullying is rampant, hazing is normalized, competition is encouraged, and blind loyalty is rewarded. The characters are so flawed and damaged, you’ll often find yourself rooting for their demise. But you’ll also be glued to their arcs and storylines. Will they break the cycle of abuse or continue it? Can they actually change the system from within or does that remain a utopian dream? These questions are hardly charming, but Industry has a way of making them engaging, exciting even. It fully inhabits the meanness you can and should only enjoy behind the safety of a TV screen.

As a continuation of the original animated series done in a similar visual style, X-Men ’97 could have very easily settled for cheap nostalgia pandering to fans old and new. But what we get instead is a show that hardly seems pressured by expectations and focuses all its energy on simply telling a good story with powerful themes. The best X-Men stories have always touched on prejudice, systemic inequality, and the struggle to come to terms with one’s own differences from society. And this new series follows right along, already communicating so much character within its first two 30-minute episodes while maintaining dire stakes for its entire ensemble.

And even with the occasional awkward line reading, the quality of the writing always shines through—whether in an emotionally charged conversation between Cyclops and Jean Grey about what a parent’s responsibility should be; in the empathetic words of Storm to the rest of her team; or in one of several show-stopping speeches given by Magneto, who finds himself reluctantly aiming for balance between humans and mutants more than ever before. And in every exchange or monologue, there’s always an unease about the situation the X-Men find themselves in, caught between protecting those who wish them dead and leaving this responsibility behind to begin their own lives.

What if the UK’s MI5 was run not by sleek secret agents, but rather, a bunch of second-rate, hand-me-down spies? Slow Horses gives us a taste of that as it centers on Slough House, a division of MI5 that serves as a detention center for their smart but hopelessly damaged goods.

In this six-part miniseries, the Slough House agents reluctantly exchange their humdrum duties for a big and unexpected case. Led by the eccentric Jackson Lamb (a very funny and effective Gary Oldman), they track a group of Right-wing terrorists and their hostage before it’s too late. With its brisk pace, endearingly bumbling characters, and deft balance of suspense and humor, Slow Horses might just be one of the finest thrillers out there.

Bad Sisters is an Irish miniseries that is part romance, part murder mystery, and all-around cheeky, bold fun. It follows the Garveys, five sisters who’ve developed a tight bond after the untimely death of their parents. They protect each other mainly from their brother-in-law John Paul, whose antics have become increasingly threatening and toxic over the years.

The series is very much in the vein of Big Little Lies, Dead to Me, and Good Girls, where women who’ve kept up with so much for so long finally let loose in a fit of violent rampage. But Bad Sisters narrowly escapes cliches thanks to a winning ensemble and deft handling of its weighty subject matter.

Baby Reindeer is a tough watch, starting out with out of kilter comedy that eventually and unrelentingly reveals its darker and darker sides. But not only was this a hard show to watch, this story is genuinely difficult to tell, because of how entangled all the threads of Donny’s trauma gets– it’s not a straightforward story about going through one traumatic incident and then immediately moving to logical forms of healing. It’s about one traumatic incident keeping him stuck and leaving him and his loved ones vulnerable to even more abuse. It’s a terrifying situation. And it’s terribly, terribly honest.

Telling a thoughtful story about the Northern Ireland Troubles and the IRA, including all its crimes and glories, is quite the feat. But Say Nothing proves it up to the task. The nine-part miniseries features compelling performances, a whipsmart script, taut timing, and impeccable production design (despite spanning four decades, it always looks true to the era). Its most impressive trait, however, is that it manages to show all sides of this complex story in an understanding light. The rebellion has noble aims, but it’s still fallible. The British army establishes order, but their means don’t always justify their ends. The series isn’t appeasing all sides as much as it’s taking a long hard look at them. We’re invited to reexamine this crucial part of history and ask ourselves, under the circumstances, would we too say nothing or everything to save lives?

Pernille is the kind of show that makes you feel simultaneously giddy and sad, and the kind that makes you skip the credits as soon as you can to play the next episode. Like a Norwegian Better Things, it follows the titular Pernille (Steenstrup) as she raises two difficult but loving daughters, an emotionally distant nephew, and a father who’s found a new lease in life after finally coming out of the closet. To top it all off, Pernille works in child welfare, earning the ire of many unfit parents as she thanklessly saves children from abuse. Pernille is sometimes fun to watch—the heroine is prickly and plucky as she navigates her duties while carving out time for herself (often sexually). But sometimes it’s also difficult to watch. Between being a social services agent and a mom, Pernille comes to learn she’s not always right. But she is relatable and real, and therefore ultra comforting to watch.

The initial charm of Hacks is in watching sparks fly between its sharp-tongued leads. Neither the elderly Deborah nor the young Ava holds back the digs, both of them cutting to the core of their insecurities. Part of what makes their tension so watchable is that they’re stand-ins for different generations. Deborah represents the all-hustle culture of the boomers, while Ava represents burned-out millennials. Lock them in a scene together and you get endless (and endlessly funny) observations about the modern world.

Eventually, however, their relationship deepens into something more meaningful than that. As Deb and Ava bond over their shared hopes and flaws, the show transforms into a clever and tender two-hander about their prickly but profound relationship. They’re two sides of the same coin, and even though no one can bring them down like the other can, the opposite is also true: no one else can lift them and push them to new heights like the other can.

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.

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.

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.

Masculinity can look like different things, and Big Boys reminds us of that in hilarious and poignant ways. The British series follows best friends Jack and Danny, university students who seem happy enough on the outside but who are dealing with their own issues. Jack still mourns the sudden loss of his dad while struggling to start his journey as a freshly-out gay man. Danny, an expert in social situations, happily helps him even though he’s secretly depressed himself. They’re joined by Corrine and Yemi, characters who blossom slowly but surely in the next seasons. Their friends and family give them a boost, but it’s Jack and Danny’s rare friendship that holds the show down and gives it a solid emotional core. In an era when “No Homo” jokes are still rampant, Jack and Danny are proof that men can explore their emotions and forge deep friendships without breaking under the pressure of gender norms. And men being in touch with their feelings doesn’t always have to be a joke. It can be funny, sure, but also real and true, like this show.

From the producers of Superbad and Pineapple Express, stoner filmmakers Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg, comes a deft deconstruction of the ubiquitous superhero genre on Amazon Prime. Based on the comic book of the same name by Garth Ennis and Darick Robertson, it is set in a world where god-like superheroes, or Supes, are recognized as heroes but are increasingly self-absorbed, arrogant, and corrupt underneath their flying capes. The best of them are called The Seven, aggressively marketed and monetized by the Vought Corporation, complete with Instagram likes, energy drink advertisements, and TV appearances. It all starts to slowly deteriorate when the girlfriend of Hughie Campbell (Jack Quaid) gets obliterated by A-Train (Jessie Usher), a super-fast hero modelled on Flash, galvanizing The Boys, a crazy normal-human vigilante group led by Butcher (Karl Urban, pictured above), who are sick and tired of the Supes and their corruption. This show packs a multitude of wacky characters, including Frenchie, our favorite, a hilarious and romantic French bomb expert. Don’t forget to fasten your seatbelts because this is a fast-paced, mean-spirited bloodbath that is as wild as it is entertaining.

Part police-procedural and part supernatural thriller, The Devil’s Hour is the perfect show to binge if you love solving complicated puzzles and don’t mind being spooked by the occasional jump scare. It’s also co-produced by Steven Moffat, who was the brain behind equally mind-bending thrillers Sherlock (BBC) and Doctor Who.

The six-parter follows social worker Lucy Chambers as she looks after potential victims, a behaviorally challenged son, and a schizophrenic mother—and this is on top of her personal problems, which include bloody hallucinations and waking up every day at exactly 3:33 am, or what she dubs the devil’s hour. There are a lot of moving parts in The Devil’s Hour, but aside from the intricate world-building, it’s the powerful performances from Jessica Raine and Peter Capaldi that truly anchor this ambitious show.

From a short pilot episode in October 2019, Hazbin Hotel has finally opened its doors for the small screen four years later. With the hellish premise and raunchy humor, it was surprising that A24 would choose this weird show from indie animator VivziePop as its first dip into animation, but with its release on Prime Video, it was totally the right choice. Reimagining the underworld as a red, white, and black urban, well, hellscape, Hazbin Hotel has such a bizarre mix of excellently handled mature themes, musical earnestness, and raunchy humor that just hasn’t been seen before.

Watching The Day of the Jackal feels like watching a film; it’s taut, fast-paced, and flashy, featuring incredible dual performances by Redmayne and Lynch. Like many thrillers before it, The Day of the Jackal centers on a cat-and-mouse chase between an official and a transgressor, but the series smartly blurs the line between good and evil. Redmayne’s Jackal is by all accounts the bad guy—he’s a hitman after all—but we’re shown his humane side and the lives he works hard to protect. Meanwhile, Lynch’s Bianca is a government agent, but her hands are dirtied with just as much (if not more) blood than the Jackal. Who’s really at fault here? Part of the fun in watching this is figuring that out, but it’s also just as enjoyable to see what disguise the Jackal whips out, and what moral quandary Bianca finds herself deep in, next.

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.

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.

Imagine if the show Girls was Marvel-ized (or if you like, Derry Girls blended with Encanto): that’s kind of what this series is, but actually good.

It has all the trappings of a quarter-life-crisis sitcom—broke 25-year-olds with big dreams and little prospects living under one roof—while also being set in a world where everyday humans develop a superpower by the age of 18. The British series follows Jen, a late bloomer who has yet to find her power. Having had enough of sucky jobs and boyfriends, she sets out to discover her power in the hopes of finally knowing more about herself. It’s a bizarre premise with an authentic, endearing core that’s certainly worth checking out.

If you’re expecting the sleek, playful, and totally over-the-top spy shenanigans of 2005’s Mr. & Mrs. Smith, you’re not going to find it in this 2024 version, not that it’s a bad thing. In fact, this show stands on its own, reinventing the spy couple into a professional partnership rather than an immediate spark that leads to marriage. This decision makes the show feel like the film’s opposite– as the longer runtime and naturalistic aura enables more focus on the incomparable Donald Glover and Maya Erskine rather than the explosions– but it makes the danger feel more unpredictable and not just action set pieces. Mr. & Mrs. Smith may not be the star-powered, guns-blazing action comedy we’re familiar with, but it’s certainly a more thoughtful, fresh take that improves on the concept.

With teen dramas crowding not just Netflix but all of TV, it’s easy to think that the Jordanian series AlRawabi School for Girls won’t be any different. But while it may share a lot of similarities with other coming-of-age stories, it stands out for its willingness to explore dark themes and cultural specificities without a pandering tone. It’s smart, mature, and complex enough to give us a feminist lead who weaponizes misogyny against other girls, for instance, or a fierce bully who eventually earns our sympathy. It’s hard to imagine the treatment being this sensitive, nuanced, and wholly engaging without the all-female cast and crew that AlRawabi thankfully has.

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.

Anyone tired of the same old cliches found in true crime shows (and there are a lot of them) will feel reinvigorated watching The Jinx. Director Andrew Jarecki goes one step further from the usual fare by interrogating the subject, himself an unnerving character, and unearthing evidence that changes the trajectory of his story. The Jinx is a great true crime documentary in that it’s gripping and well-researched, but it’s also great television, point blank. It’s thought-provoking, unsettling, and strives to always keep the viewer at the edge of their seat.

During adolescence, teenagers get to learn and discover themselves and the world, but for most people, this means going through puberty, maybe taking up a sport or hobby, and not the occult vs alien shenanigans of DAN DA DAN. The science fiction-fantasy mix is unhinged and chaotic, throwing Momo and Ken directly into the worlds they didn’t believe in, and with each crazy encounter, they gain insane powers that are rendered into (literally) out-of-this-world, kaleidoscopic animation. But it’s their comedic dynamic that makes the show work, as each absurd situation pushes them to share what makes them vulnerable and challenge each other on their beliefs. DAN DA DAN is spectacularly unpredictable, and is a standout from 2024’s anime fall lineup.

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.

In an interview, Conan compared Conan O’Brien Must Go to a travel documentary, except, he said, you don’t learn anything new or interesting. After watching the show, I can safely say that that couldn’t be further from the truth, though it is indicative of the kind of self-deprecating humor he employs throughout the show. What you learn from watching Conan hop from one country to another, improvising and befriending people from different parts of the world, is that it is possible to be both ridiculously funny and genuinely kind. Many comedians joke at the expense of other people—they’re willing to humiliate them, not themselves—but Conan is the opposite. He is always the butt of a joke. Even when he’s pointing out something inane, it’s his incredulity that we’re laughing at. Upon watching this four-parter, you also learn that no one can match, much less top, what Conan does.

Four college freshmen from different parts of the country come together as roommates to earn their bachelor’s degree, sure, but more than that, to explore their newfound independence, experiment with each other, and establish a sense of self that they can truly be proud of. In other words, they’re out to get an education, in every sense of the word. This is The Sex Lives of College Girls, a ten-episode series that delivers everything the title promises and more.

More than just a raunchy show (although it’s exciting in that regard too), The Sex Lives of College Girls is an earnest and charming account of what it’s like to navigate that murky, undefined space between youth and adulthood. This gives way to honest and sometimes brutal experiences, but they’re always balanced with the kind of fun, flirtatious hilarity that has long defined showrunner Mindy Kaling’s work (Never Have I Ever, The Mindy Project). Hilarious, relatable, and incredibly breezy, The Sex Lives of College Girls is one perfect binge.

Coming-of-age shows are practically Netflix’s bread-and-butter, but the working class side of Brisbane in the 80’s is a suburb we didn’t expect the international streamer to visit. Based on the semi-autobiographical novel with the same name, Boy Swallows Universe is centered on the precocious Eli Bell, whose age and curiosity naturally pushes him to try and figure out how he fits in the world. There are some magic realist elements, and the crimes escalate as we go further and further into the miniseries, but the show shines best when depicting the slow, day-to-day moments in Bell’s family. The show never judges them, nor does it totally excuse their actions. Instead, Boy Swallows Universe depicts a certain nostalgic compassion one could only have for their hometown, regardless of how downtrodden it is.

With the various police procedurals available online, it can feel like an oversaturated genre, at best. At worst, with the struggles the world has to do with regards to the justice system, police procedurals can glorify the institution. Criminal Record examines this, but it doesn’t give the easy answers other shows have when discussing the systemic failure of the police, especially when it comes to race, age, and sex. Peter Capaldi stands in as the old guard, though his skin-crawling presence keeps Dan Hegarty’s real intentions an enigma until the very end. However, it’s Cush Jumbo as the empathetic June Lenker that drives the show, with her persistence meeting Hegarty’s every move, and her frustrations mirroring the real rage the world feels with regards to past injustices. The way the two clash creates a novel rookie-veteran dynamic that makes Criminal Record so striking.

With a film version that didn’t live up to the hype of the original novel, Netflix’s adaptation of One Day released just in time to wreck the fans’ hearts all over again, but this time, it’s a good thing. The expanded runtime allowed Netflix to delve more into the moments in the novel, with each episode dedicated to a day in the year in Emma’s and Dexter’s lives, contrasting their respective worlds and opportunities available to them as different members of London society. And the couple is played beautifully by Leo Woodall and Ambika Mod, with a believable chemistry that isn’t formed in a single spark, but made in multiple moments. If you’re needing a good cry just right before Valentine’s Day, One Day is a superb slow burn romance to let those tears out.

With the success of Squid Game and Black Mirror, the concept of a game show as a makeshift solution to a dystopic world is interesting, but it led Netflix to create reality competitions to capitalize on the hype (Looking at you, Squid Game: The Challenge). This time, however, Thai Netflix takes a more unique approach with Ready, Set, Love. It’s more humorous, as Day fumbles each time she meets Son, and with the reality show being a dating show, there’s surely some romantic mishaps that would happen. But the show doesn’t forget the stakes behind the campy, candy-colored world– with Day doing all she can to secure her chronically ill sister’s healthcare and with Son dissatisfied in the utopic cage that is The Farm. Ready, Set, Love has plenty of the fun shenanigans expected for its romcom approach, but it remembers to empathize with the desperation and hardships that make reality game shows so compelling.

Some people can get totally desperate when it comes to their love life, but rarely does this desperation end up with summoning an ancient warrior princess spirit. My Undead Yokai Girlfriend plays on this desperation, hilariously juxtaposing modern day love troubles with an ancient demonic revenge plot, and the mix plays out in a fun and cutesy way, with Hachi understandably over-the-top stressed out over the fact he accidentally summoned and bonded with a yokai spirit that can drain his life force. As Hachi tries to solve this through smartphone technology and research, Izzy learns more about modern day Japan, all while they both evade Hachi’s police father assigned to investigate Izzy’s victims. It’s silly, but it’s fun, and surprisingly introduces Japanese mythology in an engaging way.

Upon first watch, it’s easy to relegate Fallout to the heap of video game adaptations that are all show and no substance. There’s the Twisted Metal adaptation that came out with zero fanfare earlier this year, and the Halo series that continues to divide fans and critics alike. Thankfully, Fallout escapes that curse: it’s genuinely good, not because it strains itself to remain faithful to the source material, nor because it strays too far, but because it builds on the existing world with plenty of imagination and original characters. These characters are complex, too, with conflicting morals that are challenged in interesting ways. Lucy is a principled do-gooder, but whether that’s because of her nature or privileged circumstance is continually questioned in the Wasteland. Maximus is a brave warrior you want so badly to root for, but his end-justifies-the-means approach complicates that urge. But probably the best thing about Fallout is its incisive commentary on the evils of capitalism. “The future is management” and “We are all products” are genuinely scary themes that could lead to the end of our world too.

Dark Matter may be a sci-fi series, the latest in Apple TV+’s ever-growing roster of the genre, but it’s tonally closer to the sexy, psychological thrillers that used to be so rampant in the early aughts. In the first few episodes, at least, it’s more invested in Jason’s relationship with his wife Daniela (Jennifer Connelly) and doubles as an interrogation of their marriage. Are they really happier together or do they secretly wish they could go back in time to reset their fates? Eventually, the series hews closer to its sci-fi foundations as Jason embarks on a nerve-racking journey to find Daniela and their son, Charlie (Oakes Fegley) amid infinite realities. It’s at this point where the show becomes truly exciting to watch: we see different (sometimes apocalyptic and other times utopic) versions of their life in Chicago and begin to wonder if a happy ending is still in the realm of possibilities or not.

Before the documentary, I knew very little about Dr. Ann Burgess, and as I watched it, I realized it’s not because her contributions to history were so little (just the opposite, they’re incredibly important and far-reaching) but because Burgess doesn’t like to promote herself all that much. “There are too many things to do to be bothered by all that,” she says with impressive urgency at 87. Thankfully, Mastermind director Abigail Fuller distills Burgess’ storied career into three deeply engaging episodes for all to witness and enjoy. Here, you see Burgess standardize criminal profiling and help agents capture serial killers like the notorious Ski-Mask Rapist. You also see other sides to Burgess—the nurse, mother, mentor, professor, and advocate—and you start to feel frustrated on her behalf, because she should get way more credit than what she’s been given thus far.

Before he was a beloved TV star, comedian Alan Carr was a young boy growing up in a small town not quite ready for his shine. In Changing Ends, he takes us through that childhood, which is sometimes sweet, sometimes tough, but always comfortingly, relatably hilarious. By appearing in it and addressing us, present-day Carr ran the risk of being cheeky, explanatory, self-indulgent, and jarring—the 1980s setting is nice and nostalgic, why ruin it?—but his presence surprisingly works. It’s interesting to see the differences and lasting similarities between Young Carr and Old Carr. The former is naive and unrelentingly himself while the latter is worldly and reflective, and also unrelentingly himself. You don’t have to know who Carr is to enjoy this short but sweet entry (I certainly didn’t), you only have to recall that time in your life when you first started growing into yourself—how simultaneously awkward, painful, and exhilarating it felt.

High school can be an incredibly cruel place, but it’s not as systematically cruel as the Baekyeon Girls’ High School of the Pyramid Game K-drama. It’s a terrifying twist to regular high school bullying, as it doesn’t just allow kids to bully less popular kids, it creates accomplices, encourages bullying and also gives concrete numerical proof that there’s literally no one there that would root for you, including the adults that are supposed to do better. Creator Lee Jae-gyu writes this intriguing premise, crafting a mystery surrounding the beginnings and creation, as well as the stakes each student has with playing the game, which the cast plays with their roles in such a subtle, sinister way.

The last time Junji Ito’s work was animated by a Western studio, it wasn’t terrible, but it didn’t match up to the terror of his original stories. Nevertheless, animators persisted, and Production I.G. and Adult Swim’s attempt is a mini-series adaptation of the three volume manga Uzumaki. Uzumaki: Spiral Into Horror is a peculiar horror series, one that may not be downright terrifying with its small-town tale, but it’s much scarier than other Western adaptations with its faithfulness to Ito’s black-and-white intricate line work. There’s probably no other way to depict this particular story– after all, it’s all about spirals– but director Hiroshi Nagahama adds dizzying movement and composer Colin Stetson adds eerie extended techniques that match the terror Kirie and Shuichi share as they struggle against the neverending spiral spell that takes over their town.

There is an art to making a comedy that can be enjoyed by all ages—a balance must be kept between mature and genial humor, serious and unserious matters—and it’s an art that Acapulco manages to execute with finesse. There’s something for everyone here, whether you’re a kid looking for a good story or an adult wishing to drive by memory lane.

The colors are vibrant, the characters are alive, and the plot, while familiar, is charming nonetheless. But perhaps the best thing about Acapulco is its call for viewers to be kind. It’s never explicit or preachy about it; it just comes naturally, by way of practice.

Structured more like a network procedural than a gritty streaming miniseries, the TV adaptation of The Lincoln Lawyer feels easy, even nostalgic, to watch. The formula is simple: in every episode, Mickey handles a new case (most of them wrongful convictions against people on the fringe), all while dealing with a larger, more complicated case and his inner demons. There to help is his trusty driver Izzy (Jazz Raycole), who gets him everywhere in his Lincoln Town Car, and his two ex-wives, with whom he shares a surprisingly healthy relationship. All these elements come together to make an entertaining legal drama. It’s not the most compelling thing out there, but it’s consistently enjoyable and endlessly likable.

Saints used to be given divine messages, but in the modern age, what if God, or any higher power, communicated to us through social media? Kübra explores this idea in serious contemplation, with fewer intelligence agencies than Netflix’s 2020 Messiah, and more interest in the chosen messenger himself. The show is surprisingly more meditative than thrilling, as the lost ex-militaryman Gokhan and his loved ones quibble over the messages possibly from Allah, through the titular screen name. Of course, they point out that the very idea is ludicrous. At worst, it could be a delusion influenced by a stranger that wants to manipulate a war veteran for nefarious purposes. But the journey and the excellent performances allow us to ponder how prophets came to be– how faith and purpose are intertwined, and how much life’s difficulties can push us to hope for a miracle.

At a time when a wife’s fate lives and dies with her husband, things can get tricky for widows as they’re left between the cracks of her and her dead husband’s family. In neo-Confucian Joseon, widows were expected to maintain their chastity after their husband’s death, but Knight Flower portrays a widow that pretends to be so, while moonlighting as a vigilante at night. That being said, the drama takes a more comedic tone to this idea, critiquing how ridiculous these standards end up being without losing sight of the implications these supposed virtues have. These themes are all tied together through Lee Hanee and Lee Jong-won’s equally dynamic performances, balancing the romantic chemistry with action and humor.

After the successful release of The Gentlemen (2019), it would have been easy to just continue the story with the same cast of characters, but instead Guy Ritchie makes a spinoff with the same cannibis chaos, but instead expands it to a startlingly funny depiction of the British aristocracy and the criminal underworld. It has all the action-packed styling Ritchie is known for, with each episode bringing up a new inheritance issue Theo James as Eddie Halstead has to solve, with the help of a cool and cunning Kara Scodelario. While the episodic troubles do feel a bit tired after eight long episodes, The Gentlemen keeps the intrigue through never losing sight of the tension occurring between the main duo.

When people donate to temples, they rarely contemplate the way these donations are used for its upkeep and renovation, and they would never think to imagine the possibility of profit. Netflix Thai drama The Believers centers on three young entrepreneurs, who, due to debt, decide to partner up with an abandoned temple as a money making scheme. It’s an audacious scheme, one that, of course, terribly exploits its devotees. But the show also examines the ways these schemes help draw genuine devotees towards the religion, creating a mutualistic relationship between the temple and profiteers that can’t be easily undone. With the recent fraud investigations around Thai temples leading to controversial imprisonments a few years ago, The Believers is a timely examination of a rarely examined issue.

Starring the Cate Blanchett and directed by Alfonso Cuaron, Disclaimer is every bit as cinematic and enjoyable as you’d imagine it to be. It’s juicy and well-performed (Hoyeon’s unnatural acting notwithstanding), filled with enough twists and turns to keep you seated despite the occasionally melodramatic plot. It’s designed to make you crave more: more rich acting, more pulpy mystery, more explosive secrets, and more emotional breakdowns, which Blanchett has certainly mastered. It’s not as deep as it thinks itself to be, and the script can be overwrought at times (do we really need every single movement narrated?) but the fun twists, great performances, and beautiful cinematography more than makes up for them.

In Sweetpea, every element comes together to make an addictive watch. The premise is amusing on its own—a shy girl is pushed so far into the edge she sees murder as a viable option—but brought to life by stylish direction, witty lines, and an irresistibly endearing Ella Purnell, you get great TV. It’s not exactly novel (the underrated Hulu series Obituary has a similar premise) but it benefits from having more than a few twists hidden up its sleeve, not to mention a complex anti-hero in Purnell, who you know is wrong but feel bad for anyway. Who doesn’t want to root for the little girl standing up to her bully, the girl who stomps her foot down and demands her hard-earned respect at the workplace? Of course, it’s never that simple, and it’s that conflicting feeling of liking and abhorrent Purnell’s character that makes it an intriguing show.

After the cool partnerships Titmouse and Netflix had, their next work was bound to be something to look forward to. Jentry Chau vs. The Underworld starts with a slow start, but the supernatural horror comedy is fun and entertaining, taking inspiration from Asian mythology and classic teen comedies, but writing these tropes and themes in exciting ways, weaving them into a cute, compelling coming-of-age story that reckons with intergenerational conflict, parental control, and self-acceptance. The story works really well, and it’s matched with bold, colorful animation, catchy K-pop soundtrack, and stunning sequences we’d love to watch more of. The lead might have trouble fitting in, but Jentry Chau stands out with its unique storytelling.

Is it possible to make a workplace comedy set in a hospital emergency room, of all places? St. Denis Medical proves that it is. Like The Office and Parks and Rec before it, St. Denis is a mockumentary that follows an eclectic ensemble who are well-meaning but not always professional, which gives way to funny scenes, pairings, and hijinks. Because of the show’s bleak setting, it risks jarring audiences with a mismatch in tone (there are literally people who are dying around them), but St. Denis is able to be both earnest and funny. The characters are all likable, but the show’s big beating heart is Alex (Allison Tolman), the designated straight-woman, the level-headed foil against her more absurd colleagues. More than anyone, she genuinely cares for the patients and her workmates’ well-being. Issues like understaffed hospitals, expensive healthcare, and medical bias are highlighted in humorous ways. And it works! Laughter is, after all, the best medicine.

How far would you go to please the one you love? You might indulge your spouse with a white lie every now and then like the men in Swathi Shetty’s life each time she asks about her cooking, but Killer Soup takes it a whole step further when she asks Umesh to impersonate her similar-looking husband. And, as the lies pile up, and the cover-ups escalate, it’s delicious to see the lovers dig themselves into a deeper hole, even if they manage to throw off other people from the scent temporarily. While the story gets slightly convoluted later on due to many subplots, Killer Soup proves to at least be tastier than Swathi’s paya soup with its delightfully twisted lovers.

Succession, whether that be of family assets or of job titles, is always a tricky situation to navigate– often, those choosing a successor would have to check in with the possible choices next in line in order to make sure there are no resentment, otherwise, it could drive the hillside horror present in The Bequeathed. From passive-aggressive co-workers to mourning relatives, Yoon Seo-ha is having a terrible time dealing with the succession situation, both being resented by a superstitious half-brother for the land and resentful of a co-worker who got promoted before her. It’s so easy to suspect potential rivals, especially when murder strikes those around you, but The Bequeathed also recognizes something scarier– the fear of what you could do with that resentment.

With the success of Narcos, Netflix has created multiple shows about drugs in Latin America to the point that the genre is a tad oversaturated, but with Sofia Vergara heading the miniseries on the real-life cocaine queenpin, Griselda is one that you have to watch. Unlike other depictions of Blanco, Vergara’s series puts her front and center, focusing on the initial struggles it took for her to be taken seriously and the darkness that emerged once she got her way. And of course, Vergara is fantastic, sliding into the drama with an ease that makes us want to see more. While the show isn’t fully accurate, and six episodes are too short to tackle her decades-long rule, Griselda nonetheless is compelling television.

In a TV age where dark comedies and slick satires are all the rage, The Completely Made-Up Adventures of Dick Turpin is refreshingly light, good-hearted fun. Its humor leans on the surreal, silly, and slapstick, but it doesn’t necessarily sacrifice smarts for a laugh. Here, the legendary robber is reimagined as a reluctant criminal who is more interested in knitting and doing his friends good, a rather sweet fool who unwittingly stands at the opposite end of toxic masculinity. There are jokes about equal pay and light commentaries on class inequality (Turpin and his so-called Essex Gang want to only rob the inordinately wealthy), and you’d think it was all too much, but the show achieves a confident, balanced tone that’s hard to question.

Regardless of age, most viewers would be familiar with the way alcoholic drinks are portrayed in the media as a gateway to uncontrollable debauchery and addiction, but rarely has the art of mixing them been depicted. Bartender: Glass of God mixes cocktails in a refreshing way, portraying the bar not just as a glamorous place for adults to have fun and meet people, but as a place to feel human, to be truly seen as a person at a certain point in time and to be treated with compassion just through a simple beverage. With bar culture around the world having been slowly closing down, Bartender: Glass of God remembers the artistry and care behind each drink.

Every now and then, you get a romantic comedy that feels just right. The romance isn’t overdone, the comedy isn’t used as a crutch, and there’s no desperate need to lean into cliches. Instead, you have pure chemistry, which in turn fuels an endearing awkwardness and a natural sort of love. That’s what happens in the Australian half-hour sitcom Colin From Accounts—despite the premise and the familiarness of the genre, everything just seems to fall right into place. Dyer and Brammall’s riffs feel so natural and intimate, I could listen to them flirt with each other all day and only get mildly annoyed. Like most romcoms, there’s a bit of raunchiness and sweetness to be found here, but what I find most impressive is its ability to generate endless laugh-out-loud moments. I won’t be surprised if this turns out to be people’s new favorite comfort show.

It’s always nice to be able to identify with a group of people on television, but it’s especially entertaining when they’re a hilarious bunch. That’s what the Jessops are, at once relatable and ridiculous, mundane and misfortune-prone. Anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and somehow their troubles worsen anytime they try to fix them or keep a straight face. It sounds strange, but in a TV landscape of bleak comedies and cynical dramas, it’s refreshing and validating to watch the average middle-class family struggle with the same problems we’re having, whether that’s figuring out a good career or trying to reignite the spark of a marriage. That we see all this unfold through the handheld lens of Sam, the youngest of the family, adds a layer of intimacy and charm that makes Here We Go an imminently comforting watch.

You can tell showrunner David E. Kelley, who played a part in legal dramas and mysteries like Boston Legal, Ally McBeal, and Big Little Lies, is a master of the genre. Presumed Innocent is carefully paced, confidently performed, and smartly written, making it a thrilling watch regardless if you’ve seen the 1990 feature and 1987 novel of the same name. It’s not without its misses though, the biggest one being the lack of believable chemistry between Gyllenhaal and Reinsve, who seems miscast in this series. As much as I loved her in The Worst Person in the World, she seems to exude an awkward sensuality that affects the realism of the series. On the other hand, Ruth Negga, who plays Gyllenhaal’s wife, and Peter Sarsgaard, who plays his political rival, command every scene they’re in and perfectly match Gyllenhaal’s crazed intensity. Whenever the show skews formulaic, it’s their solid performances that save the scene.

It’s best to go into Diarra from Detroit with zero knowledge and expectations, but even if you do know a bit about its comedian star, writer, and director, Diarra still comes at you with wild but always funny curveballs. Some parts of the story are implausible, but it doesn’t matter: Diarra sells them with gusto. And the series has so many other things going for it, not least of which is Diarra’s internal turmoil, which often bleeds into the mystery she obsesses over. It’s crazy but humane, and Diarra’s one-liners are always home runs.

Chimp Crazy, like Tiger King before it, is a difficult watch. It follows chimpanzee owners and their almost fanatic loyalty to the primates (one famously breastfed a chimp and raised her as her child), but mostly it trails Tonia Haddix, an animal broker who is obsessed with the 32-year-old chimp and sometime Hollywood star Tonka. I won’t spoil the things she does to save their relationship, but I assure you it’s chilling and outrageous. That said, shock isn’t the only thing Chimp Crazy has going for it. The curious way it’s filmed is surely cause for debate. And the way everyone here—whether that’s Haddix, the occasional dangerous chimp, or the near-manipulative director Eric Goode—seems at once manipulative and sympathetic is a feat of its own.

Taking a cue from Blaxploitation films, Fight Night looks every bit like the ‘70s movies that screamed fun and danger. But the eight-part series starring Kevin Hart is more than just a schtick. It’s a thoughtfully constructed heist thriller that doubles as a showcase for its stacked cast and a love letter, of sorts, to Atlanta and how it came to be the Black-powered city that it is today. There’s never a dull moment in the show; if it’s not pulling the rug from under you by showing you a heist-within-a-heist, or one backstabber from another, then it’s entertaining you with a wide range of equally compelling performances. There’s the competent Hart, the reliably commanding Taraji P. Henson, the likable straight man Don Cheadle, the surprisingly subdued Samuel L. Jackson, and the impressive ingenue Chloe Bailey, among many, many others. Then there’s Hart’s character’s vision of Atlanta, at once inspiring and chillingly accurate. It’s not a perfect show—it has its cartoonish moments—but it’s enjoyable and insightful as a whole.

It’s easy to forget that Netflix helped boost the popularity of the true crime genre, especially since it’s pumping out a new series almost daily. A lot of them are rushed and sensationalized, but there are a few that are worthwhile. Into the Fire is thankfully the latter. Showrunner Jenna Lamia and Director Susanne Bier tell Terkanian and her daughter’s story in a refreshingly measured way, making sure to hone in on Terkanian’s restless energy. It’s that energy that rallies the community behind her in breaking open the case and uncovering many more missing persons besides her daughter. The same energy makes the show feel more dynamic and alive than other true crime documentaries. It’s also more restrained and respectful. No overdramatized suspense or sensationalized twists here, just an incredibly true story, cleverly and humanely told.

High Potential isn’t the smartest thing out there, despite Morgan’s impressive 160 IQ. It’s also not the quirkiest of its kind (hello, Elsbeth!). But it’s undeniably enjoyable, thanks in large part to Olson, who injects her character with so much wit, charm, and tenderness. Played wrong, Morgan could’ve been yet another annoying Sherlock-type, but in Olson’s capable hands, she’s anything but. It’s still too early to tell whether the surrounding characters will match her infectious energy, but I am seated and excited for more to come.

When a show is focused on a kid and their sport, chances are, the main character holds a passion for the sport itself. They saw it, they thought it was cool, and they tried it out. Blue Box, however, takes an unconventionally depicted, but no less honest, motivation– the energizing power of having a crush. The way Taiki goes about it feels reminiscent of that first childhood crush, with the excitement, the determination, and the pure mortification each time he perceives to have jumped the gun, but it’s all made endearing with the characterization, writing, and the beautiful render, and it’s easily driven by the familiar device of having to share the same residence. Blue Box is just so darn cute.

Man on the Inside may be a detective show, but at its core, it’s a series about the beauty and pain of aging. It follows recently widowed Charles as he befriends the residents at a nursing home he’s secretly investigating for thievery. Despite himself, Charles opens up, which complicates the case but gives the story all of its heart. Not a lot of shows are willing to sift through the realities of old age, and even when they do they tend to focus (understandably) on the painful aspects of it–death, grief, sickness. Man on the Inside is a welcome reminder that there’s more to it too. There’s the freedom to be who you are, and family and friendships to strengthen. Man on the Inside won’t be the sharpest mystery you’ll see anytime soon, but it just might be one of the most poignant and heartwarming ones you’ll watch. It might also get you to call up an elderly loved one and check in on them, finally.

Even before the worldwide pandemic, the field of medicine isn’t anymore the straightforward profession it used to be. It’s still a respected position, that’s attached with a certain status, but the demands have risen for those with the title. Doctors don’t only have to be good at their jobs– there’s a certain push for doctors to be also good at publication, lectures, in-office politics, the business, and for some, social media influencing and politics– it’s no wonder that medical workers today are burned out. Doctor Slump explores these themes with the usual K-drama flair, but in doing so, becomes a refreshing and cathartic romance to watch.

At a certain age, it can feel like starting over again isn’t possible, especially when all signs discourage you from ever trying again. Dr. Yehya of The Last Round knows this better than most– quitting kickboxing wasn’t an option, but a requirement, with his age and near misses and personal issues taking him out of the arena and into a low point in his life. But despite this, and despite day-to-day difficulties, The Last Round also portrays him getting back up, pursuing his dream one more time. It’s a familiar story, one we’ve seen in many sports shows, but with Ahmed Al-Sakka in the ring, and the careful characterization of the whole team that gets him there, The Last Round knocks our socks out.

From the fantasy-powered folktales to superhero-like depictions, ninjas have captivated the world, but seem to be a relic of the past, with modern day warfare and weaponry turning them obsolete. House of Ninjas imagines a world where ninjas still exist, centering a clan stuck between wanting to abandon the old ways but also having skills that seem wasted in contemporary life. Because of this, the show at first seems boring– the family is severely demotivated, with some members acting out through petty theft, and with out-of-place jazzy musical tracks that undercut the action of the first few episodes. However, House of Ninjas gets better as the Tawara clan gets its act together, revealing the hidden heart each of them has for each other, one that’s been hidden because of the grief that struck the family. The show may be less action-packed than expected, but House of Ninjas comes across as an off-kilter family drama with just enough heart to work.

The first few minutes of The Tourist make it seem like a straight action thriller. It’s cool and gritty, with Jamie Dornan ably playing the role of strong but likable leading man. Then ever so subtly, it shifts its tone into something more playful and wholesome, then shifts back to dangerous territory. The back-and-forth feels jarring at first, almost like we’re seeing the show discover what it should be in real time. But eventually, it settles into a comfortable and confident rhythm, one that’s difficult not to watch. The funny bits are care of silly townie humor and that dry Australian wit, while most of the high-intensity action is thanks to Dornan (though he delivers amusing zingers too, especially when paired with Shalom Brune-Franklin). The Tourist seems designed to reel in broad viewers with different tastes, and it does just that thanks to its strong performances and nicely balanced tone.

In Poacher, two passionate but low-level wildlife preservers are tasked to bring down a massive crime ring that murders elephants to sell rare ivory. It’s a hefty task, one that’s constantly bogged by red tape and corruption, so it’s not surprising that some scenes go on for too long and wind in repetitive circles. But for the most part, Poacher moves briskly and urgently; it has the familiar beats of a crime drama while never losing its important message about the importance of preserving nature. In lesser hands, the latter could come off as cheesy or preachy, but in Poacher, the message never feels less than life and death. It begins with the animals, as one of the investigators explains, and if the criminals are not caught soon, things will likely freefall into uncontrollable crime and corruption, not to mention a damaged ecosystem that could ruin one of India’s few green spaces forever. It’s a thought-provoking message, one that’s helped by the show’s high production value, heartwarming focus on wildlife creatures, and dedicated performances.

Sometimes thinking about your home state can feel complicated, because while it’s your home, the events and issues and controversies of the state can make people think differently of it. With plenty of controversies but also having the most residents, Texas does have a distinct cultural identity, and Texan native director Richard Linklater explores its different sides, including the sides unheard of, through the three-part God Save Texas. Teaming up with Alex Stapleton and Iliana Sosa, they tackle the Huntsville prison complex, the Houston oil industry, and the borders of El Paso, but they do so through a compassionate, personal perspective that simply and subtly shifts our understanding of the Lone Star State, and America as a whole.

Sports is undeniably exciting, but behind the scenes, there’s a whole world constructed just to get the players in the stadium, with sponsors funding expenses, clubs forming teams, and agents getting the players on track, whether that be through tough love or appeasement. Coppola, the Agent is centered on one such agent, the agent that handled the most famous football player in the world. Like the titular agent, the show moves at a frenetic pace, with Juan Minujín bringing to television Coppola’s fast talk and quick witted quips, and director Ariel Winograd mixing video formats and genres similar to 2022’s Winning Time. There may not be amazing goals, or outstanding plays, but Coppola, the Agent is compelling television, especially with Minujín’s fantastic depiction of the agent turned TV personality.

After the success of Castlevania, it became apparent that there was a market for American anime– so Netflix teamed up with Powerhouse Animation Studios and the Greek-American Parlapanides Brothers to create Blood of Zeus. Claiming to be a tale “lost to history”, the show takes familiar strands of Greek mythos, such as demigod births, fantastical beings, and powerful gods, woven together through the journey of Heron as he sets out on a heroic quest. It’s a distinctly Western tale, but the epic battles, arena duels, and demonic hunts mixes well with Powerhouse’s animesque art style, creating a novel combination that feels fully original.

The first thing that hits you about Sugar is its style: this is a show tailor-made for fans of a bygone Hollywood era, an era dominated by film noir and dapper leading men like Humphrey Bogart, whom Sugar emulates throughout the series. The show inserts clips from old films and, even better, echoes their style through tasteful jumpcuts and fisheye lenses. It’s dripping with panache, and Farrell is undeniably cool as he narrates his investigation and inner demons. That said, Sugar is also a show that’s more style than substance. If you strip it off its snazzy clothes, you’re left with the barest bones of a mystery that is simply too cliched to stand on its own. If you’re looking to dive into a heady mystery with surprising twists and thrills, you’re better off watching something else. However, if you’re a true blue fan of vintage noir, the kind who still puts TCM on religiously and swears nothing new can compare to the old, then this is your show.

With a wolf deity, wheat harvesting rituals, and farmtown folklore, it may seem that Spice and Wolf: Merchant Meets the Wise Wolf would be a traditional fantasy, filling in the genre void after Frieren’s finale. However, new viewers such as myself would be surprised that this series is known as the “Economics anime”, a reboot of the 2008 series that hasn’t met its ending yet. Of course, older fans might be disappointed at the lack of a season 3, but with its striking first episode, 2024’s Spice and Wolf reassures both old and new fans that there’s still an exciting adventure up ahead, with medieval markets, clashes with the church, and of course, the partnership between wolf girl Holo and merchant Lawrence. And this time, they promise to finally complete this adventure on screen.

Stax’s existence may have been short-lived, but its impact continues to be felt in every R&B record produced to this day. That’s one of the points this four-part documentary from HBO successfully makes so that by the end, you’re convinced Stax should be just as recognizable and appreciated as Motown, Atlantic, and other influential record labels. For the most part, the series resembles the typical documentary in that it’s propelled by animated talking heads and complementary archival footage, but the performances of Stax stars, including and most especially Otis Redding and Isaac Hayes, inject the documentary with an energy and electricity that pushes you to move and groove. The old-school editing feels thoughtful, too, while the additional animation adds a delightfully nostalgic touch. The documentary itself may not be as revolutionary as the events it captures, but it is just as enlightening, electrifying, and enjoyable.

The inherent drama of succession stories has always made for great, entertaining TV. You only have to look at Game of Thrones, Dynasty, Yellowstone, and, well, Succession to know that. With Ren Faire, director Lance Oppenheim (Some Kind of Heaven, Spermworld) ups the ante by following the real and ongoing power struggle between the Renaissance fair employees clawing and scratching their way to the top. They’re so animated and dead-set on inheriting a literal kingdom that Oppenheim and his team hardly have to do anything to color this tale. And yet, color it they do, to wonderfully cinematic and comedic effect. The employees are (willingly) dubbed “Lord of Corn” and “The Fairy Godmother,” while Coulam is of course the longstanding King. You get the sense that their feuds are heightened in the presence of the cameras, but feel entertained nonetheless. To cap things off, the documentary is shot using grainy unfocused film, sometimes edited in the trippy way low-budget 60’s films used to look so that it matches the surreal reality of the fair. The story could’ve been interesting on its own, but the artful and intentional way it’s told elevates it.

By now, it’s pretty clear that Apple TV+ follows a less-is-more philosophy when it comes to content. Sure, it doesn’t release a million new titles in a year like Netflix or Prime, but the few originals that it does put out are almost always good (and occasionally great), backed by an astounding budget and ambitious vision. Sunny is the latest addition to that category. The multi-genre show is a deceptively simple robo-buddy comedy that is engaging through and through. Yes, it’s futuristic—and fantastic in that regard—but it’s also funny, heartwarming, thrilling, and tragic. And it juggles all these effortlessly so that the other aspects of the show, such as the artful blend of tradition and tech, can shine through.

Wyatt Earp’s adventures in the Wild West are the stuff of legend. Indeed, plenty of Hollywood greats have tried to recreate—or at least, emulate—his mythology, from Jimmy Stewart and Henry Fonda to Kevin Costner and Val Kilmer. But maybe non-fiction is the way to go. That’s what I gathered from watching the deeply engaging six-part docudrama Wyatt Earp and the Cowboy War. The series blends well-acted dramatic performances with expert commentary from historians, and the cherry on top is that Ed Harris (The Man in Black from Westworld! Of course!) narrates with the kind of cool and character that makes you want to listen to him forever. But the key here is that balance between drama and documentary: it never feels too played up, thanks in large part to the actors’ lived-in performances (my favorite is Thomas Fitch), nor does it feel like a droning history lesson, even though we do end up learning so much more about Earp and the legendary shootout that occurred in O.K. Corral. It’s all edited so that you get different things, too, per episode. One serves as a riveting legal drama, another is more focused on the juicy love triangle Earp is involved in. All, however, are equally educational and exciting.

If Wise Guy reads like a biography of David Chase and an oral history of The Sopranos, that’s because it is simultaneously both those things. Chase’s story is The Sopranos’ and vice versa. As Chase reveals in this two-part documentary, The Sopranos was initially based on his mother and his childhood in New Jersey. But then the show evolved into something more profound and complex than anyone could’ve imagined. Free from the reins of network TV, it relished in its R-rating creativity and quickly became a cultural phenomenon. People tuned into it every night. It was celebrated and parodied in equal measure. Most important of all, it ushered in a new era of prestige television that valued substance more than anything else. There’s no better person to guide us through the ins and outs and behind-the-scenes of The Sopranos than the showrunner himself. Director Alex Gibney parallels his interview with Chase with scenes from the show, even matching its colors and texture, to further prove how inextricable Chase is from his creation. We see never-before-seen clips of casting, script writing, reception—the works. Wise Guy must be heaven-sent to hardcore Sopranos fans, but it’s also the perfect introduction for the uninitiated.

Partially due to the surviving Norse myths, as well as certain modernized cinematic depictions, most people think of the Norse gods as fairly benevolent, if a bit violent, entities. With Zack Synder at the helm, it’s unsurprising that he would take an edgier approach to the Twilight of the Gods, but this time, it works well, transforming these arbitrarily powerful beings as the villains they would actually be, at least in the perspective of the humans trampled by their thoughtlessness. It’s beautifully depicted, with lovely character designs and great voice performances, and it’s an interesting depiction of a mythology not often depicted.

If you’ve seen one too many true crime documentaries, you might shake your head at the things sixteen-year-old Penelope does upon running away from her high school camp. You might (rightly) ask, why is she camping in the middle of nowhere all alone? Why is she trusting all these different strangers who, for all she knows, could be a serial killer or a trafficker? And why approach that bear? Why sleep in that clearing? But the sooner you let go of those worries and accept that Penelope is more of a fable about growing up and finding yourself than it is a literal survival tale, the better. Which isn’t to say it fails as the latter—Penelope is surprisingly watchable as she learns the ways of the wilderness. In fact, one near-silent episode is dedicated to just Penelope learning the ropes, literally, and it’s one of the season’s best. As long as you don’t get stuck in the details of Penelope’s journey and take aside your cynicism for just a while, you’ll find something touching and humanizing in this short but sweet series.

It’s been five years since the bombshell interview between the BBC’s Emily Maitlis and the the British monarchy’s Prince Andrew took place, yet it continues to intrigue, if the nonstop release of dramatizations are anything to go by. The latest entry is the three-part series A Very Royal Scandal, which mainly focuses on Maitlis as a workaholic journalist intent on getting the scoop, even if it means sacrifcing time spent at home. Apart from Maitlis, we’re also privy to His Royal Highness’ point of view, which is a mix privileged naivitie, paternal sweetness, and dumb lust. Compared to Netflix’s Scoop, which is more interested in the BBC booker Sam McAlister’s POV, Amazon Prime’s A Very Royal Scandal is by nature deeper and more explorative. It’s also more exciting and less salacious in tone. Paired with a suspenseful score, smart editing, and rich backdrops, the series is a near-masterclass on how to make treaded ground feel fresh again.

When adapting a novel, television showrunners have to transform the text into video, so sometimes, things get cut, lines get shortened, and sometimes what you and the author imagine from the book doesn’t match up on screen. Luckily, for Interior Chinatown, that’s not the case– the novel is already in a screenplay format, and the mini-series is being handled by the very same guy who wrote it, Charles Wu. The satire novel was pretty experimental, so it’s no surprise that the series holds the same playful energy as the book, but this time, playing with stylistic expectations (see: every time the faux leads enters a room) and genre expectations to create a meta levelling up quest for a background character to finally shine through. And with a stacked cast (Jimmy O. Yang, Ronny Chieng, and Chloe Bennet), the humorous plot cleverly challenges the ways Hollywood has excluded and stereotyped Asian Americans, and the way this plays out in real life.

Much like creator Taylor Sheridan’s other works (notably Yellowstone), Landman is a sweeping epic about the modern American dream that doubles as an intricate family drama. It mostly succeeds on the former front: Billy Bob Thorton and Jon Hamm go head to head as the gritty roughneck and the slick billionaire, respectively. The series is at its best when it shows us how tough, cruel, and eventually vulnerable these men can be. But it creaks on the latter front: Thorton isn’t as convincing as a family man. And the female members of the family are so thinly drawn that it’s hard to see them as anything more than caricatures. But Sheridan has redeemed himself a couple of times when it comes to female characterization, so I can only assume they’ll get better as more seasons roll in. Landman isn’t exactly as gripping or thrilling as it could’ve been, but it has enough appeal (mostly from Thorton and Hamm) to keep you seated.

Remakes are a dime a dozen, but Prime Video’s Spanish reinterpretation of Zorro gives justice to the masked vigilante. With the sword fights, the vengeance, and the romance, the ten-episode series sticks close to the swashbuckler’s origin story, but explores certain nuances of the era that haven’t been a focus, until now. This Zorro is more involved with the people of Los Angeles, not just the Spanish colonial inhabitants, but also the Native Americans, and he fights against the injustice that they face. It makes for a more grounded adaptation than the ones previously, but Zorro still feels just as exciting in this rodeo.

A Round of Applause is just so darn weird. We’ve seen stories about people remembering their past lives, but we’ve never seen them able to recall and yearn for their life as pulp in an orange, of all things. We’ve seen fetuses as characters, but we’ve never seen them as a neurotic chainsmoker, tugging at the umbilical cord in complaint. These strange, existential ideas get to amusingly absurd paths, leading to punchlines that aren’t expected but pulls out unexpected laughter while making us contemplate the lives we’re currently living. Even if the offbeat humor isn’t to your taste, A Round of Applause just feels so original that it’s worth a look.

When it comes to true crime series, it’s rare to hear of teenage girls participating in murder. But it does happen, on occasion, and one instance is now portrayed in Under the Bridge, based on Rebecca Godfrey’s non-fiction account of the murder of Reena Virk. As Virk goes missing, the show alternates between different perspectives, with Archie Panjabi and Ezra Farouke as Virk’s concerned parents, Chloe Guidry as foster child queen bee Josephine Bell (name replacing that of one of the real perpetrators), and deviating from the real case, Lily Gladstone leading the case as fictional cop Cam Bentland, and Riley Keough as Godfrey herself. With the number of shifts, it does occasionally feel like it loses focus, but the deviations make the introduction feel compelling, especially with the performances of the whole ensemble.

When Cristobal Balenciaga was in his prime, the courtier was lauded for his technique. More than anything, his dedication to the tiniest detail of dressmaking, not just design, made his sculptural dresses stand out. This titular miniseries about his years in Paris is made in the same vein. It has a strong foundational form, from smart camerawork and beautiful lighting to period-accurate backdrops and tight storytelling. But it has plenty of substance too as it’s clearly, and endearingly, in love with haute couture. Every scene is dripping with elegance, and every gown (even the supposed bad ones!) is so gorgeous that you must pause and take a moment to marvel at it. But perhaps the most impressive thing about the series is that it doesn’t shy away from history; in fact, it welcomes it fully, even the controversial parts of Balenciaga’s past. What we get isn’t a glorified icon, but a flawed human being who is all the more resplendent in his wholeness.

Just when you think you’ve heard enough origin stories for a lifetime, in comes Me with probably the most poignant one yet: 12-year-old Ben, overcome with so much anxiety and yearning to be someplace else, transformers into a different person. Though Me is outwardly a sci-fi show, and the main plot is fueled with mystery and fantasy, it’s also an emotionally attuned, self-aware coming-of-age story that follows Ben through his ups and downs. Almost overnight, he gains a new sister, a new school, a new set of classmates to figure out, and unlike most superhero narratives, these are just as confounding and important to Ben as his powers. There is no double life, it’s all just him. But the best thing about Me is that despite its G rating, it’s just as enjoyable for adults as it is for kids. It’s not cheesy or corny, but gentle and comforting, and you learn lots about yourself in the process.

Apple TV+’s stunning Omnivore is sleek and stylish enough to make it stand out from the usual food and travel shows you might find on TV. There are expertly shot scenes from around the world, exclusive interviews, and maybe best of all, a well-written script that’s just as colorful and delectable as the dishes onscreen. Each episode, which hones in on a specific ingredient like corn or chili, has a tight runtime at just 30 minutes, making it extremely bingeable (though ideally not on an empty stomach). That said, the show might be too polished for viewers who are expecting the gritty and immersive approach of a chef like Anthony Bourdain. Omnivore, for all its explorative language, is suspiciously idyllic at times, all too eager to paint the global food industry as a harmonious process as opposed to an enterprise that is involved in global warming, animal poaching, and deforestation, among others. Every industry has a dark side, and I just wished the show appreciated the nuance in that. Still, it’s an engaging watch with glowing moments.

Except for the fact that it’s a genderswapped reboot starring the Kathy Bates, Matlock is hard to distinguish from the rest of the legal dramas airing on network TV. It follows the same formula shows like Suits, Law & Order, and The Good Fight do, where each episode is dedicated to an interesting case that also happens to reveal something new about the characters and whatever they’re going through. But what sets it apart (again apart from Bates, a force to be reckoned with), is its folksy humor and a consistent, throughline advocacy that would be a spoiler to reveal if you haven’t seen the pilot yet. That advocacy is a strong one, and not all that is represented yet on TV, so for the show’s enlightening and empathetic take on it alone, it’s a good watch. But add reliably engaging procedural cases and enjoyable performances, what you have is something great—or at least way better than most things currently on weekly TV.

Starting 5 takes some of the best players in the NBA’s current roster and follows them throughout the latest season. We follow them in their training sessions, their homes, their private jets, and even during the most intense games, where we get to hear them trash-talk their opponents through their mic’d uniforms. As to why these five specific players, one can only guess (there are certainly others in the league who lead more interesting lives, or whose rise to fame might be equally if not more promising) but they do contrast well enough to entertain. Rising stars Jayson Tatum and Anthony Edwards are positioned against NBA veteran LeBron James, whose only true nemesis at this point is himself. Jimmy Butler, by far the most entertaining, is the comic relief who proves there’s more to life than just ‘ball and family (everyone here is a dedicated father), while Sabonis’ patience and gentleness temper passions. The series doesn’t go too in-depth into the athletes’ lives or their psyches, but it has a template that’s enjoyable and easy to replicate. It’ll be fun to see which five it’ll deem worthy in the following seasons.

If you are a historian, a communist, a capitalist, a Russian or American citizen, you would likely already have opinions about the Cold War. But regardless of your knowledge on the topic, there’s no denying that Netflix docuseries Turning Point: The Bomb and the Cold War is such an ambitious documentary, dedicating a whopping 9 hours to explain the Cold War and its ramifications in such a comprehensive, well-paced way, trying to balance between various perspectives from all over the world. Of course, being from an American production company, it does slightly lean towards the American perspective, with some of the Netflix flair that you can see in their other documentaries. Nonetheless, The Bomb and the Cold War is a handy explainer to the history that still shapes many of today’s conflicts.

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.

Ludwig is a classic whodunnit with an interesting twist—the detective solving murder mysteries isn’t a cool genius like Sherlock or a goofy alien like Doctor Who. Instead, he’s a regular middle-aged man who just happens to be really good at solving puzzles. This, in turn, makes him see patterns in murder cases that would otherwise take the police years to solve. The series is amusing in that sense. Here’s a likable old recluse who doesn’t know how the internet works and how to be around people, yet he’s often the smartest man in the room. And you have a new puzzle to solve with him per episode, like Columbo. But the series’s core mystery—where is Ludwig’s twin brother, and how long before his team figures out his disguise?—is a compelling one. It’s the thread that connects all episodes, and it builds up in a way that makes it impossible to quit watching. You’ll have to finish the entire series to find the answers to the questions it set up. You’re not Ludwig after all.

When watching fantasy anime, there’s a wonderfully whimsical world that viewers can fully explore. Spectacular magic, brave warriors, and strange creatures are all expected, but every exploring troop needs supplies. Money, weapons, and of course, food are needed to survive the wondrous yet perilous adventures they set out to embark on. Delicious in Dungeon recognizes these practicalities, and creates a whole episodic adventure that focuses more on the possible food ecosystems of a fantasy world rather than the seemingly serious quests they embark upon. It makes for a slightly silly approach poking fun at the fantasy genre, but it’s definitely something unique, especially when it brings about mouthwatering exotic dishes made from monsters.