100 Best 2024 Shows So Far

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.

An underrated sign of a good TV show (especially a reality show) is if you start imagining yourself in its world, wanting to explore, wanting to feel what its people are feeling. Watching this series is like going on a fun, over-the-top immersive activity with friends. Its participants are pleasant and capable, saving you the headaches and scream-fests with your TV. Sometimes, puzzle-solving leaves them in the dark for quite a while and we just have to ride out the confusion, but frankly this show’s down periods are more interesting and stressful than most other reality shows at their peak.

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.

There’s something strangely nostalgic about the show. From the bright and timeless youth fashion, to the atmospheric soundtrack (kicked off wonderfully by The Feminine Urge in episode 01), to the charming dialogue that keeps things simple—a lot of this show feels current and young, but inexplicably feels like a distant childhood adventure, as well. Its lead storyline (the current time) is seamlessly interspersed with visions of the cold case, but it still makes that distant timeline feel within reach. In terms of balancing the necessary danger of a crime series and the periodic comfort people crave, this show strikes gold.

This is a pretty easy premise to invest in: psychotic exes. They don’t fumble the bag, either, giving us a series that takes an active stance against a justice system that is often asleep at the wheel in these cases, and spotlights the victims more than anything else which creates some semblance of hope in a tragic genre. The abusive cycle of manipulative behavior is insane—some people just never find fault in themselves or their logic—and the series captures the escalating frustration in the stories. Still, some outcomes give you immense comfort, and when it comes to this genre, that’s a huge win.

Where’s Wanda? is a playful seesaw of odd comedy and crime/mystery. Its humor is over the top awkward, and it feels like it goes out of its way to test your limits for cringe. Wanda (Lea Drinda), in particular, is someone you can be naturally drawn to with an endearing but elusive presence, and they give you just enough per episode to care that she’s gone. The jumping timeline takes the scenic route at times, but if that scene involves the chemistry of the Klatts (Heike Makatsch and Axel Stein), I wouldn’t mind at all. Altogether a lovably magnetic comedy you just can’t look away from.

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 of watching the series 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.

The Outlaws is an enjoyable BBC series that centers on the lives and misadventures of seven lawbreakers sentenced to 120 hours of community service. The felons can’t be more different from each other, but as they gather every day to serve, they slowly bond in the process. It’s a bit like The Breakfast Club and The Good Place in that sense, although subplots of crime and heist make it a dash more thrilling.

The characters may appear as caricatures at first (“Everyone’s a type,” as one of them puts it), but don’t be fooled: they’re all nicely fleshed out with every episode, and each back story adds a new depth to the series. Stephen Merchant (co-creator of The Office UK) stars in, writes, and directs the series.

Abuse can manifest itself in subtle ways that can be hard to recognize, especially when you’re used to the behavior. Marry My Husband takes the familiar downtrodden female lead we’ve seen in K-dramas, but gives her a do-over, another chance to escape her abuse not just by romance, but by recontextualizing the Cinderella-esque hardships and allowing her, and us, to recognize abuse for what it is. The show is able to navigate all this without letting go of its breezy approach, and it’s just so satisfying to see Ji-won actively and successfully achieve her revenge.