100 Best 2024 Shows So 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.

This series is proof that no matter how silly or brutal things get, pro wrestling can always serve as someone’s sanctuary. Though they sprinkle in pixie dust to make the industry as sketchy, barbaric, and ambiguous as possible, there’s a sparkle to the show’s energy that makes it feel like you’re watching a sweet cinematic drama, or rather a dreamy depiction of the monstrous world of ‘80s joshi wrestling. Ultimately, they do a stellar job conveying intimacy in interpersonal drama and portrayal of combat (even when combat amounts to stabbing someone’s head with a fork), and taken as a whole, makes for such a breezy and mesmerizing pro wrestling drama.

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.

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.

It’s always fun to see teachers in non-teacher mode, where they’re free to swear, complain, and engage in hookups (hey, this is FX!). But there’s something effortlessly absorbing and extra likable about English Teacher. It doesn’t spend too much time setting up a distinct world or fleshing out characters with complicated backstories. Instead, it’s happy to balance irreverent humor with fresh takes on culture wars and current events. The dynamic between the woke school Evan works in versus the conservative state in which it’s located provides endless prompts for all sorts of ridiculous but relatable shenanigans. Most of the insight it provides relates to queer and gender politics, the bumpy nuances of which Alvarez expertly explores. It’s equal parts smart and fun, a likely mainstay in TVs this fall.

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.