The 30 Best Character-Driven Shows to Watch 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.

A parking lot run-in wouldn’t normally warrant anything more than an angry rebuke, but for Danny and Amy (Steven Yeun and Ali Wong, respectively), it’s the final straw that pushes them over the edge and into the domain of unfiltered rage. Years of forced optimism and unreciprocated niceness have led them to this unforgiving point, and instead of going back to how things were, they burry themselves deeper into the ground with each new act of revenge proving more sinister than the last.

Beef could’ve easily been a comical show anchored on silly hi-jinks. Instead, it’s a searing look at anger and repression in modern-day America. Danny and Amy are on opposite ends of the class spectrum, but both are riddled with unending malaise and self-hatred, parts of which are informed by their race, gender, and status as second-generation immigrants in the country. It’s their chase for the elusive American Dream, and not actually each other, that entangles them in a web of deceit and danger.

Juicy with a thrilling aftertaste, each episode of Beef will leave you enthralled, enraged, and ever-hungry for more.

At first glance, Monster doesn’t seem like the typical anime of the 2000s. With its muted colors, realistic action, and Eastern European setting, it seemed like a more subdued series compared to other thrillers. But because it feels so realistic, Monster is one of the most thrilling psychological series that happens to tackle the value of a human life, as the compassionate doctor Kenzo Tenma grapples with the weight of having saved a boy who grows up into a manipulative psychopath. Mangaka Naoki Urasawa and showrunner Masayuki Kojima directly challenges their respective philosophies through excellently paced investigations, well-developed characters, and the thorough examination of the different ways humanity has failed each other, and it’s downright beautiful to see how this anime adapts Urasawa’s complex, sophisticated story so faithfully.

It may have never reached the heights of popularity that other prestige antihero dramas of its time did, but The Americans stayed true to itself for six incredibly consistent seasons. In the vein of “real” spy shows and films, it’s much more deliberately paced, with the bulk of the drama taking place not through shootouts or technical wizardry but through the gradually fraying relationships between characters and their respective beliefs. As the Cold War stretches on for Philip and Elizabeth Jennings (played by real-life couple Matthew Rhys and Keri Russell), the former begins to feel increasingly drained by all the violence he’s committed, wishing for a mundane American life; while the latter maintains a steely dedication to her mission, which also puts her loved ones in harm’s way.

Throughout The Americans’ run, it creates a stunningly detailed tapestry of both Soviets and Americans agents giving themselves over to causes that they still don’t fully understand. But perhaps even more so than a story of loyalty to one’s nation, it becomes a story about the constant demands of marriage and of making connections in a dangerous world despite the risk of betrayal. It never announces its themes loudly, but by the end the weight of these characters’ isolation and disillusionment is unlike anything else you could experience on TV.

Led by visionary salesman Joe MacMillan (Lee Pace), skilled engineer Gordon Clark (Scoot McNairy), and punk prodigy Cameron Howe (Mackenzie Davis), Halt and Catch Fire trails the risky dawn of the tech revolution—beginning with the invention of the personal computer in the 80s and winding through the dark corners of the primitive internet in the 90s. 

Its exciting premise is anchored by top-notch performances, but despite having all the makings of a prestige show, it never took off in the same way Mad Men, Silicon Valley, or even Succession did.  

Hailed as “the best show that nobody watched,” critical darling Halt and Catch Fire struggled to secure wide viewership throughout its four-season run. But what it lacked in ratings it certainly made up for in storytelling. The series continued to one-up itself each season as it centered on its characters and their believably bumpy journeys to self-discovery, all while consistently scoring where it mattered most: quality and ingenuity. 

Set in the 1980s, this captivating series uncovers the dark side of a Japanese-style nightclub called “Light” in Taipei’s red-light district, challenging the façade of its joy and glamour. Beginning with the shocking discovery of a dead body uncovered by a typhoon, the show delves into the lives of its complex characters, revealing the personal dramas of the mamasans, Rose and Sue, and every “Light” hostess. While some may find its pace across 3 seasons tedious, Light the Night is a must-watch for fans of slow-burning suspense with strong performances, impactful dialogue, and a story with the intricate layers of a well-crafted mystery.

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.

One of the most original, underseen, and unexpectedly wholesome shows on HBO, High Maintenance spends each episode looking into the everyday lives of various New Yorkers, often with eccentric jobs or alternative lifestyles. The only thing that connects them is that they all happen to be clients of an unnamed weed dealer (played by Ben Sinclair), who becomes a witness to their ordinary joys and struggles. Barely any of the stories we get to see throughout the show’s four seasons have a traditional dramatic arc to them, but the series remains a one-of-a-kind comfort nonetheless—showing us just how colorful and interesting a mundane life can be when we have well-meaning people surrounding us. And it’s a prime example of how television should be allowed to tell stories in any form, making perfect use of the half-hour episodic format to capture these fleeting, beautiful snapshots.

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

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

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

This underrated, semi-autobiographical series follows Abby (Abby McEnany), a queer person struggling with OCD and depression. She navigates life’s ups and downs with humor that is both offbeat and sympathetic, but things quickly take a turn for the romantic when Abby’s sister sets her up with Chris, a trans man 20 years her junior. 

Relatable, hilarious, and frank, the miniseries is a tender gem of a show. It’s also effortlessly relevant, which checks out: creator and star Abby McEnany mines inspiration from her own experience as a queer artist, while executive producer Lilly Wachowski (The Matrix) reportedly made a big push for authentic trans representation.

Based on true events, the series follows the lives of Gypsy Rose Blanchard her mother Dee Dee, whose relationship is pushed to the brink when it’s discovered that Dee Dee has been faking Gypsy’s illnesses. The strange case that gained publicity following a viral 2016 BuzzFeed story and a 2017 HBO documentary works well as an absorbing, well-paced drama. Each episode is visually interesting, offering compelling imagery with a palpable tension. Haunting and spectacularly acted by both Patricia Arquette and Joey King, The Act is a highly-recommended television series, perfect for drama and true crime fans.

As has become typical of a David Simon series, The Deuce manages to bring myriad characters and perspectives into one setting, but somehow without resulting in information overload or stale drama. Simon’s work (most famously, The Wire) has always been arguably more ethnographic than traditionally dramatic, and here it’s no different: the portrait he and co-creator George Pelecanos paint of ’70s New York feels so real that watching this is almost educational. The Deuce is a series all about change and freedom and the contradictions that come with ideas of sexual liberation and commodification, and it’s endlessly fascinating to watch how these characters continue to dream big and redefine themselves in their own seedy little corner of the world.

From the creators of HBO’s Mare of Easttown comes Task, a gritty crime drama that follows two men —one cop and one criminal —who, despite their differences, are on a similarly rocky journey towards healing. The series is slow to start, and it doesn’t help that the premise is something you’ve seen many times. But the details of Task, from the compelling performances to the excellently choreographed action sequences, make it a thrilling watch. What it lacks in novelty it more than makes up for in the intricacy of its details.

A true Cinderella story on TV if ever there was one, The Expanse went from the limited resources of Syfy for its first three seasons before receiving a massive boost in scale and ambition for its final three. But whether it was negotiating through political deals or engaging in dogfights in space, the series never lost sight of its sociopolitical foundations. Like the best sci-fi, The Expanse uses dense world-building and the idea of unexplained scientific phenomena to examine human nature. And in this case, humanity proves itself quick to draw lines in the sand and adhere to a hierarchy, as if colonization is something that needs to be expanded and reinforced when the universe opens up, rather than abolished.

The Expanse is also notable for somehow still looking so good despite mostly being set in cold, metallic interiors and the colder emptiness of space. It’s a great example of a show using its visual effects smartly, using spectacle ultimately to clear the way for its characters to take center stage. Some of these characters have rockier arcs than others or are given far less to work with, and the series’ treatment of its final antagonist is too simplistic given how thoughtful its politics usually are. But there’s more than enough interesting conflict among these characters’ social and political differences to make watching them rewarding.

With the Hays code, the film adaptation of James M. Cain’s novel had to be changed to depict Mildred Pierce in a less sympathetic light. More than half a century later, Todd Haynes teamed up with HBO to pick up the book and adapt it once again. Kate Winslet may not have the stern determination Judy Crawford had in depicting the title character, but her rendition, along with a script more faithful to the novel, transforms Mildred into an indulgent mother who, like many parents, would go to the ends of the earth for her devotion to Veda moving up a higher class, though hopefully not at the same expense Mildred allows Veda to take from her. With more time to expand on the characterization and on the class divide, Haynes’ Mildred Pierce unearths more of what the classic film failed to depict, and stands on its own as great television.

With his last film released more than a decade ago, fans wondered what Wong Kar Wai would release next. The answer is this television adaptation of the 2013 novel by Jin Yucheng. It’s a surprising step for the filmmaker, considering his preference of a small cast, improvisational directing, and love for Hong Kong, but this surprise is a welcome one. Blossoms Shanghai holds the same desire and obsession Wong is known for, though on a larger scale, as Shanghai’s opening to new economic opportunities pull in a compelling cast of risk takers who can, and sometimes do, lose it all in a second. And because of how high the stakes are, the series takes a darker, noirish vibe we haven’t expected from Wong. While the introduction does get a bit clunky with the non-linear structure, Blossoms Shanghai ultimately unfolds into a beautifully-shot, captivating mystery that brings Wong’s style into newer territory.

The Resort may start off as a familiar murder mystery, but it quickly unfolds into a multi-genre feat re-filled with new characters and questions each episode. Set in the Yucatan forest and embarking on some mind-bending, time-hopping journeys, The Resort is lush and trippy at the onset, unafraid to take its viewers deep into its version of a rabbit hole. 

You wouldn’t expect less from the creators of Mr. Robot and Palm Springs, the latter of which also stars Cristin Milioti in a twisty vacation adventure. Milioti of course steals the show as a woman who would rather drown herself in a police-level investigation than deal with her own existential problems, but the show’s strong cast, which includes The Good Place’s William Jackson Harper and Parks and Recreation’s Nick Offerman solidifies The Resort as one of the most intriguing and exciting shows today. 

Unlike other adaptations of young adult novels that get caught up in overly romanticized teenage angst, the eight-episode Hulu version of John Green’s Looking for Alaska is far more self-aware about its own precocious characters. Because no matter how much earnest faux-wisdom they spout, all their intelligence still hits a brick wall when faced with unanswerable questions of grief, guilt, and what it means to truly love another person. It’s as funny as it is devastating, with genuinely moving emotional payoffs that are more than worth the wait, thanks to a uniformly brilliant cast that includes Charlie Plummer, Kristine Froseth, and Denny Love.

Sabi, a genderfluid millennial in their mid-20s, is in a bit of a quarter-life crisis. Between balancing odd jobs, leaving a clingy boyfriend, and coming out to their family, Sabi just doesn’t have enough time to think about their identity, whatever that may be. Sabi is accused of being guarded, and indeed, in the first couple of episodes only we the omnipresent audience are privy to Sabi’s crying spells and panic attacks. To everyone else, Sabi is the calm and collected friend who loves to help everyone but themself. 

Sort Of follows Sabi as they navigate adulthood, family, love, and self-expression in tender and funny ways. It has the slice-of-life vibe of shows like Better Things but with an even more low-key charm. Never in-your-face and always grounded and humane, Sort Of’s twenty-minute episodes make for a delightfully meaningful binge.

In Shrinking, Jason Segel plays Jimmy Laird a newly-widowed therapist who’s trying to make amends with his loved ones after isolating himself for so long. It sounds depressing, but Shrinking has the delightful buoyancy of a show like Ted Lasso (which makes sense given that they’re created and directed by the same person) and even Trying, that other Apple TV+ show that masterfully balances seriousness and silliness. Like them, Shrinking is warm and affecting, but it has one undeniable advantage: Harrison Ford. Ford plays Segel’s boss, and if you aren’t onboard yet, Shrinking is definitive proof that Harrison is actually, objectively hilarious.

By imagining a plausible world in which World War II is avoided when an American populist president cozies up to Hitler, The Plot Against America becomes an effective allegory for all the ways well-meaning citizens gradually allow fascists to take power. Every perspective espoused by the Levins—a Jewish family grappling with the new president’s endorsement of anti-Semitism—is treated as just one partially correct response that’s ultimately just too little, too late. These ideological discussions that make up the heart of the miniseries are nevertheless filmed on a grand scale, and played with real fervor by an ensemble cast that includes Morgan Spector, Zoe Kazan, Winona Ryder, and John Turturro.

After a healing workshop leads her best friend to sell her belongings and move to a remote island, Nisan becomes suspicious a cult is indoctrinating outcasts. But when she’s diagnosed with cancer and dark memories haunt her dreams, she seeks the island to find hope and happiness. Nisan’s suspicions struggle against her desire to face her past. On the pseudo-utopia island, the idea of safe havens and communities is put to the test forcing Nisan to reckon how isolating living in fear and pain is. With a steady pace, Search stretches the concept of a cult, keeping a refreshingly open mind to all the ways a community with freedom, equality, and care remains unfathomable. 

While the show won’t teach you chemistry (or at least not enough for non-chemists to understand certain dialogue), Lessons in Chemistry is an enjoyable adaptation of the bestselling novel. Taking what makes the novel great, the period mini-series, like many period shows, highlights the historical inequality, but does so in a way that’s organic. Protagonist Elizabeth Zott, like Brie Larson, is just simply ahead of her time, while misogyny misinterprets her words and actions. The series also expands on other characters, but still manages to keep a steady pace, through clever rearrangement and reinterpretation of the novel’s plot points. Adding in the lovely costumes, and a stronger love story to start, Lessons in Chemistry might be Apple TV+’s answer to The Queen’s Gambit, albeit set a decade earlier.

After being released on BBC in July 2023, Champion made it across the Atlantic and has been recently released globally through Netflix. The family rivalry might be something familiar, but the way they go about it sounds so different, pulling in various genres from Black British music, compiling a striking soundscape that hasn’t been heard from similar shows. Along with the lovely soundtrack, the show has familiar story beats, but it’s well paced, excellently written, and maintains its slick rhythm without compromising any of its tunes. Champion might have dropped on Netflix without much noise, but the show has a voice and a story worth watching.

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.

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.

British period dramas usually tend to fall under two categories: traditional or contemporary. The former risks being boring while the latter risks being obnoxious. Vanity Fair, the miniseries, thankfully falls somewhere in the middle. It sticks to the source by presenting Emma Sharpe as an unapologetic social climber, but expounds her character so that we sympathize with her circumstances. Of course she’s cunning, she has to be in order to survive. Of course she’s a flirt, she wasn’t raised to be as conservative as her contemporaries. Because of updates like these, the series feels invigorating and refreshing to watch, even though rags-to-riches and princess-and-the-pauper-like stories have been told many times. Often, it veers towards soapy territory, but it’s nonetheless fun and exciting (and sparkly for avid gown fans!) to watch.

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.

When Blackpink’s Jisoo starred in her first lead role, it was surprising that she chose a story like Snowdrop. Sure, at the time, stories set in the 1980s were a hit in Korea, with dramas such as Reply 1988 and Youth of May that nostalgically recreated the aesthetics of the time, while also re-examining the loss and the pain under the dictatorship then. Snowdrop does the same, but it adds a more controversial twist– the love story isn’t between innocent bystanders caught in the fire, it’s formed between a South Korean student and a North Korean spy. Writer Yoo Hyun-mi and director Jo Hyun-tak take this interesting premise to chaotic, unpredictable scenes, and it’s a fun ride, at least until the secrets he holds and the politics inevitably brings their childhood to heartwrenching ends. Seolganghwa isn’t a perfect drama, but it’s a story that understands how muddled and confusing the era got, and how much the country should avoid a repeat of state interests acting at the expense of personal freedoms.