33 Best Dark Comedy Shows to Watch Right Now

You’re the Worst is the story of the relationship between Jimmy and Gretchen, or lack thereof. Jimmy (Chris Geere) is a smart but insensitive British novelist, a lone wolf with an excess of confidence. Equally smart and self-involved, Gretchen has clinical depression and a distinctive self-destructive streak. They meet, they have sex, she steals his car. As you do.

What ensues is, to some extent, a classic will-they-won’t-they comedy between two very cynical but often likeable people with a lot of humor drizzled on top. The electric chemistry between the two leads is topped off by their two weirdo sidekicks: Edgar, a war-veteran who suffers from PTSD, and Lindsay, a self-proclaimed “hot awesome sex fox” who married a nerd for money.

Written and created by Stephen Falk, one of the writers and producers for Orange Is the New Black and Weeds, You’re the Worst acts as if it cares about the standards of the genre, but, especially in season two, it also deals fearlessly with the subject of Gretchen’s mental health, which some have called the best explanation of clinical depression on television ever. Thanks to its witty writing, You’re the Worst will likely start off as the perfect watch-two-episodes-over-dinner-every-night series, until the plot sucks you in and you find yourself so hooked that you can’t watch anything else.

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

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

Former SNL cast member and comedy legend Bill Hader is the writer and main protagonist of the HBO-produced and three-time Emmy-winning series Barry. Part psychological thriller, part dark comedy – one of many new series in the “dramedy” genre – deals with the unlikely premise of a PTSD-ridden low-rent assassin, who, after travelling to LA to execute an actor, decides to dedicate his life to the amateur theatre scene. (Watch out for the always amazing Henry Winkler as the acting class teacher! He was rightly nominated for an Emmy for this performance.)

In typical Bill Hader fashion, this genre-mix is still a lot more comedy than thriller and one cannot help but root for hapless Barry, while he dodges one bullet after the other, as it were, navigating Chechnyan mobsters, the FBI, and his intense acting peers. A lovely, funny, and smart show about a seemingly emotionless guy trying to escape his past.

Patriot is about a secret agent meddling with the Iranian elections to stop Iran from developing a nuclear weapon. Ok, so like Homeland? Yes, and also very much no. Its protagonist is not a hardened, larger-than-life secret operative but a singer-songwriter stoner with PTSD.

As far as spy dramas go, Patriot certainly takes a lot of risks. Professional assassin John Tavener (played by Michael Dorman), whose dad (played by the amazing Terry O’Quinn from Lost) is the intelligence chief, is on an undercover mission in Iran. But, he’s not sure he wants to be. On top of that, he faces an incompetent federal bureaucracy, challenges to maintaining his cover, and bouts of mental illness.

Tavener is no hero. Patriot is more a mix between offbeat spy thriller and workplace comedy with a lot of dark humor in between.

Undone is a rotoscoped, genre-bending fever dream of a show. It’s a mystery in that the lead Alma is tasked to discover the truth about her father’s death, but also a fantasy in that she bends the limitless possibilities of time and space to achieve her goal. It’s a surreal adventure bolstered by daring animation, but it remains grounded largely because of its impeccably flawed characters. At the heart of this trippy show is a woman trying and failing (and trying again) to come to terms with herself, and that’s something any one of us can get behind.

It starts off with a man failing at hanging himself from a fruit tree in a bleak-looking garden. Something this grotesque isn’t usually the stuff of sitcoms. This is unsurprising because Will Sharpe’s Flowers, produced for the British Channel 4, is not your usual sitcom. With a unique visual style, an extraordinary cast, and a dark, satirical script, it carves out a genre of its own. The always amazing Olivia Colman plays Deborah Flowers, the eccentric family’s matriarch, and a music teacher. The man trying to hang himself is her depressed and unfaithful husband Maurice (Julian Barratt), who is a children’s book author. They live in a ramshackle house with a Japanese butler, who barely speaks English, and their dysfunctional adult twins. Amidst all this glorious mess, Flowers is ultimately about mental illness and depression and is apt in pairing this disturbing reality with hilarity. Obviously, it is very dark. A bit too dark for comedy, and too mad for drama: truly original stuff.

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.

Two incredibly funny women are the stars of this authentic and heart-felt British comedy: writer, stand-up comedian, and main actress Aisling Bea, and the amazing Sharon Horgan (Catastrophe), who also co-produced the show. Irish teacher Áine (Bea) lives in London, yes, like Sharon Horgan’s character in Catastrophe, and works as an English-as-a-foreign-language teacher, but instead of getting knocked up by an American, she suffers a nervous breakdown and goes to rehab. When Áine checks out, she has to re-navigate all the aspects of real life that brought her to rehab in the first place. She does so with her sister Shona (Horgan) at her side. This is very clever and honest comedy about mental health, recovery, and loneliness, and about creating meaningful connections with the people around you. In true Bea and Horgan style, though, the humor is dark and will make you flinch and laugh at the same time. The chemistry between them is incredible!

This is an HBO dark comedy that was intensely loved by anyone who knew about it before it was inexplicably canceled. Laura Dern plays a corporate executive who has a full-blown meltdown. I’m talking mascara streaming down her cheeks and screaming “I’m going to destroy you” to a coworker. When she comes back from a retreat in Hawaii she is forced to take, Den’s character is no longer filled with corporate rage but with inexplicable and almost obnoxious positivity. She tries to spread her new outlook around by giving people books like “Flow Through Your Rage” and telling them about sea turtles. Things get more real when she decides to take on her old company’s abuses. I think the reason this show has such hard-core fans is that they fell in love with Laura Dern’s character. Watching this show is like letting in a flawed, dependent, but extremely determined and well-meaning person into your life. Enlightened is funny, engaging, and all-around near-perfect TV.

Warning: this workplace series takes everything you hate about corporate life and mirrors it back to you with alarming clarity. It takes place in a morally corrupt multinational called Hampton DeVille, and we mostly follow “junior executives in training” Matt and Jake in their daily goings-on in the office. Sometimes, they’re able to cope by sneaking a nap here or making watercooler jokes there—absurd imaginings and occasional protests also help allay their boredom—but for the most part, they’ve given up on the system and are just trudging through the everyday. While Matt optimistically hopes for a better life outside the cubicle, Jake cynically lets him (and us) know that “There no way not to waste your life.”

Like Office Space and Better Off Ted before it, Corporate is endlessly nihilistic, but unlike them, it doesn’t have a redemptive moment where the protagonists find a silver lining in their jobs. No, Corporate is as bleak as it gets. But buoyed by ridiculous hilarity, sharp social commentary, and the insane ability to perfectly describe corporate life, it remains highly watchable, like a dystopian tragicomedy inching closer and closer to real life.

Sometimes, nothing beats the easygoing entertainment of watching two attractive characters flirt and fall in love on screen, or seeing a group of ride-or-die friends get into trouble together. HBO’s Insecure, which ran for five successful seasons, knows that it doesn’t need to exaggerate or put a subversive twist on the romantic comedy to find relatable and affecting storylines. The series stays mostly locked in to South Los Angeles, California as it follows Issa (Issa Rae) navigate the modern dating scene, try to settle on a career path, and manage her friendships as an ambitious and somewhat awkward thirtysomething Black woman.

Even if you don’t have much in common with Issa, Insecure is a massively comforting watch. Rae and co-creator Larry Wilmore have an impeccable eye for the messy, unspoken rules of social and romantic interaction that other shows might write off as too trivial. But this show lives and breathes in the ordinary, realistic problems—while still indulging in the warm and fuzzy feelings brought about by meeting someone new or seeing yourself grow up just a little more.

While best known for his provocative, existential dramas, Lars von Trier also made a provocative mini-series with surprising supernatural horror. Set at Denmark’s leading public hospital, The Kingdom takes familiar medical drama conflicts in handheld camera and sepia tone, but infused with an unsettling understanding of how the finest minds can fail, and how small science can feel in the face of the unexplained. That being said, the horror is much more wacky than spine-tingling or terrifying, but it’s played off through von Trier’s signature absurdism, taking a more humorous and sardonic approach. Riget may be an unexpected entry for those who have heard of von Trier, but it’s a must-watch for the auteur’s fans, showing a different side to the notorious director.

Every episode of Totally Completely Fine begins with a trigger warning, and rightly so—the show’s entire premise is about mental health, grief, and self-harm. Vivian, the lead (a captivating Thomasin McKenzie), is an orphan who goes on benders and ideates about killing herself. Things escalate when she inherits a cliffside house that doubles as a popular suicide spot and gains a prying (albeit good-natured) psychiatrist as a neighbor. All these elements, and a couple more, force her to confront her repressed trauma once and for all.

It sounds bleak, and it should be difficult to watch, but the show is a successful dark comedy. It strikes that rare deft balance between tragedy and comedy, highlighting painful truths with cutting humor and delivering jokes tinged with poignant insight. Vivian and her siblings are not entirely likable, but their brokenness and vulnerability make them all the more relatable, the perfect guides to hold your hand through this totally messy, completely enthralling, and finely compassionate show.

Things get pretty dark pretty fast in Vice Principals, which I suppose is to be expected from any Danny McBride and Jody Hill creation (the duo is behind shows like The Righteous Gemstones and Eastbound & Down). But if you can sit through its deep cynicism, then Vice Principals proves to be a ferociously funny show. McBride and Goggins are great physical comedians by themselves, but together, riffing off of each other’s hater energy, they’re glorious. They’re like The Office’s Jim and Dwight if they actually acted on their impulsive R-rated thoughts. It’s also just hilarious to see teachers and school administrators be their righteously angry, potty-mouthed selves for a change.

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.

Every episode of Better Off Ted starts with a satirical commercial from Veridian Dynamics, a multinational that does just about anything: biotech, weaponry, food, clothes, furniture. A soothing, soulless voice narrates the ad as happy, empty stock footage fills the screen: they can get you anything you please as long as it pleases them more. Money before people, goes the company motto, and there seems to be nothing that can stop them from achieving this goal.

Except perhaps for Ted and his small research and development team. As the conscience of Veridian Dynamics, he mediates between his amoral supervisors and hardworking colleagues and sticks up for the little guy as best as he can. He looks for the slim silver lining in every project he’s assigned, but the hijinks that ensue are both silly and sinister, highlighting the inherent contradiction of ideas like “family company” or “work-life balance.”

Released in 2009 and cut short by ABC after its second-season run, Better Off Ted is an impressively prescient show that holds its own in a TV age obsessed with satirizing corporate culture. It tackles topics like racially-biased tech and meatless meat before they’ve even entered mainstream knowledge. It lacks some of the warmth and character depth you may be used to in typical half-hour sitcoms, but if you’re looking for something wickedly sharp, Better Off Ted is the way to go.

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.

The American Dream thrives on people who work hard and dream big, even though success is almost never guaranteed. On Becoming a God in Central Florida points this out by brilliantly exposing how capitalist institutions exploit the desperation and naivete of those in need. There is, inevitably, a darkness to the story it tells, even though Krystal tries her best to outwit a system rigged against her. But showrunner Esta Spalding tells it with a campiness and magical weirdness that seems fitting for a show based in sun-soaked Florida. There is no shortage of incredible performances too from reliable veterans like Dunst and Skarsgård to relative newcomers like Théodore Pellerin, who plays the pyramid scheme FAM’s blind devotee. Not only does he hold his own, but his blind (and funny!) fanaticism often steals the show.

Frayed is one of those shows whose simple premise is made special by a strong script and even stronger performances. The humor is Australian dry, but it’s punctuated by surprisingly sweet moments that make you root for the growth of its complicated characters. The show is elevated, too, by its wonderfully detailed and realized setting: 1980s Australia, except it’s not Home and Away or any of the wealthy suburbias we’ve come to know via Aussie soaps, but a real place, Kendall’s hometown Newcastle, that is in the midst of an industrial recession and population diversification. As a whole, Frayed might seem like just another streaming dramedy, but there’s a lot to love here if you stick around.

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

Ray Romano and Chris O’Dowd (Bridesmaids) star in this dark comedy-thriller about a gangster who attempts a career as a Hollywood producer. It’s based on the novel that the 1995 John Travolta and Danny DeVito movie by the same name was also based on *catches breath*.

There is something undeniably funny about people in crime who try to reform themselves in Hollywood, the same thing that Bill Hader perfected in Barry. The switch from real to fake and back is equally as well-executed in Get Shorty.

Jim Carrey stars in this unusual show dubbed a “tragicomedy”. He plays Mr. Jeff Pickles, the host of a beloved children’s show who has a do-gooder way of looking at life.

In contrast to his job cheering up kids and giving lessons in what’s good or bad, he has to deal with a dark reality: the passing of his son. His wife left him as a consequence and he lives alone and away from his family.

Kidding is about the contradictions that a life in show business brings and about what it takes for an optimistic person like Jeff to break. Produced and directed by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind director, Michel Gondry.

Mask Girl is a dark comedic thriller that follows people on the fringes of beauty norms trying to live with their pain and shame. Low self-esteem and a desire for attention are at the center of the drama, making it relatable and easy to empathize with even when everything goes awry. Although Mo-mi, the titular Mask Girl, is at the forefront of the narrative, subsequent episodes switch to new perspectives, allowing us to interact with Mo-mi in different ways. And with each new character’s POV, we witness how other ostracized people find comfort in and hurt each other when there’s no one else to turn to. The first three episodes are intense and surprisingly violent, but ultimately seeing the extremes of the discrimination that beauty standards perpetuate makes the story worthwhile.

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

A lot of different (good) shows come to mind after watching Bodkin’s first few minutes. Like Ted Lasso, it follows a relentlessly optimistic American as he prances along in a foreign land. Like Only Murders in the Building, it follows true crime podcasters while also parodying them in a funny and meta way. I can go on and on, especially about small towns and the secrets they hold close to their chest, but ultimately Bodkin is its own thing. It has a smart, confident, wry tone that is always intriguing and never off-putting to watch. Each of the trio expertly balances the other so that the show never gets too snarky or saccharine. It’s just right, and offers some great surprises near the end.

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

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

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

Mexico City, 1970. Héctor Belascoarán leaves his stable office job and beautiful (but unhappy) marriage to pursue the adrenaline-filled life of a private detective. The police are useless, Héctor points out, not to mention corrupt and often in on the crime, so it’s up to him to tackle the many unsolved cases that haunt the city he loves.

Because he thinks himself a hero, Héctor narrates each episode in that nostalgic noir way, but the catch is that he is, in fact, no slick savior. Hector is still a rookie, prone to blunders and miscalculations, but his perseverance saves the day. In this way Belascoarán, PI is both a tribute and a sendup of detective films of yore; it references the genre in style and substance, but it isn’t above joking about it either. It’s proof that you can challenge viewers without sacrificing the laughs, and vice versa.

In its two-episode premiere, Praise Petey uses a lot of straightforward dialogue, on-the-nose jokes, and visual gags that work in its favor as “it girl” Petey becomes more acquainted with her inherited cult. Everything still feels at arm’s length for Petey even though we, the audience, are aware of the nefarious activities behind the scenes. Although it’s slated as a comedy, Praise Petey doesn’t land any real LOL moments and would benefit from leaning into its mystery elements more, given that a “city girl” spontaneously running a cult is funny on its own. Visually, it is as simple as adult animation can get, and one can only hope that the substance (with a tonal shift) can last the entire first season.

Life can be funny sometimes, with the way accidents can lead us to what would make the entirety of our lives. Usually, these accidents lead us to a new career, maybe the love of our life, and sometimes a new life path altogether, but for recently discharged Lee Tang in A Killer Paradox, it leads to finding that his talent is killing evildoers, accidentally or otherwise. It’s funny to see Lee accidentally getting away with murder and the way his imagination conceives of his serial killer victims, but the show also gets into intriguing thought experiments about the morality of his actions, as well as the way we try to reconcile the tragedy of a lost life, with the terrible consequences of the actions they did with their lives. It’s enjoyable, with the great cast and the unique cinematography, but the writing, structure, and thriller aspects fail to maximize what’s so interesting about A Killer Paradox.

The first thing we learn about Dolores Roach is that she is a person of sensation and scandal, a masseuse who, as the newspaper clippings reveal, turned out to be a murderous cannibal serving human flesh to unwitting customers at a local eatery, a la Sweeney Todd. But the series is less about the horrors of the act and more about the woman behind the front. “I was never the blood-hungry sociopath people say I am,” Dolores claims early in the first episode. “I was just some chick in Washington Heights.” In an attempt to humanize Dolores, we’re made privy to the unforgiving circumstances surrounding her case, namely: the desperation of poverty, the relentlessness of discrimination, the brokenness of the criminal justice system, and the inevitability of gentrification, all of which play a crucial role in Dolores’ eventual descent into misdeed and madness. It’s an interesting idea, fleshing out her darkness in a comic tone and pitting it against systemic social problems, but sadly the show never pulls off the balance it needs to become an effective dark comedy. Maybe something was lost when it was adapted from a one-woman play to TV series, but it never really shakes off that amateur approach to telling its delicate story. The heavy-handed narration and the occasional gimmicks overshadow the horrific deaths that occur, and they don’t leave enough space for the story’s relevant themes to aerate and make a significant impact. It’s also not nearly as scandalous nor as sexy as it thinks it is, lacking passion both in its love and murder scenes. They come off scrubbed and squeaky, blunting what could have been, at the very least, a sharp murder thriller. 

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

We’ve all heard of journalists digging up random things to generate headlines, but never to this extent. Obituary follows a freelance obituarist, paid per article, who generates more work through killing. It’s an interesting premise, and Siobhán Cullen excellently portrays Elvira Clancy, with a specific, but believable obsession of death that keeps her interested in her work, but concerns her dad, who pushes her to bereavement counseling. On top of it all, a cute colleague of hers is onto who’s behind the crimes. Elvira is a unique character, one that has potential, but the show’s other characters, the lack of consistency between each episode, and the way information is relayed keeps the series from being totally hilarious and emotionally resonant.

With the premise, Ololade seems like it would be a mysterious crime thriller, where two friends try to keep the wealth they suddenly obtained. It doesn’t really go that way, however, as the money leads into shenanigans involving multiple girlfriends, making it more a drama about infidelity than a drama about money laundering. The series tries to make fun of it, and there are moments when it’s funny to see them hide their mistresses, but these silly moments feel terrible considering that the show starts with one girlfriend’s death. There’s something here about the ridiculousness of juggling multiple women, but when this leads to a death that’s just brushed away, Ololade just seems thoughtlessly cruel.