100 Best TV Shows of the 2020s So Far

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?

On the surface, The Makanai is a simple, slice-of-life show about food and friendship. While it is that, to be sure, it’s also a substantial drama that tackles questions about art vs. love, and love vs. companionship, and career vs. purpose. Under the gentle guidance of showrunner Hirokazu Kore-eda (Still Walking, Shoplifters, Broker), who generously allows up-and-coming directors to take the helm on certain episodes, The Makanai feels at once light and hefty, comforting and challenging. We’re seeing mundane events unfold before us as if we were bystanders, but we also understand that there is so much more happening than what meets the eye. A prolonged gaze, a lovingly prepped meal, an especially sharp wing-eye, all of these have much to say about the state of mind of these girls.

It’s a supremely gentle and culturally rich show with a tender heart; a truly great watch on all accounts.

This World Can’t Tear Me Down is a timely release on friendship, punk, and anti-fascism. From the Italian cartoonist Zerocalcare, his second Netflix show shifts his musings over mental health to his experiences with regard to the country’s rising neo-Nazism. As xenophobia tears his friend group, it’s easy to feel the fear and self-doubt Zero’s cartoon counterpart feels. It’s easy as well to empathize with Sarah and Cesare, characters failed by the system around them. In many ways, they themselves feel like they haven’t met their potential. But the show suggests that perhaps status and achievement aren’t what being successful is all about– it’s about holding onto principles. Through punk soundtracks and shifts between stop motion and 90s cartoon style, This World Can’t Tear Me Down captures the millennial generation’s bewilderment, as well as their hope.

I’ve always thought that The Beatles’ songmaking process would be something close to magical. But this documentary proves that it’s anything but—creating music, like any artistic endeavor, is like pulling teeth. It’s painful and raw, but once done, it can also feel like the biggest relief in the world. And Get Back, which Jackson described as a “documentary about a documentary” shows us just how raw it gets. There are scenes of what we know went down (but even then it feels chilling), like the tense arguments between Paul, John, George, and Ringo. But there are also scenes of what we know less of, buried as they are beneath media spectacle and drama—that of genuine brotherhood and goofing around, of tender merrymaking and skilled music-making. It’s no secret that there was a ton of frustration behind The Beatles’ breakup, but this revealing documentary confirms there was a ton of (if not more) love involved too.

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.

Based on the DC Vertigo comic, Bodies is an intriguing crime thriller with a unique twist – one body, in four separate time periods, being solved simultaneously all at once. While the show is triggered by the same body, the mini-series feels like four separate shows at the same time, marrying the classic Victorian detective mystery, war-torn film noir, and modern day police procedural through post-apocalyptic science fiction. And the four separate detectives take the helm of their respective side of the case, as well as how they deal with the discrimination against them. With four excellent strands to the same mystery, Bodies is an exceptional adaptation that demonstrates how even though details change, some things still remain the same.

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.