100 Best TV Shows of the 2020s So Far

The scene: 1717, the Golden Age of Piracy; the people: brute criminals living on nothing but loot. Seems typical enough for a pirate story, but more than just an action-packed swashbuckling treat, Our Flag Means Death is also a raging ensemble comedy that is both modern and subversive as it dares to recast masculinity in a whole new light. 

The show follows Stede Bonnet (Rhys Darby), a flamboyant aristocrat who leaves his pampered life and turns to the sea in search of deeper meaning and purpose. Specifically, he’s out to figure out, once and for all, what it means to be a man. Does it entail remorseless murder and a stoic acceptance of one’s responsibility, as he’s been taught and taunted to do for so long, or is there more to it than that? The wannabe pirate gets closer to answering these questions when he meets and eventually falls for the legendary Blackbeard, played warmly and hilariously by Taika Waititi.

When a girls soccer team is left stranded in the wilderness, things quickly descend from worrisome to outright, delightful, and sometimes unbearably weird. It’s a classic tale of survival injected with fresh mystery and drama, and as you watch these girls navigate humanity in all its extremes—from the primal urge to live to the existential need to bond—you’re left feeling both wildly entertained and deeply disturbed all at once. 

Though Yellowjackets has drawn comparisons to beloved stories like Lost and Lord of the Flies, its unique pulse on the female experience is arguably its own thing: a sure and instant classic in the making. 

What if the 1960s space race never ended? For All Mankind imagines such a world; here, Russia’s cosmonauts arrive on the moon first, the galaxy holds resources beyond belief, and global wars have expanded in stakes and scale. More than just the final frontier, outer space is now the focal point of warring nations hungry to capitalize and claim new assets. 

For All Mankind’s out-of-this-world premise alone make it a thrilling watch, but you’ll be glad to know that the show also feels intimate and affecting thanks to its fully fleshed-out characters. If you’re looking for an epic but grounded story to lose yourself in, this is it. 

The Netflix four-part miniseries Lost Ollie is a bit like if Toy Story was adapted into a live-action dramedy. You’ll recognize the premise immediately: lost toy comes to life and loyally sets out on a journey to find its kid. But stuffed in between those points are poignant moments and reflections about life, family, and being.

The film isn’t also afraid to touch on darker themes, so if you’ve always wished for a slightly more mature but still kid-friendly version of this narrative—and if you’re a fan of the likes of Paddington the Velveteen Rabbit—then you’ll enjoy Lost Ollie.

Trying is a realistic but charming take on couples venturing to build a life and stable future for themselves. Heavy themes are tackled here, like infertility, infidelity, and parenthood, but the immensely likable couple that is Nikki and Jase guide us through the murky ups and downs of them all. Their heart and humor aren’t just comforting to watch, they’re also inspiring in a TV age obsessed with heavy dramatics. Like Ted Lasso, Abbott Elementary, and other well-meaning shows like it, Trying is a bit of lighthearted fare that we’d do well to indulge in every now and then.

Based on Epic magazine’s column of the same name, Little America is an anthology series based on real-life immigrant stories. The episodes vary in plot, topic, and even era—they’re as diverse as the characters themselves—but they are all connected by one thing: the hope of achieving the American Dream. In one episode, an Iranian father sets out to build his family’s dream home in a bid to prevent his son from moving out. In another, a second-generation Korean-American struggles to find his calling, much to the dismay of his war-survivor parents (“What do you know about suffering?” the mother, played by Parasite’s Lee Jung-eun asks when her son complains about med school).

Co-created by Lee Eisenberg, Kumail Nanjiani, and Emily Gordon (The Big Sick) and directed by Sian Heder (CODA), Little America is a heartwarming collection of stories, as moving as it is urgent. It’s easy to miss this over splashier shows on TV, but trust that this one’s worth tuning into.

Imagine if the show Girls was Marvel-ized (or if you like, Derry Girls blended with Encanto): that’s kind of what this series is, but actually good.

It has all the trappings of a quarter-life-crisis sitcom—broke 25-year-olds with big dreams and little prospects living under one roof—while also being set in a world where everyday humans develop a superpower by the age of 18. The British series follows Jen, a late bloomer who has yet to find her power. Having had enough of sucky jobs and boyfriends, she sets out to discover her power in the hopes of finally knowing more about herself. It’s a bizarre premise with an authentic, endearing core that’s certainly worth checking out.

The show’s premise is plain, but it’s also endlessly, edge-of-your-seat gripping. It’s steady and unhurried but never boring, and each episode, which represents an hour on the seven-hour flight, gives you a sliver of hope for the passengers, especially since they have pro-negotiator Sam Nelson (Idris Elba) on their side. Or do they? The show has fun playing with Sam as the anti-hero, but his heart is too big and golden to achieve that complexity. It also doesn’t bother to paint the hijackers as anything other than terrorists (at least not in the first few episodes screened for review). Instead, the show narrowly chases that mid-flight suspense, and it works. It successfully builds up to it with small but revealing moments. 

At the back of all the hubbub, there is also a running joke about what happens when you get stuck with the worst people you know. The passengers are characters you may be familiar with—the family with loud babies, the nosy seatmate forcing a chat, the lowkey racist eyeing everyone who doesn’t look like him—and it gets doubly entertaining to see them collaborate when they otherwise won’t.

Dear Child may be tackling difficult themes, including sexual violence and domestic abuse, but it’s not hard to watch at all. As a mystery, it’s well-told and gripping, with clues and cliffhangers appearing at just the right moment, and as a drama it’s expertly paced and brilliantly acted, with child actress Naila Schuberth, who plays Hannah, and Kim Riedle, who plays Jasmin, easily owning their scenes. Unlike other stories that decide to take on these delicate themes, it’s not gratuitous or exploitative either. Instead, it knows when to hold back and when to unleash the horrific details of its crimes. The sympathy it shows the victims is present but restrained, at least until the last few moments of the series. By then, the series, with full force, takes the victim narrative and excellently turns it against its head. 

With mass media’s misrepresentation of the Roma people, it was high time there was a show dedicated to accurate portrayal. Infamy is that show. As British-raised Gita moves back with her extended Romani family in Poland, we get introduced to Romani culture– their rules, customs, and art. This Polish Netflix series might even be the first time you’ll hear about Romanipen, the rules and familial principles that allowed them to survive. However, with Gita’s Western background, the show also depicts her immigrant experience, culture clash, and the discrimination of her people by the dominant Polish people. Mixed with hip-hop tracks from the UK, Poland, and the series’ original creations, Infamy takes a nuanced approach to Gita’s struggle and artistry.