The 45 Best Smart TV Shows to Watch Now

This new seven-part docuseries is directed by Martin Scorsese and features conversations between himself and New York author Fran Lebowitz.

Fran talks about her experience in New York, and she’s hilarious, but no one finds her more so than Scorsese. He spends the show recovering from one laugh only to go into the next long one.

Fran has lived in New York a long time, and people know that so they come up to her to ask her about the city. “If I were a civil war buff, and I saw Abraham Lincoln, I’d think ‘Oh! he was there. Let me ask him.’”. That’s who she is.

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’s amazing how shows fueled only by fast talk can feel as gripping as any thriller out there. The Diplomat is cerebral and heavy on geopolitical jargon, but somehow, it manages to feel genuinely exciting, each new episode impossible to not play next. Thanks is due in large part to Keri Russell who, fresh out of her incredible stint in The Americans, returns here as messy and intense and endearing as ever. On the one hand, The Diplomat is about the delicacy of diplomacy, about how every decision made at this level has ripples of consequences throughout the globe. But it’s also, amusingly, a marriage story. Russell plays a woman who has long been defined by her more renowned if egotistical husband, played perfectly by Rufus Sewell. They have a complex relationship that is as much a career partnership as it is a romantic one, and part of the show’s charm is blending all these story arcs seamlessly. Fans of West Wing, Veep, and Homeland will find much to like in this series, especially because of its informative takes and engaging performances.

In the early 2000s, amid the rapid rise of online piracy and the consequent fall of paid music, tech genius Daniel Ek would find Spotify, a revolutionary streaming platform that served as a middle ground between user accessibility and artist rights. But even now, at its peak, Spotify’s success seems mystifying. How did they get away with providing free music to all? 

Enter The Playlist—an impressive attempt at answering that very question. In this fictionalized account, key players in Spotify’s success are given their own episode-long arc, starting with the visionary himself, Ek (played by Edvin Endre), followed by the artist, the coder, and the industry insider, to name a few. By employing multiple perspectives, each with its own cinematic style (a particular favorite is that of the lawyer’s, the most experimental out of all the episodes), The Playlist manages to spin the technical and complicated story of Spotify’s origins into something fresh, dynamic, and addictive. Despite utilizing the Rashomon effect—risky but rewarding in this case—The Playlist rarely strays from its main point and, the result is a lean, well-rounded story that’s just as credible as it is heightened. 

Netflix’s resurrection of the hit Danish drama Borgen comes in the form of Borgen: Power & Glory, a miniseries that sees Birgitte Nyborg (played by powerhouse Sidse Babett Knudsen) step down as prime minister and take over the foreign minister position while wrangling over power, principle, and family. In this particular revival, Birgitte butts head with the new prime minister, who is all for drilling oil in the autonomous region of Greenland despite Birgitte’s firm stance against climate change. The event turns into a geopolitical crisis that tests Birgitte’s values.

The series is as whipsmart, relevant, and funny as ever, although if you haven’t seen previous seasons of the show yet, don’t fret. Borgen: Power & Glory efficiently catches you up on all you need to know in the first few minutes. It’s a standalone, engaging drama that’s a breeze to go through at just eight episodes.

The end of the world isn’t the most optimistic thing to think about, but the scenario leads you to thinking about unrealized dreams, pleasures, and aspirations: the way you want your life to be, if things have gone the way they planned. Dan Guterman, from Community and Rick and Morty, reimagines this idea in Carol and the End of the World. Carol is that mundane, downright boring character that we wouldn’t take notice of in real life, only because she actively chooses the ordinary life, but this show is extraordinary, shifting perspectives and even genres between episodes, taking unexpected turns, and celebrating the day-to-day monotony of life.

Far more self-aware than one might think, Dear White People isn’t just a progressive comedy that puts its politics front and center—it’s also heavily critical of its own so-called “woke” characters and their hypocrisy, but never in a cruel way that betrays its own beliefs. It’s a show all about the contradictions of existing as Black in America, especially within a prestigious institution that claims to take pride in its diversity while asking its students to compromise on parts of their identity. And all of this is done with impeccable style, a rapid pace that actually enhances the comedy, and a large cast of well-written characters who intersect in fascinating ways.

Capturing the craziness of a political campaign, Wave Makers portrays a behind-the-scenes look of a fictional campaign team as they work to get their party elected. While branded as a political drama, the Taiwanese Netflix series focuses on the dynamics of its team members, starting with their day-to-day work – how they deal with on-the-spot PR issues, budget cuts, and negotiations – and ending the first episode with the personal issues that affect them, such as work-life balance, career growth, and personal revenge. Focusing on the team makes for an interesting approach in portraying how the personal affects the political, and the show easily balances these two through its well-written sequences and careful direction. It’s no wonder it’s already inspired a #MeToo wave in Taiwan.

Because of his wide fame and influence, it’s easy to forget that Andy Warhol was actually a very private person. The pop artist only revealed his innermost thoughts in his diaries, and now those diaries have come to life in this Netflix docuseries from TV magnate Ryan Murphy. 

Through the magic of AI, Murphy recreates Warhol’s voice and uses it to narrate his diary entries as photos, reenactments, and archival footage play on screen. There are also interviews with celebrities to fill in the gaps, although they’re not enchanting as Warhol’s own thoughts.

Each episode runs for almost an hour, so it does take some time to go through. But if you’re willing to learn more about the man behind the iconic wig (and the 1960s art and gay scene in general), then The Andy Warhol Diaries comes highly recommended.

It starts off slowly, if a bit unevenly, but Black Earth Rising gradually finds its footing over the course of eight episodes. The series, a political thriller that takes a closer look at the legality of international war crimes, is led by the ever-commanding Michaela Coel and always-reliable John Goodman. 

As the Rwandan adoptee and legal investigator Kate Ashby, Coel attempts to reconcile her internal turmoil with that of the cases she’s tasked with. She’s at once indignant and empathetic, shut off and loving. She wants to be grateful for surviving a genocide and finding a home in the UK, but guilt is eating away at her. On top of the dangers that she faces as a refugee and investigator, Kate is also dealing with depression, and it’s a testament to the show’s skill that her condition is treated with as much thought and care as the other, more excitable aspects of the show. 

As Kate digs deeper into the mystery of who she is and exposes, along the way, the bloody involvement of different countries and institutes in African affairs, we’re forced to confront ethical questions (difficult but necessary) that stay with us long after the credits have rolled.

The so-called “Octopus,” that is the eight powerful but sketchy individuals journalist Danny Casolaro believed to be in control of the entire country, is already a complex topic. Crazy, but impressively complex. Equally interesting is the series of mysterious deaths allegedly committed by the Octopus, which includes what looks to be Casolaro’s framed suicide. This four-part documentary by Netflix efficiently dives into all of that with the added bonus of duo Zachary Treitz and Christian Hansen’s perspectives. The former is the director who expertly weaves all the tangles into a coherent web, while the latter is our guide into it, a researcher who wishes to follow in Casolaro’s footsteps despite the multiple signs that he should maybe stop, if not out of fear of what lurks in the shadows then out of fear of insanity. Not only do Treitz and Hansen relay the information in an accessible and intriguing way, they also effectively reproduce that paranoid feeling of falling deep into a conspiracy rabbit hole. If you’re not a fan of true crime, this is worth the watch if only for that feeling.

With the stakes involved in plenty of cases, legal dramas tend to be more serious and dramatic. However, sometimes, ludicrous events can happen in these courts, and they have, in real life. Maamla Legal Hai may not be 100% factual, but the way they mix and match real life legal headlines gets into unexpected, hilarious ways, poking fun at how ridiculous the Indian legal system can be. It might shy away from the serious cases, but Maamla Legal Hai smartly depicts the legal ecosystem, from the wily higher ups, to the idealistic newcomers, with unique charm and witty humor.

Countless documentaries have been made about The Third Reich’s rise to power, so Berlinger’s Hitler and The Nazis doesn’t particularly tread new ground. It starts with Hitler’s childhood and political beginnings, which anyone with a cursory knowledge of world history should know, but it picks up by the second episode, when it finally settles into a rhythm of stunning archival footage, realistic reenactments, expert commentary, and Shirer’s AI-recreated voice. The latter is chilling, not just because it recounts horrific events but also because it sounds strangely, unfittingly mechanical–to say nothing of the unnecessary use of AI when hiring a voice actor would’ve done the trick. Other than that, however, Hitler and the Nazis is a meaty historical account of a past that shouldn’t be forgotten, one that the newest generation will do well to watch.

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.

Though it may be self-serious nearly to the point of parody, Line of Duty is that rare hard-boiled police show that actually works because of its commitment to being cold and clinical. As each season focuses on a new case of corruption within the police, it chooses not to focus on character but on packing as much meticulous detail as possible into its investigations. The result is a slower paced drama that may take some getting used to, but it’s one whose every additional clue or revelation makes the nature of this modern police work feel that much more draining to the soul—a great change of tone from the heroic police shows we tend to see on TV.

Each episode of the medical show The Pitt follows an ER team over the course of an hour. There are no time jumps or montages, this is real-time for them. Countless patients come and go, their injuries ranging from terrifying to deadly, and whether they live or die depends on how fast the team responds. Leading everyone is Dr. Robby Rabinavitch (Noah Wyle), who is himself recovering from the trauma of losing a colleague during the COVID pandemic. However, unlike Grey’s Anatomy, the drama of the characters in The Pitt takes a backseat to the patients’ issues. That’s not to say we don’t get to know the characters well, just that the writers have very smartly and subtly found a way to integrate who they are into what they do. Much like the medical staff who front it, The Pitt is a highly efficient show. We experience a roller coaster of emotions and get what feels like a lifetime’s worth of medical exposure in a span of an hour. It’s intense, chaotic, disturbing, and at times even triggering. But it also feels essential to watch. It’s a welcome reminder of our mortality and the humanity needed to keep it at bay.

Made up entirely of B-roll and random, unglamorous footage of New York City, as well as the intentionally awkward, stuttering narration of its creator, How To with John Wilson might be the most unlikely series to offer touching, life-affirming insights about human connections and the simple beauty of the world we live in. As Wilson sets off at the start of each episode trying to provide advice on a mundane topic, his curiosity and self-effacing nature land him in increasingly odd places with different strangers around the city. The show may seem like nothing more than a bunch of vignettes loosely strung together at first, but upon closer look there’s truly clever wit and intelligence that goes into every single transition. How To’s power sneaks up on you—quietly teaching us the value of community and how we’re always a part of something much more interesting.

There is a very good case to be made for Veep being, pound-for-pound, the best American comedy to air on TV. Because while many other workplace sitcoms comment also comment on current events and satirize bureaucratic processes, no other show has committed this deeply to the inherent corruption and stupidity of every single one of its major characters. Selina Meyer and her staff are either so evil or so incompetent that they circle around to being irresistibly fun to watch and hilarious in all their own unique ways—which the series’ writers expertly wrangle together in each script. And with much of the show’s humor being built on creative, devastating insults, Veep also possesses a truly vicious edge that make it more challenging than its contemporaries.

But one shouldn’t forget that the series also tells a compelling story of how soulless a nation’s leaders can be, putting a magnifying class to every little political decision made in the name of saving face or pushing forward some other unrelated agenda. It’s surprisingly insightful for something that seems so crass. And as Selina Meyer herself, Julia Louis-Dreyfus (surrounded by a brilliant, dynamic cast) turns in one of the greatest comedic performances on TV as a pathetic vice president who can’t help but let the monstrous side of herself win every time.

If all live-action superhero media stopped here, it would’ve been a triumphant conclusion. Carving its own path from the subversive Alan Moore classic and still so much gutsier than most superhero films and TV shows, Damon Lindelof’s Watchmen miniseries continues interrogating the idea of powerful masked vigilantes to explore institutionalized racism, America’s history of anti-Black violence, and even the phenomenon of white supremacy in “nerd culture” fandom. It’s an incendiary take on a genre that’s all-too-often reduced to mindless fantasy action, and it never tries to beat other properties at their own game—relying on constantly building intrigue and fantastic characters to tell its story.

But even if you’re not familiar with the original Watchmen story, the series should have enough style and intricate plotting for everybody. A pulsating musical score from Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross; gritty (but not flavorless) art direction; and powerful performances from Regina King, Tim Blake Nelson, and Jean Smart, among others complete this vision of a nation plunged into chaos due to collective unresolved trauma. All this makes for viewing that’s never difficult, but demands trust and attention even as the story branches off to places that seem at odds with itself. How often can you say that about a superhero story these days?

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.

After the only war the Americans have lost, American post-Vietnam war portrayals tend to lean as patriotic revenge fantasies or romanticized disillusionment, but rarely do they portray the people caught in between. HBO’s The Sympathizer is an adaptation of the Pulitzer winning novel of the same name, and while it’s mainly an American production, Park Chan-wook and Robert Downey Jr.’s collaboration sticks to the Captain’s perspective, as the unnamed mole protagonist writes his confession years after from a jail in Vietnam. Chan-wook excellently mirrors his approach to Viet Thanh Nguyen’s agile storytelling, shifting time periods and languages the same way the Captain shifts perspectives, though Nguyen’s dry humor sometimes wavers when translated to the screen. Still, it’s certainly a well-crafted, ambitious depiction coming from a unique perspective.

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.

There’s a lot to like in Parade’s End, especially if you’re a fan of watching meticulous British society conventions set in the backdrop of war. There are great performances across the board, but none more compelling than the love triangle trio who headline it (the women are particularly phenomenal, so much so that Rebecca Hall has managed to make her detestable character quite the charmer). The scenes are lush, too, at once sprawling and ornate, expansive and detailed. And as a BBC2 show, Parade’s End is racier and unafraid of nudity, lending it more edge than similar dramas like Downton Abbey. My only gripes are the occasional slow-mo and repetitive use of shots, which make the show feel soapier and cheesier than it should be. Otherwise, Parade’s End is a beautiful and smart watch, one that not only surpasses but arguably, possibly, surpasses the other show mentioned above.

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.

Plenty of things go on between love and separation, marriage and divorce. There is the pleasant high of intimacy, the devastating low of heartbreak, the frustration of misunderstanding, and the bliss of friendship. Fleishman is in Trouble explores all this from the point of view of recent divorcees Toby and Rachel Fleishman, but interestingly, this POV is narrated by their friend, Libby. The result is a multifaceted take on love, entertaining and enlightening in its nuance. Based on the bestselling book by essayist Taffy Brodesser-Akner, the series is also strikingly written. Whether it’s Libby’s storytelling you’re hearing, Toby’s witticisms, or Rachel’s dagger-sharp remarks, prepare to cry and laugh in equal measure.  

In a case of perfect casting, Jesse Eisenberg plays the neurotic Toby, Claire Danes his unhappy wife, and Lizzy Caplan their quick-witted friend. Other sitcom greats make appearances too, like Adam Brody and Josh Radnor, making Fleishman Is in Trouble highly watchable on all fronts. 

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.

Intricately constructed and unbearably suspenseful from beginning to end, the first season of The Promised Neverland is a masterclass in using the episodic structure of TV to maximize the effect of a mystery-driven thriller. By placing us firmly within the perspective of its child protagonists (who are, to be fair, incredibly smart and determined), every step towards freedom still feels like a shot in the dark, and every setback becomes increasingly more devastating. Even as the season hurtles towards its conclusion, it never becomes clear how much its characters will succeed, if at all. Intelligent editing and animation that goes from ominous to fully grotesque ensures that something always feels off or too good to be true, no matter what.

And it says a lot about the sheer quality of the first season that it’s still worth recommending despite a truly awful, rushed second season, which ignores its own themes and resorts to lazy animation just to get through the story faster. Viewed as a two-season series, The Promised Neverland can’t help but look disappointing, squandering an exhilarating first half with developments that lead nowhere. But even on its own, season one stands tall as a stunning achievement in anime—a self-contained story of selflessness and hope in the face of dehumanization and despair.

Though it primarily revolves around the conservative, anti-feminist Phyllis Schlafly (portrayed as a fascinatingly contradictory character by Cate Blanchett), Mrs. America is a true ensemble drama. Each episode becomes a primer for a different significant figure in the movement for women’s rights in the 1970s, but it also emphasizes how difficult it was for this movement to cohere. As these wildly different perspectives clash, the need for a truly inclusive and intersectional coalition begins to arise. Blanchett is brilliant as always, but the miniseries also showcases stunning work from Rose Byrne, Uzo Aduba, Margo Martindale, Tracey Ullman, and many more.

When therapist Alan Strauss (Steve Carell) is kidnapped and imprisoned by Sam (Domhnall Gleeson), a patient with homicidal urges, Alan begins a painful journey that directs his attention to his dangerous surroundings as well as his repressed thoughts.

Both Carell and Gleeson are creepily good in this, with Rotten Tomatoes even dubbing their work here as a “career best.” Carell is almost unrecognizable as the troubled but subdued prisoner, while Gleeson is unnerving as the reform-seeking serial killer. The backstories and the ongoing mystery propel the story with great force, but the show is at its best when it takes time to sit with its two leads and let them go at each other. All this makes for a rewarding mystery and a compelling two-hander.

When adapting a novel, television showrunners have to transform the text into video, so sometimes, things get cut, lines get shortened, and sometimes what you and the author imagine from the book doesn’t match up on screen. Luckily, for Interior Chinatown, that’s not the case– the novel is already in a screenplay format, and the mini-series is being handled by the very same guy who wrote it, Charles Wu. The satire novel was pretty experimental, so it’s no surprise that the series holds the same playful energy as the book, but this time, playing with stylistic expectations (see: every time the faux leads enters a room) and genre expectations to create a meta levelling up quest for a background character to finally shine through. And with a stacked cast (Jimmy O. Yang, Ronny Chieng, and Chloe Bennet), the humorous plot cleverly challenges the ways Hollywood has excluded and stereotyped Asian Americans, and the way this plays out in real life.

A house isn’t just a building– it’s a space where one can be one’s self, where one can have control over one’s space. Of course, houses can differ between social classes, as the rich often hire househelp, while those less fortunate manage their own, or might not even have one. Their Stories draws its drama from this disparity, as the rich Isabel and Rosa lose control of their assets and have to move to the house where working class Marta and Jasmim live. It’s an interesting dynamic, a twisted mix of gratitude and resentment forged between former employer and employee, and all four leads portray this with the nuance and complexity that it requires. A Historía Delas might literally be hard to search on Hulu, but it’s an interesting story, one that feels unique and real enough to follow.

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.

In the multilingual Drops of God, French author Camille and Japanese sommelier Issei battle for a wine expert’s multi-billion-dollar inheritance. Camille may be the expert’s daughter, gifted with an incredible sense of smell and taste, but Issei is the so-called “spiritual son,” the protégé who filled in Camille’s shoes upon her abrupt departure from her father’s life. Whoever wins a series of wine-related tests gets to keep the expert’s estate and continue his legacy.

Based on the Japanese manga of the same, Drops of God is strangely but enjoyably competitive as it plunges you deep into the complex world of wine—through intense competitions, we get a closer look at the drink’s many layers, long history, and even its cultural connotations. This nice blend of knowledge and rivalry makes it a thrilling watch, but the show also has an unexpected but welcome family element to it that softens the edge a bit and gives it a sweet aftertaste. If you were ever looking for a smart but heartfelt show about wining and dining, this is it.

The first thing that hits you about Sugar is its style: this is a show tailor-made for fans of a bygone Hollywood era, an era dominated by film noir and dapper leading men like Humphrey Bogart, whom Sugar emulates throughout the series. The show inserts clips from old films and, even better, echoes their style through tasteful jumpcuts and fisheye lenses. It’s dripping with panache, and Farrell is undeniably cool as he narrates his investigation and inner demons. That said, Sugar is also a show that’s more style than substance. If you strip it off its snazzy clothes, you’re left with the barest bones of a mystery that is simply too cliched to stand on its own. If you’re looking to dive into a heady mystery with surprising twists and thrills, you’re better off watching something else. However, if you’re a true blue fan of vintage noir, the kind who still puts TCM on religiously and swears nothing new can compare to the old, then this is your show.

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.

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.

Fans of the iconic crime series 24 will find much to like in Rabbit Hole, not least because Kiefer Sutherland reprises a similar role as an above-average agent embroiled in high-profile criminal cases. Despite the years between those two shows, Sutherland still turns in a top-notch performance each time, regardless if he’s in a high-stakes chase or a charged tête-à-tête. 

Filled with twisty mind games and action-packed scenes, Rabbit Hole is a must-watch for fans of excellent thrillers.

It’s difficult to describe Mrs. Davis without sounding a little bit insane. It is, after all, a sci-fi series that takes on the spiritual and the technological with an irreverent tone. It’s hilarious and action-packed, meta and ambitious, and it’s all led by a devoted nun taking down an all-knowing AI. 

Believe me when I say there’s nothing quite like it at the moment, and it gets major props for being truly out of this world. But Mrs. Davis doesn’t get by on novelty alone. It’s a balanced piece of work, impressively stable despite the weight of all it’s trying to be, and it soars as both a satire, a thriller, and a genre show. It also keeps you guessing with each new scene, so if you like to be kept on your toes at all times, then this funny, fantastical, and wholly absurd show will surely be an enjoyable watch.

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. 

Based on true events, A Spy Among Friends tells the story of Kim Philby (Guy Pearce) and Nicholas Elliot (Damian Lewis), best friends who worked for MI6, that is until Philby defected to the Soviet Union. Subject to inquisition and intense scrutiny, Philby and Elliot test the strength of their friendship against growing political turmoil.

The series starts slow and the dialogue, while smart, can get heavy-handed. But if you give it some time, the payoffs are rewarding. The sets are immersive as it spans different eras and countries; the actors are charismatic as they present enigmatic layers for us to unfold; and the particulars of espionage manage to feel freshly shocking in a story told many times before. 

Artful, well-performed, and gripping, A Spy Among Friends is a great watch for fans of voluble but intelligent thrillers.

Beginning as a small-town murder mystery but eventually taking the shape of a police procedural, a spy drama, and a sociopolitical thriller, Sherwood fully reinvigorates the crime genre for British TV. With every twist comes a reminder of how deeply alienated the people of this former mining village have become from themselves, each other, and the outside world. Because underneath all the investigation lies a boiling tension: the scars of a past conflict among trade unionists on strike, the “scabs” who crossed the picket line to continue working, and police forces further provoking all this friction. These internal divisions haunt everything in Sherwood, brought to life by a superb ensemble—David Morrissey, Robert Glenister, Lesley Manville, Adeel Akhtar, and more—who all carry the weight and shame of being left behind by the world around them.

Dark Matter may be a sci-fi series, the latest in Apple TV+’s ever-growing roster of the genre, but it’s tonally closer to the sexy, psychological thrillers that used to be so rampant in the early aughts. In the first few episodes, at least, it’s more invested in Jason’s relationship with his wife Daniela (Jennifer Connelly) and doubles as an interrogation of their marriage. Are they really happier together or do they secretly wish they could go back in time to reset their fates? Eventually, the series hews closer to its sci-fi foundations as Jason embarks on a nerve-racking journey to find Daniela and their son, Charlie (Oakes Fegley) amid infinite realities. It’s at this point where the show becomes truly exciting to watch: we see different (sometimes apocalyptic and other times utopic) versions of their life in Chicago and begin to wonder if a happy ending is still in the realm of possibilities or not.

Big, wealthy corporations (and families) taking advantage of the working class is the catalyst of many K-drama revenge plots. This one sees Jang Ho-woo devise a plan to infiltrate the accounting firm whose actions led to his adoptive father committing suicide. Surprisingly, Ho-woo is hired straight after high school, catching the attention of the VP’s son, Han Seung-jo. Although most accounting terms go in one ear and out the other, the tension, stakes, and relentless climb to the top are always crystal clear. As the scope of the corporation unfolds, rooting for Ho-woo’s triumph is a solid hook, even if it’s a given.

As far as newsroom dramas go, Alaska Daily is on the cheesier side, its structure hewing closer to network television than cinematic streaming. There’s always a lesson to be learned and an evil to be exposed, which leaves little room for gray areas. But ultimately, the series is smart, good-hearted, and clear about what it stands for, namely, the importance of community journalism and ethical storytelling. 

It’s also plain riveting to watch; each episode unravels the main mysteries (that of government corruption and indigenous neglect) along with a side mystery that may seem incidental at first, but proves to be central to the themes the show plays with. The series also looks into the intersection between the press, politics, and crime, proving that journalism isn’t as clean nor heroic as it may sometimes seem.

Showrunner Tom McCarthy was also the brain behind the award-winning newspaper drama Spotlight, so it’s not surprising to see his precise insights about the craft make their way into this series. But to be sure, Alaska Daily is no Spotlight, or for that matter, The Newsroom. It’s neither fast-paced nor splashy, but it’s all the better without being those. Alaska Daily is about the little guys, and as that, it succeeds. 

It’s not easy to stand out in the crime genre, but Catch Me a Killer does a pretty good job of it. It’s set in South Africa, where dynamics like race and gender are slightly different than in the US or UK. It’s also based on actual crimes solved by Micki Pistorius (Charlotte Hope), a chain-smoking read-headed profiler who helps develop the South African police’s investigation processes. But setting and character quirks aside, what makes the show unique is its hero’s philosophy: Pistorius believes that each killer, no matter how demented and harmful, deserves to be understood. “Is there something wrong with me, that I don’t hate them?” she asks in an early episode. Do murderers deserve empathy? It’s a question that follows her in every case she takes, in every corner of the country, and it’s also one that she finds increasingly hard to answer. Catch Me a Killer is a mostly straightforward procedural, but it often dabbles in the existential, making it a thought-provoking and soul-stirring watch.