100 Best TV-MA TV Shows on Netflix Right Now

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.

African Folktales Reimagined is exactly what it says in the tin. The anthology isn’t exactly a cohesive, one-plot show – it’s a collection of folktale-inspired short films from six different countries, by six different filmmakers, funded by grants from a rare Netflix-UNESCO partnership. As such, the collection features a variety of genres and styles. If you like Westerns, you might want to watch Katera of the Punishment Island. If you’re into Afrofuturistic sci-fi, try watching Halima’s Choice first. Into supernatural stories? Watch Enmity Djinn. Katope and MaMlambo lean more on the fantastical side of the folklore, while Anyango and the Ogre feels like a straightforward drama. It’s a fairly varied collection, and there’s something here for everyone. African Folktales Reimagined takes a modern twist to the folktales that shaped the continent.

With the U.S. the clear favorites for the 2023 Women’s World Cup, Netflix immediately grabbed the chance to depict their third consecutive win… But with the surprise defeat in the round of 16, Netflix had to show a different story, and they delivered a personal and empathetic behind-the-scenes look in Under Pressure. The limited series is definitely dedicated to the fans, as the four episodes show plenty of the famous personalities that America has been rooting for, but even new viewers can appreciate the immense hard work and dedication the team devotes to their dream. Even if that goal has been cut short for some team members, Under Pressure is a reminder that the U.S. Women’s team is still in the running, and can aim for the three-peat dream again.

The series offers a rather refreshing take on true crime coverage, putting the spotlight on the callous unsung heroes: the detectives and crime scene workers. It is still true crime, which means everything in it is still an uncomfortable story to learn about. But a bigger part of the series offers a cold, emotionally distant retelling of events by the unenviable professionals—a look at how detectives solve these puzzles, why they use certain interrogation tactics, and more. While learning about these cases with a lesser focus on the casualties feels wrong (and more like a baptism of fire in the crime-solving world), the series does a good enough job humanizing the work force, the other victims in this perpetually traumatizing industry.

The show creates anxiety in many different ways: in what’s to come, in blatant foreshadowing, and in awkward character dynamics. Alongside this constant tension, it provides humorous release in unexpected places, functioning like a pill before a flight. It gets so much mileage out of seemingly so little—namely the push and pull of the negotiation storyline, as well as the push and pull of the dynamic pool of bumbling and brave archetypes we have on this flight. At its best, it has the potential to be the most intense thing in the world; and at worst, you develop a phobia.

Backed by Netflix’s deep pockets, Eric looks as good as any prestige miniseries out there. As a portrait of pre-gentrified New York, it feels so detailed and lived in you can almost smell the garbage cans collecting in the corner. And this seedy atmosphere ties well with the show’s dark themes and complicated mysteries, making Eric far from the worst thing you could watch on the platform. But there’s something about Cumberbatch’s Vincent that makes him difficult to follow. Perhaps his performance is more excessive than the script calls for, or perhaps his anti-hero character is too underwritten to sympathize with. Or maybe it’s both. Whatever it is, he’s not a strong enough lead to pull the series through, though thankfully, he’s surrounded by far more interesting and involving characters, particularly Hoffman’s Cassie and Belcher III’s Ledroit. If you’re looking for a serious thriller filled with compelling (if at times overdramatic) performances, Eric is your weekend show.

The OA is one of those things that you’ll either absolutely love or loathe. If you like sprawling supernatural shows (like Lost) with Biblical references (like Supernatural), then the OA should be right up your alley. It’s philosophical and dramatic, asking questions about existence and the afterlife, and it has plenty of mystery to keep you tuned in for more. The performances are great, too, with Jason Isaacs playing yet another memorable villain and Brit Marling playing a likable lead. Even supporting actors like Brandon Perea and Phyllis Smith get short but compelling roles. However, if you’re not a fan of talky, self-serious, long-winding stories, then maybe it’s best to look elsewhere.

This is a pretty easy premise to invest in: psychotic exes. They don’t fumble the bag, either, giving us a series that takes an active stance against a justice system that is often asleep at the wheel in these cases, and spotlights the victims more than anything else which creates some semblance of hope in a tragic genre. The abusive cycle of manipulative behavior is insane—some people just never find fault in themselves or their logic—and the series captures the escalating frustration in the stories. Still, some outcomes give you immense comfort, and when it comes to this genre, that’s a huge win.

Technically, Monsters is good. This miniseries about the murderous brothers benefits from Director Ryan Murphy’s decades-long expertise in TV. It’s superbly cast and decorated, and like most of Murphy’s work, it has a glossy, addictive quality that makes it hard to skip, much less put down. But also like most of Murphy’s work, it’s highly erotic, which seems wildly inappropriate in this case. There are so many aspects of this story that deserve more attention—namely parental and male abuse and how those are often dismissed—so it’s unfortunate Murphy hones in on the homoeroticism between the brothers, who are played by beautifully sculpted actors. Their relationship is played up to suggest an incestuous fantasy. But meanwhile, in real life, the incarcerated brothers are still trying to prove their abuse to people who care to listen, a group that unfortunately doesn’t include Murphy and the people behind the series.

This is a 3-episode true crime docuseries that shows great care to the victims and affected parties of this particular case. Whether they’re detectives, autopsy specialists, victims’ relatives, witnesses—all seem to share in this safe space, exploring thought processes behind why a certain place or person might be targeted, while at the same time extending support to the queer community directly harmed by this trauma. The production and reenactments are sleek without being overbearing or needing to sensationalize unnecessary details. The only time the atmosphere shifts is when we see the perpetrator’s perspective, which is a kind of creepy that draws no sympathy or intrigue to itself. Its pace can drag in the middle of an episode, but it’s a true crime mini-series with a straightforward, respectful approach, and these days that’s more than enough.