100 Best TV Shows of 2023 to Watch Right Now

A parking lot run-in wouldn’t normally warrant anything more than an angry rebuke, but for Danny and Amy (Steven Yeun and Ali Wong, respectively), it’s the final straw that pushes them over the edge and into the domain of unfiltered rage. Years of forced optimism and unreciprocated niceness have led them to this unforgiving point, and instead of going back to how things were, they burry themselves deeper into the ground with each new act of revenge proving more sinister than the last.

Beef could’ve easily been a comical show anchored on silly hi-jinks. Instead, it’s a searing look at anger and repression in modern-day America. Danny and Amy are on opposite ends of the class spectrum, but both are riddled with unending malaise and self-hatred, parts of which are informed by their race, gender, and status as second-generation immigrants in the country. It’s their chase for the elusive American Dream, and not actually each other, that entangles them in a web of deceit and danger.

Juicy with a thrilling aftertaste, each episode of Beef will leave you enthralled, enraged, and ever-hungry for more.

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!

Set in 1980s Hollywood, Winning Time doesn’t just borrow from the decade, it imbibes it in its very fiber. It’s dizzyingly fast-paced and dazzlingly glamorous, pulling out all the stops from the cinematography, which employs a hybrid of film and tube camera, to the all-star cast, which includes Sally Field, Adrien Brody, and Jason Segel. It’s a technical feat, but amazingly, it also excels as a character study for Lakers legends Magic Johnson (Quincy Isaiah) and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar (Solomon Hughes), as well as the team’s charismatic owner, Jerry Buss (John C. Reilly). The writers go in-depth into their histories and weave a story so gripping, you can’t help but binge all 10 episodes in one go (and research the truth right after). If you’re an NBA fan, you might be disappointed to know that a big chunk of the script doesn’t adhere to real events, but you will no doubt be delighted to watch basketball in the way it was intended to be watched: riveting and nail-biting, with a lot of drama and glamor to match. 

While the BBC is famous for making some great understated drama series about the dark side of detective work (Luther, Line of Duty, Broadchurch), it has raised the bar with Happy Valley. It’s so good, it successfully breathes new life into the middle-aged but strong-willed small-town police officer trope, taking it to some uncomfortable and difficult places with exceptional writing.

Said small-town police officer is Catherine Cawood from West Yorkshire, impressively portrayed by Sarah Lancashire. Cawood has a hard time coming to terms with the release of a man from prison, who she is connected to in a fateful way and whose comeback coincides with a kidnapping attempt by a local drug kingpin. These events reveal the criminal underbelly of a seemingly quaint small town. Hidden behind its ironic title, Happy Valley will keep you on your toes with understated suspense, dry humor, and a quietly devastating storyline.

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.

You don’t necessarily need a lot of money to make a sci-fi series good, but it doesn’t hurt to have either. In Silo, high production value ballasts a solid script and committed acting to make an impressively detailed and astonishing future world set deep in the underground.

No one knows why or how they got to where they are, and part of the show’s charm is that it’s able to sustain that mystery and hold off exposition until absolutely necessary. A master class in storytelling (the pilot episode is one of the best I’ve seen in a while), Silo is an exciting and prestigious entry into the sci-fi genre—closer to the gritty likes of Dune and Westworld than to the fizzier Doctor Who and Star Trek.

When Elle Fanning and Nicholas Hoult play power-hungry monarchs, what else more is there to say? The actors are very much in their element here, having already perfected similar roles in many films prior (one of them being The Favourite, which was co-written by The Great’s creator). They are the picture of elegance and royalty, and we need no convincing that they can hold 18th-century court.

Which is why when The Great takes us into its true, crude depths, they transform from simply credible to incredible. Aided by a wonderfully offbeat cast and the one-two punch of a hilarious and raunchy script, Fanning and Hoult deliver splendidly.

To be sure, this satirical show is not always funny. Sometimes, it takes dark turns to underscore the cruelty of the era, and other times it is genuinely moving in its drama. But this revisionist take on Russia’s Last Empress will always be a ball to watch, if only to see the artifice of aristocracy be stripped off and mocked with acerbic wit and might.

With a masterful sense of character and its finger firmly on the pulse of pop culture, this dark comedy—about two thirtysomething siblings desperately trying to hold on to success in the shadow of their teen brother’s fame—manages to be both incredibly specific and instantly timeless. As a comedy, there might not be another show with a greater laugh-to-minute ratio than The Other Two, as a razor-sharp cast fully commit to playing characters stumbling into opportunity then debasing themselves to protect it. And the ensemble’s work is only elevated by dynamic direction that knows exactly how best to deploy an insane comic set piece.

But under the surface, there’s something gleefully twisted about how the characters gradually lose their souls in their pursuit of the spotlight. As the titular “other two” siblings abandon their values, pander to every audience, and become hooked on arbitrary signs of success, the tension in their family only tightens, too. The show knows it has a big heart deep down—and it’s so very good at chipping away at it for the sake of a great laugh.

What if the UK’s MI5 was run not by sleek secret agents, but rather, a bunch of second-rate, hand-me-down spies? Slow Horses gives us a taste of that as it centers on Slough House, a division of MI5 that serves as a detention center for their smart but hopelessly damaged goods.

In this six-part miniseries, the Slough House agents reluctantly exchange their humdrum duties for a big and unexpected case. Led by the eccentric Jackson Lamb (a very funny and effective Gary Oldman), they track a group of Right-wing terrorists and their hostage before it’s too late. With its brisk pace, endearingly bumbling characters, and deft balance of suspense and humor, Slow Horses might just be one of the finest thrillers out there.

From the very start, Poker Face lays out all its cards—it shows us who dies and in the hands of whom. That is how an episode always opens, but in each case, we’re in a different corner of rural America, bumping elbows with different folks. That’s because our unwitting detective, the human lie detector Charlie (Natasha Lyonne) is on the run from a crime syndicate. So with nothing but her trusty car and the clothes on her back, she races through the US while making friends and enemies along the way.

There is a pattern to the story, but the thrill lies not in seeing when Charlie inevitably solves the case but in how she does it, which is full of heart and wry humor. Lyonne is absolutely magnetic, and her performance is only one of the show’s many hit-making elements. With a star-studded cast, beautiful Americana backdrop, and masterful editing (whose camerawork and coloring recall the show it references, Columbo), Poker Face sure is a trip to watch.

Starting off the series with slicing off fingers, Blue Eye Samurai is a thrilling action series that brings back samurai sword wielding in such a gorgeous fashion. Reminiscent of the classics, the animated series is centered on its titular warrior, whose blue eyes set them apart from society. She dedicates herself to a lifelong revenge journey, with gruesome sword fights, all to kill the four white men who could have been her father. And while she takes some side quests to her journey, missions that make her question the path she took, these seemingly straightforward fights slowly uncover the woman she became, and the pain inflicted upon those who can’t help but be different. It’s an action-packed spectacle, but it’s also an unflinching examination of trauma, and possibly one of the best animated releases from Netflix this year.

Based on the bestselling book of essays by Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things is, well, made of many tiny beautiful things. It’s at once a meditation on grief, a coming-of-age tale, a contemplation of family ties, a sobering look at a midlife crisis, a romance, a comedy, and an absolute tearjerker of a drama. It’s clunky on some fronts and much better on others, but overall the series packs a gut-wrenching punch with the ever-compelling Kathryn Hahn as the lead. 

It’s surprisingly light with each of its eight episodes running at just under 30 minutes, but in all, the show effectively tugs at the heartstrings and provides welcome insight into navigating the highs and lows of living a small but meaningful life.

An oni/human hybrid, a severed head in a birdcage, and a bayonet-wielding maid step into a vampire’s house to solve a murder.

And that is truly the essence of Undead Murder Face. Blending gothic with supernatural, creatures of global and Japanese lore converge in a turn-of-the-century historical anime. In only two episodes, the show establishes the Westernization of Japan and how it leads to erasing foundational parts of their culture while mixing in a unique fantasy element to the story. Most interestingly, the impressive animation (especially the transitions), eerie close-ups and ominous nightscapes are punctuated by curious moments of comedy. And it all accumulates into a sensational concept that’s worth the watch.

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.

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.

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.

That The Curse is squirm-inducingly awkward won’t be news to anyone who’s watched a Nathan Fielder show before, but TV’s king of cringe digs his heels in on that approach here. The Curse chronicles the making of another show: HGTV’s inelegantly named “Flipanthropy,” which follows Fielder’s Asher and wife Whitney Siegel (Emma Stone) as they perform (the operative word) good deeds in a struggling New Mexico town. Flipanthropy is also a means through which the well-to-do white couple can shill the eco-friendly homes they’re gentrifying the town with — a galling conflict of interest that plays as a running satire of TV.

The uneasy tension between what the Siegels say they want to do versus what they actually do is the heart of the show. In true Fielder fashion, their hypocrisy is revealed through excruciatingly awkward, tortuously long scenes takes, such as the one that gives the show its title (the socially inept Asher angers a little girl, who puts a curse on him). This scene is also an example of the insane left takes The Curse constantly takes, which speak to Fielder’s ability to make his shows feel like they’re falling apart all while building to towering complexity. Suffice it to say, there’s nothing else like this on TV.

Copycat Killer is a gripping and unsettling crime thriller that takes its time to develop its characters and delve into a disturbing cat-and-mouse game between a relentless prosecutor and a manipulative serial killer. The show’s slow-burn approach keeps you invested in the characters’ journey, while the horrifying events remind you of the potential dangers lurking in the real world. With a mix of tension, manipulation, and grisly acts, Copycat Killer leaves you on edge, keeps you guessing at every turn, and serves as a reminder of the dark realities that exist in society.

Messier than Heartstopper, but tamer than Skins, Everything Now has everything you’d expect from a British teen show. Sexuality, vices, and experimentation is what the series shares with other coming-of-age series, but at its heart is Mia Polanco as she tries to get back to her regular life after anorexia recovery. Cutting between her life now and her seven-month hospital stint, the show feels like a realistic depiction of a non-linear healing journey. It’s a show that makes sense to release right now, as the world’s teens try to get back to normal and try to reach standard teen touchstones.

Reimagining a children’s classic as a mature serial killer mystery, PLUTO already had high expectations for its anime adaptation. The limited series adds an additional challenge, with only hour-long episodes dedicated to each of the series’ eight volumes, which follows not only Gesicht’s own investigation, but also in-depth stories of each of the remaining Great Robots. However, the anime, now showing on Netflix, is able to meet this challenge with its deep understanding of the source material. It’s not just a straightforward police procedural, or just futuristic dream of how AI and humans can co-exist. PLUTO is a robot series that strikes at the heart of what it means to be human.

Watching the trailers, and even the first ten minutes, Scott Pilgrim Takes Off just seems like a rehash of the prominent Edgar Wright film, especially since his cast reprise their roles in this new anime. However, when that episode ends, even the most ardent fans of both the film and the original comic book series would have no idea where this would go. It’s a fearless, daring approach, from the original creator Bryan Lee O’Malley, and it’s met with the wackiest, spectacular animation from Japanese animation studio Science SARU, remixing O’Malley’s designs with 8-bit, fighting video game action.

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.

In just eight episodes, this densely packed miniseries manages to be a beautifully told queer romance, a riveting political thriller, and an important snapshot of 20th-century America. It’s nothing short of an epic. Matt Bomer and Jonathan Bailey effortlessly carry the series on their backs. Their chemistry is undeniable, but they shine just as well in their political scenes. McCarthyism and the Lavander Scare in the ‘50s, the rampant protests in the ‘60s, the carefree parties of the ‘70s, and finally the AIDs crisis in the ‘80s, where present-day Hawk and Tim live in—all are consistently compelling thanks to the actor’s powerful, decades-spanning performances and showrunner ​​Daniel Minahan’s stable direction. The end may be (unsurprisingly) tragic, but it’s nonetheless moving because of the strong storytelling that preceded it.

Vigil is a murder mystery/political thriller set in the depths of British waters, particularly in the nuclear-powered missile submarine HMS Vigil. When a navy officer dies and a fishing trawler disappears at the same time and place, Detective Chief Inspector Amy Silva (Suranne Jones) is sent in to investigate the case.

While Vigil mostly dove under the radar when it first came out last year, the BBC production is drawing in new audiences as it streams on Peacock. Watching it, it’s easy to forget that this isn’t a box-office production, because it looks and sounds every bit like one. It’s got a massive budget, an epic scale, a thrilling political premise, and talented actors across the board—what’s not to love?

Even without doing the important and long overdue work of uplifting Native American voices, Dark Winds manages to be an intriguing mystery, layered with complex performances and bolstered by the majestic expanse of the American Southwest (in the ‘70s no less!). Finally released from the shackles of supporting roles, Zahn McClarnon shines here; he’s in top form as the gritty but softhearted police officer who protects his tribe from encroaching federal forces. The mysteries that propel the show are compelling too; they have the same beats as any you’d expect from a crime thriller, but they’re seeped deep into Native American mysticism, making them intriguing and wholly unique. 

“No one lives just one article or one headline of a life. There’s more.”

Last Call may be a true-crime docuseries, but it doesn’t pigeonhole itself as such; the advocacy for humanizing LGBTQ+ people is undoubtedly at its helm. The series expands past the context of each crime, giving testimonials and evidence of the lives, struggles, solidarity, and fears of the community. It acknowledges the efforts of the New Jersey State Police whilst shedding light on the inherent biases of society, law enforcement, and media when responding to crimes against gay people. Interviews with family members, detectives, and activists round out the narrative, ensuring that the lives lost are not forgotten due to shame, hatred, or sensationalism.

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.

Produced by National Geographic, A Small Light is a ten-part miniseries that tells the incredible true story of Miep Gies (Bel Powley), the Dutch woman who bravely hid her Jewish friends from the Nazis during World War II. Among these friends is her kindly mentor Otto Frank (Liev Schreiber) and his daughter Anne (Billie Boullet), both of whom form a tight bond with Miep. 

More than just re-adapting Anne Frank’s story to the screen, A Small Light further fleshes it out by introducing other characters in depth and giving surrounding heroes their due. In fact, it’s as much about courage as it is about survival as it highlights what it takes to lend a hand (and possibly lose it) when you don’t need to. It also helps that this noble message comes with a massive budget and excellent performers, elements that tie everything together in this high-quality series.

This new six-part comedy series is as razor-sharp as a vampire’s fangs, skewering everything from the horror genre’s historically iffy treatment of people of color, lazy media stereotypes of Muslims, and real-life fixtures of Islamic communities. It never feels bogged down by the weight of the issues behind it, though, always staying true to the lightness of its silly — but ingenious — concept.

The show follows the goofy Abdulla (Arian Nik), a British-Pakistani trainee doctor and horror nerd who has enough on his plate — what with an unavailable crush and the social pressures of being a not-so-perfect Muslim — without also having to contend with being turned by vampire-dominatrix Kathy (played with gusto by Jaime Winstone). Writer Kaamil Shah manages to pack an impressive amount of cutting humor into each 20-ish-minute episode, whether through Kathy railing against the appropriation of vampire culture during Halloween (presented less as an anti-woke joke and more as a wry analogy to media misrepresentation of real minorities) or a wink to Muslims about the epidemic of hypocritical haram police in our communities. This balance between universal humor and inside jokes that speak directly to — rather than over the heads of — British Muslims makes Count Abdulla a very welcome addition to TV comedy in general, as well as a refreshing widening of the horror genre.

Set in the Monsterverse—the same shared universe that King Kong, Godzilla, and their respective films inhabit—Skull Island follows a group of shipwrecked travelers who find themselves stranded on the mysterious titular island, which they soon find out is home to a variety of prehistoric creatures, including the mighty Kong.

Skull Island, the series, delivers wholesome relationships and touching character growth in the face of imminent danger, while also offering exciting action scenes, eye-popping visuals, and amusing jokes that are well-served by voice acting. It’s an easy, fun watch that is sure to appeal to fans of the Monsterverse, as well as fans of animated adventure series. 

Boots Riley established himself as a wildly creative voice with 2018’s zany anti-capitalist satire Sorry To Bother You, and with his second project, he digs his heels even deeper into that singular approach. I’m A Virgo’s world feels deeply uncanny yet intimately familiar, what with its absurdly militarised authority figures, dog-whistling media, and greed-driven economy. It’s set in Oakland, where 13-foot Black teenager Cootie (Jharrel Jerome) lives in secrecy with his normal-sized family. Frustrated, Cootie decides to venture into the outside world, but he’s soon exploited, projected onto, and demonized. However, it’s also not long before he makes his first friends, falls in love, and unlearns everything he thought he knew about the world.

The biggest revelation is that Cootie’s favorite superhero, an Iron Man-esque billionaire called The Hero (Walton Goggins), isn’t actually doing good by enforcing the law to the letter. Though it takes many weird and wonderful detours, it’s this aspect of Cootie’s consciousness-widening that is the show’s ultimate destination. These radical politics give it a sharp overarching focus, meaning its mind-bending eccentricity never feels too indulgent. It all makes for a refreshingly original, gloriously weird watch that you’re guaranteed not to have seen the likes of elsewhere.

Centered around a phone with the power to make people disappear, Delete utilizes an intriguing supernatural element to create a steady mystery that thrives on moral dilemmas. With shifting perspectives and a non-linear narrative, it excels at building context and character motivation. What starts as an exposed affair becomes an exploration of the depths of human desires. The series has a strong start, setting a pace that hooks with melodrama and keeps eyes glued with its twists. Whether it’s distrust in relationships or dependency on technology, there isn’t a dull moment as the phones pass from hand to hand, and the stakes are risen by questionable intentions.

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.

With years of films depicting Italian crime syndicates, most focus on their leaders – the Dons, the Capos, and the Consiglieres. Most of them focus on the mafia’s men. However, in this series, it’s the women who are the stars of the show. Based on the novel of the same name, The Good Mothers is a compelling crime drama, focused on the women, not the men, of the ‘Ndrangheta clan. It’s from their perspective we see the mafia. The masterful way the series unfolds makes it clear that their lives are constrained, that this dated way of life still prioritizes the family over their individual women. It makes it all the more satisfying when they’re given the opportunity to retaliate, and when they choose to take that opportunity. And it’s so much better knowing that this was real.

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.

For those familiar with the original book series, you’ll already know what kind of show to expect. The Apple+ cartoon is centered on the two titular amphibians going through universal adventures that makes or breaks your day. From finding the willpower to resist eating delicious cookies, to hoping a friend would contact you when you’re lonely, each episode keeps a gentle sort of humor, poking lighthearted fun at the differences between the emotional Toad and more sensible Frog. With each episode’s twenty minute runtime, and two adventures per episode, Frog and Toad is a sweet, nostalgic series that’s easy to breeze through for millennial parents and their kids.

“World-building” doesn’t quite capture what Scavengers Reign does — the sheer imagination on display in just the first three episodes of this 12-part adult animation sci-fi could fill multiple universes. From the get-go, we’re immersed in a truly strange new world, one in which panda-like creatures with telepathic abilities control humans, fungi merge with motherboards, and plant-animal hybrids crackle with electricity. All this trippiness is rendered in a 2D animation style that appropriately draws on the fantastical art of Moebius (who in turn influenced Studio Ghibli). 

Flashbacks and hallucinations gradually unravel the mystery of just how the crew of the Demeter and their robot assistant Levi (Alia Shawkat) ended up here — a grounding plot thread that keeps things from totally spinning out into mind-bendingly surreal territory. Not just an exercise in stretching creativity in bold new directions, then, but a gripping mystery laying bare the terrifying limitlessness of the cosmos.

We don’t really know our parents the same way they know about us. Black Cake recognizes this, and takes that discrepancy to create a compelling mystery, expanding on that hidden world with themes of generational trauma, intercultural dynamics, and lost heritage. With the show doing justice to the book’s moments, the mystery of Eleanor Bennett’s former life is already compelling in and of itself, but it’s made even more so as her children try to make sense of it, changing their strained dynamic. It’s layered, well-written and deeply personal. It’s a unique story that has to be told.

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.

Swagger could’ve easily been a generic sports drama about an ambitious prodigy who, against all odds and through sheer determination, makes it to the top. It is that, but it’s also so much more. Swagger offers biting commentary on race and economic realities, as well as heart-warming and relatable stories about family, love, and coming of age. It’s finely acted, with everyone from the kids and their parents to the coaches offering lived-in and realistic performances. The show is most reminiscent of the 2000 film Love & Basketball, which would make sense since the latter is directed by Swagger director Reggie Bythewood’s spouse, Gina Prince-Bythewood. Swagger and Love & Basketball have unique differences, of course, but both deeply understand and powerfully speak to the Black experience.

Created by Janine Nabers and Donald Glover (Atlanta), Swarm is a dark and bloody deep dive into fan culture. It follows Dre (Dominique Fishback), a young woman whose obsession with a Beyoncé stand-in takes a dark turn after the unexpected death of a loved one.

Artful, daring, and legitimately scary, Swarm is one of the bolder shows to come to streaming in a while. It doesn’t hold back, not with the commentary nor with the blood, which can be too much for some viewers, but if you were thrilled by films like Misery and The King of Comedy, then this mind-blowing take on celebrity mania will certainly have you hooked.

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.

Imagine if Showtime’s survival epic Yellowjackets was a comedy, and being stranded with your high school friends resulted not only in ethical and moral dilemmas but a lot of witty banter and major bonding as well.

Then you’d have something like Class of ‘07, an apocalyptic series with the irreverent humor of many millennial shows out there. It’s every bit as funny, addictive, and deep as you’d hope it would be, with the show excellently blending bleak circumstances with quirky jokes and hopeful epiphanies—kind of like how The Good Place manages to make a breezy comedy out of death and the afterlife. In fact, Class of ’07 is reminiscent of many comedic gems, including Derry Girls in its all-girls setup and Bridesmaids in its female-forward crassness. And like both stories, Class of ’07 offers heartwarming insights into the power and perplexity of female friendship.

Be that as it may, Class of ’07 is a distinct charmer. This Aussie show is delightful, hilarious, and utterly watchable in its own right.

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.

Initially, The Change’s premise might seem as eccentric as its kooky characters, but this comedy series set in ancient woods makes a compelling case for itself over six short episodes. When Linda (writer Bridget Christie) is diagnosed as menopausal, it triggers a flash of clarity: she’s tired of being reduced to “wife” and “mother.” Depressed by all her ledgers recording every second she’s spent doing unappreciated housework, Linda decides to reclaim a few thousand minutes, and takes off on her motorbike to the Forest of Dean to look for the time capsule of cherished belongings she hid there as a child following her mother’s death.

Because this motivation is only explained later, the show has a somewhat perplexing beginning, but a couple of episodes in, it finds its footing. The Change makes sharp punchlines out of boorish man-children — and, although it has varying success getting laughs out of its more bigoted characters, it does decenter them and dole out acceptance to the overlooked, making it refreshingly divergent from “topical” comedies’ usual flippancy. The spiritual link it draws between its apparently unrelated focuses — menopause and the natural environment — adds to its originality and empathy, making this a comedy of untypical thoughtfulness.

The OVW are practically nobodies outside the pro-wrestling scene, and they know it. They describe themselves as a “third tier” that trails behind more well-known companies like WWE and AEW, with one manager even likening their team to an indie film. If the WWE and AEW are Michael Bay movies, he says, then the OVW is like the highly-rated but little-seen movie The Squid and the Whale. But though their underdog status is bad news for their dipping financials and fanbase, it makes for a compelling story in Wrestlers. The docuseries pulls the curtains on the OVW and acquaints us with the owners, managers, accountants, and of course, the wrestlers, who are all struggling to keep afloat this act they love so much. “Wrestling is the art of physical storytelling,” CEO Al Snow says, and it’s clear that director Greg Whiteley believes him. He captures the OVW lovingly, intimately, making us privy to their highs and lows, celebrations and disagreements, and everything in between. He never forces us, either, but rather invites us to this world as naturally as possible. You may start watching this knowing very little about the OVW, but you’ll leave knowing and caring about them a little more. 

From Happy Valley and Line of Duty to Luther and Sherwood, the BBC has produced some of the finest police dramas in recent TV history, and Better is a worthy addition to the roster. It’s not as refined as the mentioned shows, but it’s grounded by a riveting, morally conflicted performance by Fazard. The breakdown of her conscience, the constant negotiation between obligation and survival, the road toward redemption—Fazard embodies it all with rugged grace. It’s not often we get the point of view of a corrupt cop, and when we do, we rarely see them with this much screen time and backstory. Better is an okay crime thriller, but it’s even better as a character study of the well-meaning, desperate, and brilliant Lou. 

From the title alone, A Murder at the End of the World is, of course, a murder mystery, a whodunit set in an isolated location, a la Agatha Christie. But the second TV collaboration of showrunners Brit Marling and Zal Batmanglij infuses amateur forum-based sleuthing, with contemplation of technological dependence and on human connection. It does so through two plotlines: one, following the investigation at the mysterious, icy tech retreat, but the other one follows how the connection between the investigator and the victim began, in the warmer tones of the Midwest. The resulting back-and-forth leads to a delightfully addictive mystery held up by the incomparable Emma Corrin.

In an early scene in Such Brave Girls, Josie (Kat Sadler) compares herself and her sister Billie (Lizzie Davidson) to a more attractive woman. “She’s live, love, laugh,” she says, “We’re death, silence, hate.” At this point, you’d think Sadler, who is also the creator and writer of the show, and Davidson, who is Sadler’s real-life sister, are the types to indulge in their sadness and romanticize their dysfunction. Though that happens to some degree, Sadler is self-aware enough to steer clear of wallow territory and offer something insightful about mental health and the ways we cope (or fail to, anyway). Parents who dismiss depression are called out, as are social workers and supposed experts who stereotype people with the illness. But weirdly enough, the show is never downright cynical. Josie is sweet enough to cut through the darkness, as are her ignorant and selfish though ultimately well-meaning family members. You’ll probably recall Broad City and Fleabag while watching Such Brave Girls because of its unapologetic approach to both sex and suicide, but maybe more than those two shows, Such Brave Girls is willing to root its themes deeper into reality. It almost never brings up mental health without contextualizing it in the family’s low-income state, making it one of the most relatable and urgent shows you can watch right now.

As the real-life British politician John Stonehouse who, among other things, served as a spy for Czechoslovakia and faked his own death, Matthew Macfadyen is incredibly funny. He owns the role of the bumbling fool, a master at inducing laughs and sympathy at the same time. And with Stonehouse, he has endless material. The man is narcissistic and power-hungry, but he also has a habit of biting off more than he can chew, so seeing him stumble in his lies is both funny and tragic to watch. If I can use another metaphor—watching Stonehouse is like watching a train power through despite falling off the rails. It’s a wreck to be sure, but one you can’t quite peel your eyes from.

Another great thing about Stonehouse? It only has three (concise but jam-packed) episodes. So if you’re looking for a one-day binge, this might just be it.

In Shrinking, Jason Segel plays Jimmy Laird a newly-widowed therapist who’s trying to make amends with his loved ones after isolating himself for so long. It sounds depressing, but Shrinking has the delightful buoyancy of a show like Ted Lasso (which makes sense given that they’re created and directed by the same person) and even Trying, that other Apple TV+ show that masterfully balances seriousness and silliness. Like them, Shrinking is warm and affecting, but it has one undeniable advantage: Harrison Ford. Ford plays Segel’s boss, and if you aren’t onboard yet, Shrinking is definitive proof that Harrison is actually, objectively hilarious.

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.

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.

Deadloch begins like any other self-serious police procedural. A body washes up on shore, sparking widespread fear and a twisty mystery that eventually and intriguingly reveals layers of itself. Local officer Dulcie Collins (Kate Box) takes to it like it’s the most important case in the world, and for some reason, everything we see onscreen is tinged in gray, as if the town is set under a perpetual stormcloud. 

Then a joke finds its way into the dialogue, followed by another, and another. The show, it turns out, is as much of a sitcom as it is a mystery, with Dulcie acting as the straight man grounding us through the kookiness of it all. The rest of the characters are actual characters, wonderfully zany and larger-than-life as they bumble around and commit small-town gaffes. A hearse screeches to a halt when a random passerby yells, “You’re going the wrong way!”, and a millennial policewoman exclaims, “I can’t believe I’m on a stakeout! It’s so aggressively police-y.” 

It’s quite the risk to be both funny and serious, to dole out this many jokes while solving multiple murders, but Deadloch pulls it off with so much charm to spare. It’s a refreshing take on the buddy-cop series, ambitious and modern and unafraid to laugh at itself every once in a while.

A mysterious rotting smell and hard thuds heard from above start the series off on an eerie note. Moon Joo-ran (Kim Tae-hee) is a seemingly perfect housewife, but under the guise of her well-kept home are a secretive husband and a son who possibly resents her (currently unknown) condition. Meanwhile, Chu Sang-eun (Lim Ji-yeon) is trapped in an abusive marriage and dreams of escape. As Joo-ran becomes paranoid about the smell in her backyard and Sang-eun gathers evidence to leave her husband, the two women find a harrowing revelation. Leads Kim and Lim immediately offer memorable, haunting performances, while the setup described above is a captivating start to a psychological thriller that promises a web of secrets and lies.

After a healing workshop leads her best friend to sell her belongings and move to a remote island, Nisan becomes suspicious a cult is indoctrinating outcasts. But when she’s diagnosed with cancer and dark memories haunt her dreams, she seeks the island to find hope and happiness. Nisan’s suspicions struggle against her desire to face her past. On the pseudo-utopia island, the idea of safe havens and communities is put to the test forcing Nisan to reckon how isolating living in fear and pain is. With a steady pace, Search stretches the concept of a cult, keeping a refreshingly open mind to all the ways a community with freedom, equality, and care remains unfathomable. 

Set in a fictionalized version of Japan’s Edo period, where a deadly disease affecting only men has led to women taking traditionally-male roles, Ōoku is steeped in social commentary on gender and sexuality. The concept is well-established in its 70+ minute first episode, allowing the story to set a foundation for a fascinating progression in this world. By centering the powerful warlord figure, the Shogun, it illuminates the shadows women occupy to support a country with little to no recognition. With a political throughline and an inherently feminist lens, Ooku: The Inner Chambers offers a beautifully-animated series with few gimmicks and lots of depth.

Michelle Buteau is the hilarious and charismatic lead of this amazingly diverse and body-positive comedy. In her post-breakup glow-up, Buteau’s character Mavis takes no prisoners as she prioritizes herself and her career with the help of her equally funny and wholesomely supportive friends. As with any comedy, there are some cheesy punchlines, but the humor and story still feel authentic (a given since the show is based on Buteau’s collection of essays). Without resorting to self-deprecation or below-the-belt jokes, Survival of the Thickest boasts a refreshingly inclusive, queer, diverse cast that isn’t afraid to take up space. This series is a great comfort watch with fun and laughs guaranteed. 

Netflix India has been dominating the police procedural and mystery market, and Kohrra, its latest addition, is one of its better entries. Officer Balbir (Suvinder Vicky) is under pressure to resolve the case of a dead Non-Resident Indian and his missing white friend, but the fear of local backlash and global attention raises the stakes as the show weaves internal and external politics in India. Drugs, lies, and old grudges eventually surface, complicating the quiet pursuit of truth with public spectacle. This makes for a thrilling mystery, but Kohrra also excels as a family drama as we watch Balbir mend his relationship with his daughter, while his partner Garundi (Barun Sobti) deals with the pressure to get married. 

There’s no room for glamour in this heartwrenching yet inspiring documentary of first-hand accounts from mothers who went above and beyond for their children. These days it is hard to escape fancy editing, theatrical reenactments, and law enforcement’s clinical recounts in true crime productions, but these four stories inject much-needed empathy for victims. In each episode, the mothers’ fight for justice and their children’s safety illuminates the strength of a community, the goodwill of strangers, and the perseverance of all (with or without the help of the law). Straightforward and respectful, these first-hand accounts will appeal to viewers wanting humane narratives and a few happy endings. 

More a showcase of various styles of animation than an expansion of Star Wars lore (and all the better for it), Visions finds some of the freshest expression for these tired tropes—rendered in what are easily the best visuals this franchise has ever seen. Across the 18 episodes of its first two seasons, the series communicates the mystical nature of this universe with much more ease than the live-action films do. And even as Visions begins to repeat some of the exact same ideas and story structures in multiple episodes, the repetition also begins to feel like the reinforcement of a universal narrative throughout time and space: there will always be light that will counter the darkness, often coming from the bonds between family and friends.

When the psychometric powers of the main character are only activated when she touches a butt, you know that Behind Your Touch will be as silly and hilarious as the show’s powers. The K-drama gets into ridiculous moments, oftentimes inspired by other dramas from the action, horror, and romance genres, but done in exaggeration for comedic effect. And the cast really gets into the action, with Han Ji-min and Lee Min-ki’s excellent chemistry and timing able to deliver the jokes written by the team. As the first season will end soon, it’s hard to say if the ending will be as good as its start, but so far, Behind Your Touch takes interesting comedic twists of the K-Drama tropes we all know and love.

Bollywood is the biggest film industry in the world, in terms of output. After all, the Indian film industry churns out 700-800 films per year. Because of sheer output, there are plenty of excellent hidden gems from the South Asian country, some of which we try to cover here in A Good Movie to Watch. However, for a fairly comprehensive introduction to the industry, the English-language miniseries The Romantics is a great place to start. There’s no better filmmaker to take notes from other than Yash Raj Chopra, whose media conglomerate shifted the industry for the past 50 years, so the show tackles his legacy through archival footage and interviews from India’s current roster of film stars. Footage of his films alone are already a compelling watch, but director Smriti Mundra keeps an excellent balance between these films’ personal impact, as well as the corresponding political and film history in which his works were released to. It’s an excellent introduction to the colorful and rich film history of India.

The Fall of the House of Usher isn’t an exact one-to-one television adaptation of the titular short story. Instead, the original story from Edgar Allan Poe is used as a frame to introduce a whole Succession-like miniseries, with names and subplots coming from other stories from Poe. Because of this, fans of the author might feel disappointed at the lack of old gothic flair, as the story is set a whole century and a half after, and the tone shifts as the show shifts from character to character. However, Mike Flanagan’s whole ensemble still proves to be entertaining as the Usher family deals with sci-fi mishaps, internal sabotage, and a possible supernatural element haunting the whole brood.

While the show won’t teach you chemistry (or at least not enough for non-chemists to understand certain dialogue), Lessons in Chemistry is an enjoyable adaptation of the bestselling novel. Taking what makes the novel great, the period mini-series, like many period shows, highlights the historical inequality, but does so in a way that’s organic. Protagonist Elizabeth Zott, like Brie Larson, is just simply ahead of her time, while misogyny misinterprets her words and actions. The series also expands on other characters, but still manages to keep a steady pace, through clever rearrangement and reinterpretation of the novel’s plot points. Adding in the lovely costumes, and a stronger love story to start, Lessons in Chemistry might be Apple TV+’s answer to The Queen’s Gambit, albeit set a decade earlier.

After years of trying to regain sobriety, it’s totally chilling to wake up the next day, with no memory of last night, only aware that you failed to stay in control, again. Feedback follows a washed-up rock star trying hard to figure out what happened last night, but not just because it was an oopsie. Instead, for Marcin Kania, it’s the night his son went missing. With angry spiraling scored by electric guitar, temptations to drink abound, and the demeaning judgment of everyone around him, it’s hard for him to convince the cops to take this case seriously, especially when he only has blurry recollections of last night. But it’s easy to root for this unreliable narrator, who’s trying hard to be his best. He just might find him, but he might also find out what happened to the son he failed to guide properly, and hopefully redemption for how much he’s failed his family.

When a comedy is centered around people with disabilities, there’s a worry that the humor would be unfunny or demeaning – there’s a misconception that disabled jokes would surely have to be one or the other. But Nothing to See Here is funny without relying on stereotypes. The humor isn’t based on forced quips or halfhearted improvisations. It’s just part and parcel of a story about chasing dreams, seeking independence, and keeping faith in one’s self despite the limitations imposed by others. And through showrunners Big Drama and Santiago Limon, as well as the well-selected cast, it’s hilarious and heartfelt enough to follow.

Pokémon is one of the world’s most popular franchises, and it’s mainly centered around the idea of cute, colorful creatures with special powers to be caught, trained, and put into battles. Pokémon Concierge is a different side to the franchise, but instead of the high-octane action and world-ending fights, the four-episode series contemplates the idea that maybe these cuddly creatures need to rest too. As anxious newbie Haru adjusts to the laidback, paradisal resort, and acquaints herself with felt-fabric versions of the familiar cartoon creatures, Pokémon Concierge is an excellent reminder to enjoy yourself once in a while.

After being released on BBC in July 2023, Champion made it across the Atlantic and has been recently released globally through Netflix. The family rivalry might be something familiar, but the way they go about it sounds so different, pulling in various genres from Black British music, compiling a striking soundscape that hasn’t been heard from similar shows. Along with the lovely soundtrack, the show has familiar story beats, but it’s well paced, excellently written, and maintains its slick rhythm without compromising any of its tunes. Champion might have dropped on Netflix without much noise, but the show has a voice and a story worth watching.

It’s horrifying to think that there’s a sociopathic surgeon out there who, whether intentionally or not, is screwing up spinal operations so that innocent patients are either maimed or killed. But it is a reality that Dr. Death brings to the fore with great skill and sensitivity. The pacing is brisk, making it bingeable and frankly hard to put down once you start watching it. It also rightfully divides screentime between understanding the criminal’s motives, the system that allows it, and the people who are determined to put an end to this insanity. But the real highlight is how well-casted the series is. In season 1, Joshua Jackson is unnerving as Dr. Duntsch, while Alec Baldwin and Christian Slater’s buddy cop rapport makes the show more gripping than it already is. Season 2 guns for romance with Édgar Ramírez and Mandy Moore as conflicted lovers, and Lifetime-level cheesiness aside, it actually works to deliver something equally compelling as the first season. With Dr. Death, Peacock has built a worthwhile if terrifying anthology.

It sounds bizarre to say that out of all the superhero media out there, it’s a cartoon that seems to have the most realistic storylines. But it’s also true. Thanks to its serial format and animation style, Invincible has more freedom to explore universal feelings like guilt and pressure, but also problems that are specific to this world, such as the moral ramifications of killing for good, for instance, or whether there is such a thing at all. Superheroes also question how human they are and what they deserve. It goes in deep, a bit like The Boys but with less irony and more humanity. Also, it’s just a very refreshing world to enter, watch, and explore. There are overlaps in heroes to be sure, but Invincible gives them their own spin, plus the 2D animation gives it a nostalgic charm.

Before he was a beloved TV star, comedian Alan Carr was a young boy growing up in a small town not quite ready for his shine. In Changing Ends, he takes us through that childhood, which is sometimes sweet, sometimes tough, but always comfortingly, relatably hilarious. By appearing in it and addressing us, present-day Carr ran the risk of being cheeky, explanatory, self-indulgent, and jarring—the 1980s setting is nice and nostalgic, why ruin it?—but his presence surprisingly works. It’s interesting to see the differences and lasting similarities between Young Carr and Old Carr. The former is naive and unrelentingly himself while the latter is worldly and reflective, and also unrelentingly himself. You don’t have to know who Carr is to enjoy this short but sweet entry (I certainly didn’t), you only have to recall that time in your life when you first started growing into yourself—how simultaneously awkward, painful, and exhilarating it felt.

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.

Tour de France: Unchained is an intense sports docuseries depicting the ins and outs of the prominent cycling race. While cycling is an individual activity, Tour de France is structured to be a team sport — usually comprising around 20 teams with eight riders each. The first season depicts the 2022 run from Copenhagen to Champs-Élysées, the comeback after the pandemic, with players looking to defeat two-time defending champion Tadej Pogačar (UAE Team Emirates). If you’re up to date with cycling news, you’ll know how this one ends. However, it’s still a worthwhile watch, as the show goes behind the scenes to witness the team dynamics, the severe falls, and the steep challenges. With this in mind, Tour de France is very watchable, especially for fans of the sport.

Mysterious and hair-raising, Revenant is a supernatural drama whose demonic possession deals with modern-day detectives and Korean folklore. This strange mix of genres makes the show’s premise slow to unfold, taking time to introduce the complex agents in each part. At front-and-center is working-class woman Gu San-yeong, who gets possessed by a demon. Kim Tae-ri’s expert acting makes both believable, simultaneously terrified and terrifying in equal measure. To be free, Gu accepts the help of folklore professor Yeom Hae-sang, who has been hunting down this demon after his mom’s death. With his mom’s death, as well as many others, being dismissed by the police as suicides, the show questions the reasons behind Korea’s high suicide rate. Acknowledging the struggles of Hell Joseon, Revenant suggests what Yeom advises: To listen, pay attention, and learn the reasons why they’re here.

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.

Structured more like a network procedural than a gritty streaming miniseries, the TV adaptation of The Lincoln Lawyer feels easy, even nostalgic, to watch. The formula is simple: in every episode, Mickey handles a new case (most of them wrongful convictions against people on the fringe), all while dealing with a larger, more complicated case and his inner demons. There to help is his trusty driver Izzy (Jazz Raycole), who gets him everywhere in his Lincoln Town Car, and his two ex-wives, with whom he shares a surprisingly healthy relationship. All these elements come together to make an entertaining legal drama. It’s not the most compelling thing out there, but it’s consistently enjoyable and endlessly likable.

In a world acclimated to the technological advancements and integration of AI, Sudo Hikaru offers illegal medical procedures in the hopes of finding the people behind his mother’s stolen data. The Gene of AI takes an interestingly neutral tone towards the integration of humanoids among the population (akin to our current normal with social media and smartphones). Even as the question of ethics and legality weaves through everyday conversations, the idea of AI being inherently bad is never the conclusion. So far, the narrative follows a procedural format that feeds each new case/scenario back into Hikaru’s search. 

With a small primary cast and a heavy hand on CGI (which feels deliberate given how the show discusses the human-technology relationship), the show has the potential to deliver a memorable narrative in the transhumanism genre.

The Killing Vote takes the “vote to kill” storyline and pairs an anonymous vigilante with an ambitious yet apathetic officer, creating an intriguing setup that questions how everyday inequalities extend to the justice system. The first episode is quite disturbing as it tackles child pornography, but with this pilot, the series is able to cement an expectation it fulfills in succeeding episodes: this is a severe show that tackles severe cases and severe criminals. Coupled with immersive performances across the board (the star-studded cast includes K-drama staples Park Hae-jin, Park Sung-woong, and Lim Ji-yeon), The Killing Vote is already off to a high-intensity start. If it keeps this up, it very well could be one of 2023’s best.

Crass, violent, and deeply unserious, this adult animated series gets around its rough edges by acknowledging its title character’s reputation. Often seen only in the context of her twisted romance with a much more recognizable villain, Harley Quinn tends to be viewed as merely victim or vixen. But this show has her break free and claim her own story, taking shots not just at her emotionally abusive ex, the Joker, but at the entire DC Comics brand and at any other moving target it can find. The result is a series that has the tendency to feel scattershot, but whose anarchic energy still leads to the catharsis of untethering oneself from an unhealthy addiction and learning to be rebuild.

And though the show’s writing and animation can get too stiff or stilted (especially in later seasons), much of it still works thanks to its bonkers sense of humor, as well as an excellent voice cast. Kaley Cuoco is exactly as brash and expressive as Harley needs to be, and supporting turns from an extensive range of actors (including Lake Bell, whose Poison Ivy eventually becomes Harley’s most important relationship) ensure that every corner of this world has something hilarious to offer.

In the era of behind-the-athlete documentaries, the timing of a series like My Lovely Boxer is perfect. The series follows a young boxing prodigy, Lee Kwon-Sook (Kim So-Hye), who suddenly disappears at the height of her career to escape the toxicity of her home life and avoid becoming commodified as a boxer. In its first two episodes, it’s clear that this isn’t about the sport itself. Rather, as Kwon-Sook and sports agent Kim Tae-Young (Lee Sang-yub) cross paths, the exploitative practices in the sports industry are quickly exposed, showing the disconnect between sports as a profession – both a passion and a way to make ends meet – and sports as entertainment at any cost. The show wastes no time glamourizing an athlete’s life but instead illuminates every dark corner waiting to make a quick buck. And like the tell-all documentaries, the horrors behind the scenes are upsetting, but keep you watching. 

A lot of things are at play in The Other Black Girl, a 10-part series adapted from the novel of the same name. The first half is a workplace horror that cleverly sets Nella’s career ambitions against the racial microaggressions she endures daily, while the second half is more of a mystery, with Nella digging deeper into Hazel’s sketchy past. At the same time, The Other Black Girl is also a comedy, a social thriller, and a revealing satire about the state of the publishing industry and companies at large. It doesn’t always succeed in balancing all the things it tries to be, but when it does, it soars; it becomes an exciting and meaningful piece of work you can’t stop watching. And even when it falters (it’s not as good at mystery as it is at commentary), The Other Black Girl remains largely enjoyable—addicting, even, since each episode runs for a breezy 30 minutes. Anchored by an extremely likable performance by Daniel and a chilling one from Murray, The Other Black Girl is easily one of the best multi-genre shows to come out in a while. 

Black Snow has the sleek style of a modern murder mystery, but its concern with Australia’s colonial past that sets this show apart. As a neo-noir series centered on a murder, the show has all the classic elements: the hardboiled detective, the suspicious townsfolk, and the murder. As the murder is set in 1994, nostalgic summer-tinged high school scenes make it easy to root for justice for the show’s young victim.

But the series stands out as it’s always mindful of Isabel Baker, always concerned with her and her dynamics with her friends, family, and her South Sea Islander (ASSI) community. Supported by the strong performance of newcomer Talijah Blackman-Corowa, and even consulting the ASSI community personally in the show’s development and production, Black Snow is excellent not just as a murder mystery but also as a depiction of a community that’s rarely portrayed on screen.

At first glance, Rough Diamonds seems to be a standard Netflix thriller with debts, deaths, and dirty deals. However, this Flemish-Yiddish series happens to also be a compelling family drama, centered around Antwerp’s Haredi Jewish diamond community. The series starts the season strong with the death that puts the family into chaos. It continues the series’ suspense with the return of prodigal son Noah, who, like Godfather’s Michael Corleone, initially disagrees with the family’s orthodox lifestyle, but can’t help but be drawn back to the family business. As the family scrambles to figure out their dead brother’s debt, they squabble with each other in a dynamic reminiscent of Succession, with an added organized crime twist. The resulting mix creates an intriguing thriller series that also happens to be a nuanced portrayal of a rarely portrayed community.

If you have the patience to get through its rocky first season, Star Trek: Lower Decks proves itself to be an adult animated series that’s deeply committed to getting significantly better with every season. What started as a sort of budget Rick and Morty riff with grating humor and stiff animation has turned into an effortlessly witty sci-fi show with plenty of life in the way it moves. It’s still mostly concerned with having silly little adventures at the end of the day, but what’s striking is how complete its adventures and sci-fi ideas are in the span of its 20- to 30-minute episodes.

And as it’s found its footing, Lower Decks has also gained the confidence to begin telling more overarching stories by its fourth season, with an even stronger focus on character. These kinds of animated comedies could easily avoid any profound development for its protagonists—and this show doesn’t exactly have the most deeply-written crew members in Trek history—but there’s real heart in how the lower decks crew reflect on the modesty of their stations and how they view themselves within a larger institution. If it doesn’t seem too groundbreaking, that’s part of the appeal too; smaller stories still deserve to be told.

Narrated by Mahershala Ali, Chimp Empire is a four-part series that takes a captivating closer look at the drama, dynamics, and surprising politics that goes on in the biggest chimpanzee community in the world. Set in the deep forest of Ngogo, Uganda, the docuseries gives us rare access to the tribes’ complex lives and ties to each other.

It shouldn’t be surprising how closely their society resembles ours (The Guardian calls the series “Succession but with apes”), but director James Reed gives this well-known fact a fresh spin by highlighting humanistic narratives and intimate details. It’s enthralling through and through.

Between HBO’s The Rehearsal and Peacock’s Paul T. Goldman, it would seem that genre-bending reality-based shows are having a moment. Among the more lighthearted and enjoyable ones out there is Jury Duty, which follows a trial involving improvisational actors, save for one: Ronald Gladden, a friendly everyman who has yet to realize that everything around him, from the inane case to his oddball co-jurors, is fake. Every now and then though, thanks to the sheer ridiculousness of it all, Ronald looks like he’s at the cusp of figuring it out, but the guy (bless his soul) is just too damn nice to get there. 

And that’s what makes Jury Duty so watchable. It finds a heart in the ever-hopeful Ronald who, as the appointed foreman, goes out of his way to help his fellow jurors. Whether that means reading a script with James Marsden (who plays a hilariously narcissistic version of himself here), building up nerdy genius Todd’s confidence, or even just encouraging ol’ Barbara to stay awake, he’s there every step of the way. More than just laugh at Ronald’s ignorance, we’re also asked to look at his capacity for caring for people, which makes Jury Duty not just funny and experimental, but unexpectedly endearing as well. If you’re looking for a show that’s both easy and eccentric, familiar and new, then you should put this on.

Yasemin Derin is one of Turkey’s most famous actresses. But when she’s not onscreen or walking the red carpet, she’s murdering evil influential people, which garners her the nickname “Hunter.” Her double life is put in jeopardy, however, when a stalker sends her a series of cryptic texts.

Actress plays into the “unlikeable main character”; a sarcastic anti-hero on the verge of having more weaknesses as she takes in a young actress and falls in love with a mysterious man. The series has a nice cinematic finish, and Pinar Deniz as Yasemin delivers a nonchalant charisma that’s easy to follow.

Glossy and intense, Celebrity strips away the glamour of influencer life by taking the allure of fame and weaving an entrancing mystery into it at the end of every episode. A-ri’s climb to the top is paralleled by the secret of her supposed death and return, which she reveals through a live stream. With a large cast, the intrigue never fully wanes as these influencers grate the nerves while contributing to their own demise. The promise of learning about everyone’s secrets and finally understanding how A-ri dies keeps you at the edge of your seat, even if the influencer angle feels cliche. 

Bright, breezy, and refreshingly unburdened by the seriousness of so many live-action Superman shows and movies, this new animated series wipes the slate clean and boils down the titular hero to his most endearing qualities. Here, Clark Kent is still learning to be more in touch with his identity and emotions—most evident in his enigmatic flashbacks to his childhood, and in his absolute nervousness around the energetic and spontaneous Lois Lane. So while the action and the intrigue in My Adventures with Superman are still somewhat ordinary for an animated series, the undeniable, bashful chemistry between its two leads is what keeps these adventures worth going on. It’s a romcom and a coming-of-age story wrapped in a classic superhero adventure, where selflessness and courage are firmly at the heart of everything.

True crime documentaries have had a bit of a sensationalist streak in recent years, but thankfully, Never Let Him Go never stoops to that level. It knows, respects, and empathizes with Scott Johnson and his family, who, for 30 years have relentlessly sought answers as to how and why, exactly, Scott died the way he did. An American prodigy studying in Australia, Scott had a bright future ahead of him. But it was cut short when his body was found at the bottom of a cliff, naked and mutilated, with police concluding simply that Scott had committed suicide. Over the course of decades, however, multiple leads would come up that suggest Scott could’ve been one of the many hate crime victims whose violent and bias-motivated end went unacknowledged. In four efficiently edited, objectively studied yet emotionally told episodes, Never Let Him Go tracks this years-long affair and studies how it evolved from a simple unresolved mystery to a landmark case that exposes not just the sorry state the LGBTQ community was subjected to, but the complicated bureaucracy that comes with obtaining justice. 

In their ninth drama collaboration, director Park Chan-hong and writer Kim Ji-woo partner again to deliver a murder mystery in Miraculous Brothers. The first few episodes juggle multiple plotlines between the novelist, the amnesiac boy he crashes into, and the serial murders, and at first, it seems unclear what links all of them. However, as the series successfully maintains its suspense for the two driving mysteries, it also makes it easy to root for the main characters – the superpowered empath and the reluctant writer – as they seek justice for crimes committed long before. The series shines best when the two become closer, and when the developing dynamic pushes Yuk Dong-joo closer to admitting the truth.

After much anticipation, The Worst of Evil has finally been released, starting off the season with a rumble between gangs underneath Gangnam. Through neon-lit streets, grimy green-tinged windows, and dimly-lit corridors, the series brings its viewers back to the 90s criminal underworld, though with modernized choreography and fairly realistic CGI blood. This set is the arena where undercover cop Park Joon-mo has to fight, in order to gain the trust of crime boss Jung Gi-cheul. As each fight gains some goodwill from each other, and as Park’s wife enters the fray, the series promises dangerous stakes, dramatic betrayals, and thrilling fight scenes. It’s a fresh take on the undercover cop, infiltrating the gritty underworld through sheer persistence, with an added emotional twist.

Undead Unluck is such a strange anime with such a strange duo. Named after their respective powers, the undead Andy seems familiar with his Deadpool-like regeneration, albeit with such a fast rate that he can shoot out body parts with such gruesome animation. However it’s the unlucky Fuuko that brings them to the most absurd comedic scenarios, including, but not limited to, surviving a giant truck crash, a lightning strike, and a whole meteor. In order to achieve their goal of dying, they have to build up a bond to maximize her unluck. As they learn more about Fuuko’s abilities, as well as the organization hunting them down, it’s likely that they’ll go through wackier situations that will escalate as the show progresses. It’s definitely something uniquely watchable, if you can handle the off-putting gore that’s part and parcel of Andy’s powers.

Also known as Rabo de Peixe, after the real town where the series is based, Turn of the Tide follows a group of four friends, who dream of a life outside their hometown, where nothing ever happens. Except, something does finally happen, and it’s whole packs of cocaine washing up on the island’s shores. It’s a wild series, one where the show’s teen underdogs take advantage of sailing expertise and knowledge of the town in order to sell out one third of the stash from the mainland Italian mafia. And it’s one that is endlessly entertaining, as we hope for the four teenagers to succeed in their plan, and to escape for another life.

There’s a lot happening in Netflix’s first Hindi survival thriller series Kaala Paani. The main plot follows the discovery of a new disease with inky rashes that confounds scientists and policymakers, which would remind viewers of the botched response towards COVID-19, but there are multiple subplots including a love story with a traumatized former nurse, a family drama between separated parents and children, and the ecological commentary on the indigenous population that survived the disease once before. But Kaala Paani is able to balance these plots, tweaking the series’ disease to visually carry the show’s science in order to dedicate more weight to each subplot. It allows showrunner Sameer Saxena to play with more philosophical themes, and allows his compelling cast to play with more complex and dynamic roles.

Like plenty of medical dramas, Daily Dose of Sunshine portrays the day-to-day dynamics of a hospital department, this time in the department of mental health in a country that has one of the highest suicide rates in the world. Based on the webtoon from a former nurse, the series might have some laughs from the department’s dynamics, but never at the expense of their patients. In fact, the show takes great care in depicting mental illness, taking care to visualize the patient’s episodes, as well as the way Da-eun tries to fit into her new department. It’s sweet and earnest, but not too cloying, and as substantial as the mugwort rice cakes Da-eun brings for her co-workers.

You know how How to Train Your Dragon has a town terrified of dragons, but it turns out they’re actually cute? My Daemon has a similar situation, except this happens after a nuclear explosion, plenty of these monsters are still murderously terrifying, and even the cute ones are fairly creepy. But that doesn’t keep elementary schoolkid Kento Tachibana from adopting one, even as they get hunted down by bounty hunters. The bond between boy and his daemon is a heartwarming one, but the treatment between the various monsters questions the different ways we treat different animals, and whether or not we can successfully live alongside them. With its unique art style, it’s a totally stunning adventure, though with some creepy crawlies along the way.