30 Inspirational TV Shows to Watch Now

As We See It centers on the perspectives of its three leads: Jack, Violet, and Harrison, twenty-something roommates who happen to be on the autism spectrum. Along with their caretaker Mandy and a small but loving group of friends and family, they embark on a journey of self-improvement that is sometimes heartwarming, sometimes heartbreaking, but always funny and kind.

Despite zeroing in on a very specific disorder, the struggles and accomplishments of As We See It’s characters feel universal and wholly relatable. The nuanced and refreshingly humane characterizations, along with an impressive balance of comedy and drama, are what make As We See It truly special. It is an underrated, enjoyable gem of a show, and quite digestible too since it only runs for eight episodes. 

Abbot Elementary is a mockumentary that follows a group of well-meaning but cash-strapped teachers trying to make their school a better place. The premise sounds simple enough, but the show’s big heart and sharp observations about the rotting U.S. education system make it a breath of fresh air in the sitcom world. Abbot Elementary’s characters are funny and likable, while also being fearless, defined, and nuanced. 

The show manages to do the seemingly impossible: genuinely and lightheartedly uplift the people it represents. It shines some much-needed light on the public service these undervalued teachers provide, without ever sounding too preachy or patronizing: an impressive feat for such a progressive show.

Sweet Tooth is set in a post-apocalyptic America, where the population has been ravaged by a mysterious virus and the new generation of humans has evolved into animal hybrids. The circumstances are bleak and the things people do to survive even more so. Driven by fear and grief, they both isolate and attack in moves that are eerily reminiscent of the early days of our own pandemic. Sweet Tooth is a robust adventure story then, gritty and reflective and tragic, but it’s also incredibly sweet.

We’re introduced to a myriad of characters, each of them with their own arc, but we mostly follow Gus (Christian Convery), a nine-year-old human-deer hybrid who has yet to be disillusioned by the human race. Gus grounds the story’s many flights of fancy, and along with the other main characters, he gives us timely reminders of the importance of kindness and humaneness without ever being too corny. And to the show’s serious credit, no one plot line overpowers the other; instead, all feel just as vital to the larger story of survival that’s being told. 

The blend of these tales is lovely, the world-building is imaginative, and the technical aspects of it—the color, the costuming, and the cinematography—are all beautiful. Ultimately, Sweet Tooth is a packed a show wrapped in gorgeous layers, sure to delight even the most casual of viewers. 

Featuring almost no external conflict for its protagonist to face, this story of a young, ill-tempered calligraphy artist—sent to recollect himself at an island community—makes the private process of soul-searching as inspiring as it is cathartic. It’s a series that understands how one’s art is informed almost subliminally by the smallest observations and interactions, transforming the act of personal expression into a tribute to the people and places who give this expression real weight. So even if Barakamon spends most of its time on quaint, everyday experiences without any heightened drama, you get the sense that something significant is shifting within Seishu with every day that passes. It’s a warm, beautiful anime about some of the biggest existential questions, delivered in a modest, good-humored way.

This spiritual sequel to director Crystal Moselle’s Skate Kitchen gives that movie’s characters a fresh slate but retains all of its gentle empathy and dreamy vibes. Revolving around a diverse group of girl skaters in NYC — the real streets of which the show is shot on — Betty sensitively explores the usual facets of teen dramas (love, drugs, identity, friendship) without ever breaking into the melodrama that often colors the genre. Amidst all of the freewheeling skate montages and killer tunes, there are (unfortunately) relatable issues like sexual assault and emotional manipulation getting thoughtful — and, crucially — empowering treatment from the young cast. In the show’s lighter moments, the girls’ authentic chemistry shines through in the frequently improvised dialogue, which gives the show both a warm, inviting feel and a number of standout comedy moments (often courtesy of Nina Moran’s stoner girl Kirt). With six half-hour episodes per season (of which there are a much-too-short two), Betty covers admirably diverse ground while retaining a gorgeous hang-out vibe that makes it an addictive — even healing — watch.

Dying for Sex feels like two shows in one. Mainly, it follows Molly (Williams), a 40-something diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer, and Nikki (Jenny Slate), her messy but fun-loving best friend who is trying to keep up with Molly’s increasing needs. It gets into the gritty reality of Molly’s emotional and physical pain and explores how her relationship with Nikki both fractures and solidifies as her cancer advances. But the show is also largely about sex. It sheds light on the unique struggle people like Molly have to go through to satisfy sexual needs, which, if anything, only intensifies when one is ill. Instead of being desired, Molly is pitied by her husband, who is too afraid to be intimate with her. So Molly, with nothing to lose, explores sex and sexuality. She touches herself, watches videos, goes on dating apps, and starts a BDSM-esque relationship with her neighbor. The series is raunchy and mines a lot of humor from Molly’s journey, but it’s equally sobering and enlightening. It expertly blends these seemingly opposing scenarios and still comes out feeling solidly made. It will make you go through a roller coaster of emotions, which feels apt for a show about life and death.

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.

Vibrant and quirky in a way that always rings true for its plucky protagonists, this abruptly cancelled children’s series embodies the optimism and empathetic spirit that we should all hope to gain from the younger generations. By starting their own neighborhood business, the core characters of The Baby-Sitters Club (played with undeniable star power and chemistry by its young ensemble) learn how to bring joy and healing to others while facing everything from discrimination and generational trauma to their own imperfect family lives. Behind the club’s humorous, sugarcoated antics is a real sense of helplessness that each character struggles with—forging ahead and doing whatever they can to fix things that they’ve been told are out of their control. It’s an unexpectedly touching gem of a show that proves kids’ entertainment can be truly beautiful.

Inspired by The Pink Marine memoir, Boots expands on Greg Cope White’s story to widen its perspective from one recruit to a whole troop. It makes it a team effort, rather than a solo stint. With the different faces and the protagonist’s sexuality, this show updates the classic military show for this generation, but the change works mostly because of an interest in the whole ensemble, letting its relative newcomers play off each other and show off their strengths. And that’s in spite of the times this show was released in. It’s a shame that Netflix hasn’t greenlit this gem for a second season, considering that these guys prove their mettle in each of their performances. Boots has more ground to stomp on, if only certain companies had the same balls the creators here did.

In Move to Heaven, a man and his son clean up after the dead—specifically, the dead who have no one else to look out for them. Believing that no one should be robbed of a respectable farewell, they piece together the deceased’s possessions and celebrate them postmortem. It’s a noble job, but its existence is threatened when the father passes away. It’s now up to the ruffian uncle with a heart of gold to continue the business and bond with his nephew, who himself struggles with Asperger’s. 

It’s easy for Move to Heaven to feel weighed down by all the important stories it tries to tackle; represented here are disabled people, depressed people, queer people, overworked people. But it breathes so much life into these stories that they hardly feel like the drag other shows and movies make them out to be. Tragedy here is expertly blended with humanity, and the result is a moving and compassionate series that stands out even in the saturated content space that is Netflix. 

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

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

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

These days, pandemic stories can go either of two ways: horribly or profoundly. The realism may be too much to bear, causing so-called pandemic fatigue, or it can compel you to move in the world in kinder, more self-aware ways.

Thankfully, HBO’s overlooked Station Eleven falls under the latter category. Epic, poignant, and lighthearted, the ten-episode miniseries (adapted from the bestselling novel of the same name) is one of the few pandemic-set, post-apocalyptic shows that takes a closer look at the kind and creative ways humans approach survival.

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.

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.

Love & Anarchy is a raunchy and poignant series that mainly follows Sofie (Ida Engvoll ), a middle-aged consultant whose steady, predictable life is forever changed when she befriends the office temp, Max (Björn Mosten).

Sofie and Max take turns daring each other to do unconventional things in public, from walking backward at work to role paying at a function, and what begins as a thrill-seeking exploit soon evolves into a serious relationship that has them and their colleagues questioning their bigger ambitions and desires in life.

With each only eight episodes per season, each of which runs at more or less 30 minutes, Love & Anarchy is a sure-fire easy and worthwhile binge.

When a show is focused on a kid and their sport, chances are, the main character holds a passion for the sport itself. They saw it, they thought it was cool, and they tried it out. Blue Box, however, takes an unconventionally depicted, but no less honest, motivation– the energizing power of having a crush. The way Taiki goes about it feels reminiscent of that first childhood crush, with the excitement, the determination, and the pure mortification each time he perceives to have jumped the gun, but it’s all made endearing with the characterization, writing, and the beautiful render, and it’s easily driven by the familiar device of having to share the same residence. Blue Box is just so darn cute.

Man on the Inside may be a detective show, but at its core, it’s a series about the beauty and pain of aging. It follows recently widowed Charles as he befriends the residents at a nursing home he’s secretly investigating for thievery. Despite himself, Charles opens up, which complicates the case but gives the story all of its heart. Not a lot of shows are willing to sift through the realities of old age, and even when they do they tend to focus (understandably) on the painful aspects of it–death, grief, sickness. Man on the Inside is a welcome reminder that there’s more to it too. There’s the freedom to be who you are, and family and friendships to strengthen. Man on the Inside won’t be the sharpest mystery you’ll see anytime soon, but it just might be one of the most poignant and heartwarming ones you’ll watch. It might also get you to call up an elderly loved one and check in on them, finally.

Set in Nunavut in northern Canada, North of North follows the joys and trials of Siaja (Lambe), a 26-year-old Inuit woman who is, for the first time, learning to live for and learn more about herself. “I went from taking care of you to taking care of him,” she tells her mother after deciding to split with her narcissistic husband. It’s a desire any ambitious person stuck in a small town or unhappy marriage will sympathize with, but things like class and race complicate Siaja’s situation. “You’re acting like a white girl with options,” her mother replies. But Siaja forges on and applies for a job in the town center. The show is mostly sweet, comedic, and inspiring (think Reservation Dogs and Parks and Recreation). Romantic comedy and workplace hijinks abound. But it doesn’t glaze over the Inuit community’s bleak history and realities. Siaja’s mom’s unfortunate experience with residential schooling, for one, and the town’s struggle with climate change, for another, provide sobering, thought-provoking moments. North of North isn’t without its flaws—the writing can be sharper and the directing tighter, with less unintentionally awkward pauses—but for the most part, it’s pleasant and hopeful, which is refreshing to watch with everything going on.

Just when you think you’ve heard enough origin stories for a lifetime, in comes Me with probably the most poignant one yet: 12-year-old Ben, overcome with so much anxiety and yearning to be someplace else, transformers into a different person. Though Me is outwardly a sci-fi show, and the main plot is fueled with mystery and fantasy, it’s also an emotionally attuned, self-aware coming-of-age story that follows Ben through his ups and downs. Almost overnight, he gains a new sister, a new school, a new set of classmates to figure out, and unlike most superhero narratives, these are just as confounding and important to Ben as his powers. There is no double life, it’s all just him. But the best thing about Me is that despite its G rating, it’s just as enjoyable for adults as it is for kids. It’s not cheesy or corny, but gentle and comforting, and you learn lots about yourself in the process.

It’s no fun being plus-sized—or at least, that’s the message that we get everywhere, from tragic documentaries to self-help articles to shows that make weight the butt of every joke. Fat people are often perceived as inactive and sad and stubborn when those aren’t mutually exclusive with one’s size. In fact, there’s nothing inherently wrong with being big. 

In Shrill, our plus-sized hero Annie (played by the lovable Aidy Bryant) knocks down all those lazy myths with her sharp wit and buoyant charm. She goes on everyday adventures that prove she can be just as delightful (and exasperating) as any witty millennial writer trying to make it big in her city. Annie isn’t perfect, but the fun lies in seeing her grow (not transform) into a better person.

Best known for his research in blue zones, Dan Buettner brings us to these communities through his new Netflix docuseries. Live to 100: Secrets of the Blue Zones is a short and straight-to-the-point miniseries depicting the five designated blue zones around the world. Detailing differences in diet, mindsets, and activities, the series obviously advocates for a certain type of healthy living, written extensively about by the host. However, rather than the host constantly lecturing about what he learned, the show is mostly composed of moments where he interviews the residents directly. The travelog feels more like asking your elders for life advice, more so than a longevity tip info dump, or advertisement for Buettner’s other books.

It’s refreshing to watch stories about queer people in the Global South unfold with this much joy and love and excitement. Many films and TV shows will have you believe that it’s all tragedy, and while the queer experience is certainly without its struggles, it seems unfair to hyperfocus on that aspect alone when there’s a lot of tenderness to go around. Rainbow Rishta finds the perfect balance between realism and romance, between strife and pride, in delivering the stories of its subjects. In doing so, it deepens our understanding of the global LGBTQ community. 

Undeniably breathtaking animation meets uncomplicated narratives and breathes life into this 10-episode speculative anthology. These rich stories take the sci-fi genre and unfurl a multitude of possibilities for a futuristic Africa. Although the episodes are short, there are more hits than misses as the focus on succinct stories creates a net positive viewing experience. Kizazi Moto: Generation Fire boasts an explosive variety of animation styles that make simple yet heartfelt stories shine. The transition from high-action vibrant stories like Mkhuzi: The Spirit Racer to the dark, terrifying visuals of Surf Sangoma in the first half displays the amazing talent of Africa’s filmmakers. 

Usually, being swallowed up by a dragon means death. However, for Rentt Faina, The Unwanted Undead Adventurer, becoming a skeleton is just a little setback in achieving his dream of becoming an defender for the kingdom. That’s because in this world, dying doesn’t mean dying– it just means that he has to kill other monsters and absorb their spirit in order to evolve into more human forms, like ghouls and vampires. It’s a strange premise, and the first episode relies on internal monologues, because, well, he doesn’t have the muscles to speak, but it’s intriguing to see someone persevere despite having to start all over again. After obtaining the respect of novice adventurer Rina, the show plays out in a fairly entertaining way, with decent visuals, coherent storyline, and a more cautious protagonist we haven’t seen from previous shonen fantasy.

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

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

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

Often overlooked, overshadowed, and overwritten, the contributions of Black women in the 50-year history of hip-hop are seldom celebrated. In the four-part series, the hip-hop legends (Sha Rock, Roxanne Shanté, Queen Latifa, MC Lyte) all the way to the current stars of the genre (Tierra Whack, Saweetie, Chika, Latto) break down the history and hardships of being a woman in hip-hop. From misogynistic treatment and predatory contracts to the reclamation of sexuality and autonomy, the docu-series covers a broad enough spectrum to be an introduction to the women at the forefront and cornerstones of the beloved genre. The tone is positive and uplifting, building an overall bright sisterhood vibe that never breaches the more tumultuous in-fighting/policing and equally influential controversies. This isn’t necessarily bad but is, instead, limiting for viewers that won’t dig deeper. But in the spirit of celebrating, this series gives these women their flowers, pays homage to the pioneers, and shine a light on the future of hip-hop that fights for inclusivity, representation, and equality. 

Most people wouldn’t think that math is a transferable skill to the culinary arts, and in reality, it probably is. Fermat’s Cuisine disputes that, as Gaku Kitada makes the unique career shift from becoming a mathematician to becoming the head chef of the restaurant. While most people (ourselves included) won’t really understand what kind of calculations he makes in order to succeed, it’s easy to sympathize with Gaku’s troubles as he tries to make a new start. It’s also an intriguing mystery to try and figure out what happened between this start and his later success. Choosing a career path, finding a good mentor, and trying to learn something new are things everyone goes through. Fermat’s Cuisine confidently suggests math is the answer.

Right off the bat, Number One on the Call Sheet is impressive because of the sheer number of stars it has onscreen. Eddie Murphy, Whoopi Goldberg, Morgan Freeman, Denzel Washington, Will Smith, Viola Davis, and so much more sit down for a candid interview about who their idols were, what their journeys were like as Black artists, and what they think of the future generation of actors (here represented by the likes of Daniel Kaluuya, Tessa Thompson, and Jurnee Smollett). It’s a joyful celebration of success as well as a sobering reminder of a painful, racist past. Ocassionally, director Reginald Hudlin spends too long on the careers of certain actors and loses sight of the documentary’s purpose—is this a tribute to Black actors or a tabloid celebrity biography? But, ultimately, it gets back on its feet and leaves you with a stirring and hopeful message about the impact and potential of Black Hollywood.

It’s hard not to be struck by the inspiring stories of the six soldier-athletes we follow in Heart of Invictus. Many have lost limbs, most suffer from PTSD, and even others, like Ukrainian medic Yulia Paievska, are still active-duty and on the frontlines of war. They recall stories from their troubled past and uplifting present, and claim that opportunities like the Invictus Games allow them to heal and feel a sense of their former selves. As the co-founder of the games, Prince Harry’s testimonies can seem like fluff at times, but his sincerity pierces through and lends the docuseries an authentic feel. All is well on the material front, but Heart of Invictus wobbles in the technical details. The editing isn’t as smooth as it can be, the footage can feel generic, and the filmmakers can’t seem to establish an identifiable style.