45 Lighthearted TV Shows to Watch Right Now

Stath Lets Flats is so incredibly quotable that watching just its first crop of episodes will likely give you a whole new vocabulary. Even after spending three full seasons with the titular Greek Cypriot real estate agent (played, as no one else could, by series creator Jamie Demetriou) and his sister Sophie (Natasia Demetriou), it still feels like the show is inventing new ways to nonsensically butcher the English language. Maintaining total unpredictability and never letting the gags get stale is no easy feat, but Stath Lets Flats never even gets close to that, remaining utterly original — and, more importantly, hilarious — from its slapstick-heavy opener all the way through the emotional rollercoaster that is the show’s three-season-strong run. Though its existence feels criminally short, the blessing of this being unlike any other sitcom (old and new) means it has infinite rewatch potential — putting it up there with the very best of TV comedy, period. Sold!

In Please Like Me, twenty-year-old Josh (Josh Thomas) navigates love and adulthood alongside his friends and immediate family. He’s far from perfect, and his loved ones are far from always right, but the ups and downs they go through—as small-stakes as they may seem—are always familiar and relatable.

Please Like Me touches on modern issues and treats them both wryly and realistically so that the series never verges on either extreme. It’s charming and sensitive and bold, and the whiny arrogance that often curses millennial shows is balanced here thanks to smart self-deprecating jokes and tender characterizations. Despite its pleading title, Please Like Me is very easy to watch and, as such, very easy to love.

A concept this strange deserves a treatment that’s equally as odd, and Review nails the bizarre tone of humor shared by its fellow Comedy Central series Nathan for You: both shows are knowingly dumb at heart but are also completely shameless about making their stars look like fools. Forrest MacNeil (played with utmost dedication by Andy Daly) would have seemed like a respectable man if he wasn’t so inexplicably drawn to obeying his audience’s wishes, for no clear reason whatsoever. Consumed by this show that allows him to only ever simulate real experiences, he becomes a pathetic—almost eerily so—portrait of a person’s need to belong.

But what helps elevate Review beyond being an episodic series of sketches is the fact that there actually is some continuity between episodes. This means that some of the more drastic requests that Forrest indulges carry emotional consequences. Perhaps most important is his decision to accept the assignment of divorcing his wife, which creates ripples throughout the rest of the series and turns Forrest into an even more desperate man, trapped in this purgatory of his own making. But also, it’s all just very, very funny.

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

There’s a lot more to this show than what it packages itself as, which is a cute little show shot in the ‘90s/2000s about capable toddlers. We can assume the kids are safe and have adults offscreen with them, but anxious ol’ me has too many questions (e.g. How many more guardians are there besides cameramen? This isn’t a nature docu, so do the cameramen step in a lot?) The flash forwards in later episodes are a warm and welcome wrinkle to the show that deepens a distant nostalgia into an instant connection with these people. This show maximizes its short runtime by packing cuteness, tension, and fascination, and even finding a way to hit you in the feels.

In certain aspects, it’s a premise straight out of Disney, but the acting feels a bit more charming. It also has some legitimately funny material in the writing, refusing to rest on the laurels of a tight premise and moving the show away from one trick pony territory. The ghost rules aren’t necessarily inconsistent, but it does take a while to establish the patterns, so they feel like they’re often broken. But as a show generally following the tropes of music-centered teen shows, it excels in just about every department, from the original songs, to its themes of grief and the healing power of music.

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.

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.

It’s the 1970s and women’s liberation is at its peak. Feminist writer Joyce (Ophelia Lovibond) wants nothing more than to start a magazine called “The Matriarchy Awakens,” but publishers aren’t biting. Enter Doug (Jake Johnson), a seemingly sleazy magazine mogul who wants to turn Joyce’s idea into something more sellable—namely, an erotic magazine aimed at women. Against her better judgment, Joyce agrees, and along with a crew of unlikely creatives, they work to set up Minx, a sexy female-first magazine that is the first of its kind. 

Minx, the series, engages both characters and viewers in important conversations about feminism and eroticism, but more than just a piece of infotainment, it’s actually a genuinely funny and charming show. The spars between Joyce and Doug propel the series forward, and the bonds that form between their co-workers are just as heartfelt and compelling. Given Minx’s explicit premise, you might come in expecting a raunchy and sharp-edged show, but it’s actually tamer than it seems. As it is, Minx is lighthearted and pleasing, as enjoyable as any half-hour comedy out there.