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.

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. 

Dickinson takes more than a few creative liberties in telling the story of one of America’s greatest poets, Emily Dickinson (played here by the effervescent Hailee Steinfeld). As soon as the first pop song blasts in the background, followed by more than a few expletives blurted by the characters, it becomes clear that the series is more interested in making Emily’s life story not just understandable to a new generation, but timeless and universal too; it’s a tale about freeing oneself from the constraints of gender and society, and how regardless of whether you succeed or not, it’s the attempts that keep us human. 

The series is funny and tender and vivacious, kept afloat by its modern sensibility and desire to showcase a whole new side of Emily. Here, she’s a fighter, a (queer) lover, and an intellectual. But she’s also spoiled, narrowminded, and selfish—she is after all, still a growing girl. Dickinson succeeds on two counts: as an enlightening biopic, artistic license notwithstanding, and as an energizing coming-of-age series, complete with awkward epiphanies and inspiring character developments. 

Fans of sketch comedy, documentaries, and the always-hilarious duo of Bill Hader and Fred Armisen are in for a treat with Documentary Now!, a delightful miniseries that both satirizes and pays tribute to the non-fiction format. Each episode parodies a particular documentary and tone, bringing the comedians and their ever-revolving roster of guest stars to different eras, regions, costumes, accents, and more. 

With SNL veterans Hader and Armisen at the helm, this mockumentary is sure to amuse and impress even the most stoic among us, if not for the show’s humor, then for its sharp attention to detail and endlessly creative references.

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.

This underrated, semi-autobiographical series follows Abby (Abby McEnany), a queer person struggling with OCD and depression. She navigates life’s ups and downs with humor that is both offbeat and sympathetic, but things quickly take a turn for the romantic when Abby’s sister sets her up with Chris, a trans man 20 years her junior. 

Relatable, hilarious, and frank, the miniseries is a tender gem of a show. It’s also effortlessly relevant, which checks out: creator and star Abby McEnany mines inspiration from her own experience as a queer artist, while executive producer Lilly Wachowski (The Matrix) reportedly made a big push for authentic trans representation.

Betty follows a group of young girls unapologetically taking up space in the boys club that is skateboarding. It’s an impressive showcase of skill and an important testament to the need for inclusion, but perhaps more than anything else, it’s an affecting story of sisterhood. It’s about female friendships and how strong the bonds can get at this particular age when you’re still figuring out your place in this world. Kirt, Janay, Honeybear, and later on, Indigo, and Camille, have an effortlessly tight bond that’s made all the more apparent by their natural chemistry with each other. While still retaining an endearing sense of cool, they show us that they can achieve anything, whether it’s breaking up with your boyfriend or breaking barriers, together. 

At once cynical and still in love with the glamor of show business, Difficult People puts a comedic target on absolutely everybody—celebrities, executives, and fans who love media as much as they hate it. Much of the series’ comedy comes from how its two protagonists (played with undeniable chemistry by Julie Klausner and Billy Eichner) constantly sabotage their own opportunities at success, as they get swallowed up in a self-cannibalizing ecosystem of fleeting trends and failed ideas. But even as Julie and Billy almost always come home defeated, there’s something touching about the unwavering strength of their friendship that gets them through each day. It’s an unexpected reminder of the real things and real people who are here now, laughing with us about the absurdity of it all.

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.

If you mention “coming-of-age show” and “Judd Apatow” in one breath, chances are people will think you’re talking about Freaks and Geeks, the highly revered series about a group of friends trying and failing to fit into high school. Despite being a commercial bust, it cemented Apatow as a tragicomic giant and launched the careers of Seth Rogen and James Franco (among many others) as the figures to watch out for a slapstick good time. But there is another series that falls into this category: the little-known but brilliant Undeclared, which also follows a group of young people (Rogen included!) trying their best to figure things out. 

Undeclared is set in college, however, and its main protagonist is Steven Karp (Jay Baruchel), a freshman who has a year to decide what he’s majoring in; until then, his status is undeclared. He’s joined by his roommates and the girls next door, and together they experiment—with class, ideologies, fraternities, and each other. The sky’s the limit for these newly independent adults, and as such, Apatow doesn’t hold back in his humor and subject matter. Undeclared captures that weird mix of apathy and ambition and awkwardness that college makes you feel, making it perfectly relatable for many of us. 

It’s also worth mentioning that a great deal of comedians, both established and up-and-coming at the time, make cameos here, including Will Ferrell, Adam Sandler, and pre-dental-surgery Amy Poehler.

Based on Epic magazine’s column of the same name, Little America is an anthology series based on real-life immigrant stories. The episodes vary in plot, topic, and even era—they’re as diverse as the characters themselves—but they are all connected by one thing: the hope of achieving the American Dream. In one episode, an Iranian father sets out to build his family’s dream home in a bid to prevent his son from moving out. In another, a second-generation Korean-American struggles to find his calling, much to the dismay of his war-survivor parents (“What do you know about suffering?” the mother, played by Parasite’s Lee Jung-eun asks when her son complains about med school).

Co-created by Lee Eisenberg, Kumail Nanjiani, and Emily Gordon (The Big Sick) and directed by Sian Heder (CODA), Little America is a heartwarming collection of stories, as moving as it is urgent. It’s easy to miss this over splashier shows on TV, but trust that this one’s worth tuning into.

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.

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.

When talking about pioneers of the mockumentary format, people like Larry David (Curb Your Enthusiasm), Garry Shandling (The Larry Sanders Show), and Ricky Gervais (The Office) come to mind, but rarely do people bring up Lisa Kudrow, whose entry in cringe comedy is just as funny and prickly as the ones mentioned above. The Comeback, which she co-created and stars in, is peak awkward comedy. Kudrow plays Valerie with the same narcissism, desperation, and lack of self-awareness as your usual comedy anti-hero, but she also gives her character vulnerability and depth, making you want to protect and root for her even in the cringiest of moments. The show itself is also a piercing satire that knows, way before anyone else, exactly what to poke fun at. In 2005, when the show first aired, it critiqued the shallowness of reality TV and network sitcoms, as well as the blatant sexism that occurred not just onscreen but behind it as well. In fact, the darkest moment of the show happens in the writers’ room. And when it was resurrected in 2014 (to the shock of everyone) it satirized the bloat of prestige TV and how much it got away with under the guise of being edgy. Who knows if The Comeback will make another comeback, but best believe it will be ahead of its time and probably, unfortunately, fly under the radar once more.

With the deluge of hyper-stylized teen shows everywhere (but especially on Netflix), Teenage Bounty Hunters comes as a refreshing and welcome surprise. Sisters Blair and Sterling, played by Anjelica Bette Fellini and Maddie Phillips respectively, strike the perfect balance between spiky and endearing, creating a chemistry that’s rare to see among TV siblings. There’s friction but also love all around. 

Their interactions alone make the series thoroughly enjoyable, but their coming-of-age hijinks and comedic timing, especially around their reluctant mentor Bowser (Kadeem Hardison), make it an absolute must-watch. If you enjoyed Booksmart but wished it was more action-packed, you’ll surely love this show.  

Despite their rising popularity, K-dramas have sustained a reputation for being, at times, too sentimental for their own good. Extraordinary Attorney Woo is not exempt from that tendency, but when it does shoot for schmaltz, it makes sure to aim right at your heart. Thanks to clever twists and moving performances across the board, Extraordinary Attorney Woo is an excellently emotional series. Every romantic encounter will make you swoon, every courtroom scene will have you cheer, and every ending will leave you in tears.

Moreover, it’s not a show that simply happens to be about lawyers. It is a law procedural that deals with each new case with the utmost care. It’s smart and educational, with the proceedings and resolutions blending seamlessly into the characters’ own arcs.

There’s something for everyone in this series, and it’s sure to be an easy favorite for one reason or another.

Influenced by classic episodic sitcoms but blazing its own trail with a (generally) more progressive outlook, Broad City stands as a particularly noteworthy example of a show that fully allows its female protagonists to be as messy and gross and fully in charge of their own failures as they should like to be. Though its default setting is to be silly and deeply unserious, the show still works as a more honest portrayal of life as a twentysomething New Yorker. Both Abbi and Ilana love their city and their community, but even they know that “growing up” and trying to earn a living is made up of an increasingly absurd series of endless tasks. Which is what makes their unbreakable friendship through it all so comforting to watch.

In an interview, Conan compared Conan O’Brien Must Go to a travel documentary, except, he said, you don’t learn anything new or interesting. After watching the show, I can safely say that that couldn’t be further from the truth, though it is indicative of the kind of self-deprecating humor he employs throughout the show. What you learn from watching Conan hop from one country to another, improvising and befriending people from different parts of the world, is that it is possible to be both ridiculously funny and genuinely kind. Many comedians joke at the expense of other people—they’re willing to humiliate them, not themselves—but Conan is the opposite. He is always the butt of a joke. Even when he’s pointing out something inane, it’s his incredulity that we’re laughing at. Upon watching this four-parter, you also learn that no one can match, much less top, what Conan does.

Wellington Paranormal is a wry and highly entertaining mockumentary series that follows a special force unit and their adventures in quelling paranormal activity. Taika Waititi executive produces this cross-genre sitcom, which serves as a spin-off to Waititi’s cult classic What We Do in the Shadows. 

While the film focuses on the creatures, Wellington Paranormal is decidedly about Officers Minogue and O’Leary and the hijinks that ensue as they encounter all sorts of supernatural beings, from vampires and werewolves to sea monsters and demons. The show is simple but deadpan funny: a chillingly breezy way to spend your binge time. 

Based on the 2014 film of the same title, this mockumentary series manages the difficult, Seinfeld-ean task of being about nothing in particular and still being funny. Sure, the show’s episodes usually revolve around its core cast of vampires’ unfamiliarity with the real world, but the stakes are low—no pun intended—and the character relationships get to develop at a relaxed pace. Even when new monsters or more fearsome vampires are introduced, the show never loses its absurd, goofy tone. And from insecure Nandor and feisty Nadja, to exasperated Guillermo, monotone Colin, and sassy Laszlo, What We Do in the Shadows boasts one of the most robust ensemble of bumbling protagonists on TV today.

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.

Life should be difficult for Charlie Spring, an openly gay student in an all-boys high school. And it is, to be sure—he’s mocked, ridiculed, and at times literally shoved to the sidelines. But Hearstopper doesn’t just dwell on misery; rather, it shows us the many colors, the multifaceted wonders, of Charlie’s life. His friends, family, and newfound crush, Nick, help keep him afloat in the murky waters of teenhood.

Like the show itself, Charlie and Nick are insistently sweet and charming, which can feel bold in a world that is driven by so much cynicism and hate. It’s this glowing sensitivity, coupled with the show’s inclusive characters and levelheaded insight, that make Hearstopper a heartwarmingly good watch. 

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.

With the success of Squid Game and Black Mirror, the concept of a game show as a makeshift solution to a dystopic world is interesting, but it led Netflix to create reality competitions to capitalize on the hype (Looking at you, Squid Game: The Challenge). This time, however, Thai Netflix takes a more unique approach with Ready, Set, Love. It’s more humorous, as Day fumbles each time she meets Son, and with the reality show being a dating show, there’s surely some romantic mishaps that would happen. But the show doesn’t forget the stakes behind the campy, candy-colored world– with Day doing all she can to secure her chronically ill sister’s healthcare and with Son dissatisfied in the utopic cage that is The Farm. Ready, Set, Love has plenty of the fun shenanigans expected for its romcom approach, but it remembers to empathize with the desperation and hardships that make reality game shows so compelling.

British period dramas usually tend to fall under two categories: traditional or contemporary. The former risks being boring while the latter risks being obnoxious. Vanity Fair, the miniseries, thankfully falls somewhere in the middle. It sticks to the source by presenting Emma Sharpe as an unapologetic social climber, but expounds her character so that we sympathize with her circumstances. Of course she’s cunning, she has to be in order to survive. Of course she’s a flirt, she wasn’t raised to be as conservative as her contemporaries. Because of updates like these, the series feels invigorating and refreshing to watch, even though rags-to-riches and princess-and-the-pauper-like stories have been told many times. Often, it veers towards soapy territory, but it’s nonetheless fun and exciting (and sparkly for avid gown fans!) to watch.

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.

Étoile is a charming transatlantic series set in fictional ballet companies based in New York and Paris. The series alternates between the two cities and features a diverse array of players, including talented dancers, misunderstood choreographers, and the prickly businessmen who fund the entire endeavor. It sounds like a lot, but showrunner Amy Sherman-Palladino (Gilmore Girls, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel) balances everything nimbly and turns in an easy watch that never feels jarring despite the constant swaps and switches.

There is an art to making a comedy that can be enjoyed by all ages—a balance must be kept between mature and genial humor, serious and unserious matters—and it’s an art that Acapulco manages to execute with finesse. There’s something for everyone here, whether you’re a kid looking for a good story or an adult wishing to drive by memory lane.

The colors are vibrant, the characters are alive, and the plot, while familiar, is charming nonetheless. But perhaps the best thing about Acapulco is its call for viewers to be kind. It’s never explicit or preachy about it; it just comes naturally, by way of practice.

The episodes of Midnight Diner are just as heartwarming and assorted as the dishes the restauranteur known only as Master prepares for his customers. Much like short stories, they each have their standalone arc and specific conflict, but they all share the same connection: they take place in this diner, which is open only from midnight until early morning, and they follow the lives of everyday Tokyo citizens. There’s a broadcaster who seeks the warmth of tan-men after a busy day of work, a has-been comedian who steals his rival comic’s corndog, and a realtor who orders pork cutlets to win over lovers. They are mundane and relatable stories told with gentleness and depth, and ingeniously, they all go back to the dish of the day served at Master’s diner. For his part, Master helps these characters figure out more than just their orders by doling out advice in his own stoic yet sage way. 

It’s sort of like miso soup for the soul in that way; heartwarming and comforting, best served on a cold night.

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.

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.

Is it possible to make a workplace comedy set in a hospital emergency room, of all places? St. Denis Medical proves that it is. Like The Office and Parks and Rec before it, St. Denis is a mockumentary that follows an eclectic ensemble who are well-meaning but not always professional, which gives way to funny scenes, pairings, and hijinks. Because of the show’s bleak setting, it risks jarring audiences with a mismatch in tone (there are literally people who are dying around them), but St. Denis is able to be both earnest and funny. The characters are all likable, but the show’s big beating heart is Alex (Allison Tolman), the designated straight-woman, the level-headed foil against her more absurd colleagues. More than anyone, she genuinely cares for the patients and her workmates’ well-being. Issues like understaffed hospitals, expensive healthcare, and medical bias are highlighted in humorous ways. And it works! Laughter is, after all, the best medicine.

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.

Los Espookys is the name of a horror-loving group of friends, who, following their passion, provide gory services to those who seek them. Their clients range from fearmongering priests to greedy insurance claimants, all of whom demand the most bizarre out of the Los Espookys team. They’re a bit like the Scooby-Doo team in that sense, except instead of solving spooky crimes, they’re called in to initiate them. 

It’s an absurd yet surprisingly sweet show that asks you to leave any self-serious viewing lens you might have at the door. Anything goes in this hazy, unnamed part of South America, and you would do well to let its boundless imagination carry you wherever it may lead, and its dry humor ground you on your feet. 

The brainchild of Lisa Hanawalt (one of the creative forces behind Netflix’s BoJack Horseman), Tuca & Bertie departed from that other show’s no-holds-barred look at addiction and depression to focus on the freewheeling adventures of two best friends in the wacky city of Birdtown. The series wears its silliness like a badge of honor and takes pride in portraying adult women as weird, insecure, sexual beings who are still fully capable of anything. And while it mostly plays as a manic romcom (with an incredible Steven Yeun playing Bertie’s boyfriend, Speckle), there are enough moving moments sprinkled throughout that remind you this is all rooted in authentic emotion.

Stills and synopses of The Summer I Turned Pretty make it seem like typical teenage fluff. It isn’t. Sure, it starts off cheesy and predictable, but it quickly blossoms into something rich and earnest and far more significant than the sum of its parts. The love triangle is merely a jumping-off point to better understand these flawed characters and the people around them. Outside of Belly’s coming-of-age journey, there is her brother who encounters a rude awakening on race and class, and their mother who, fresh from a divorce, attempts to establish an identity of her own. Everyone has their own thing going on in this series, so it’s easy to feel invested in their fleshed-out failures and triumphs. 

It also feels authentically young; the music sounds like it was curated by an actual teenager, while the performances are raw and believable, not stilted and forced as it often is with teen series. The Summer I Turned Pretty is familiar, but comfortingly so. Watch this if you’re yearning to re-live the magical, heartbreaking feeling of being young and in love for the first time. 

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.

It’s always nice to be able to identify with a group of people on television, but it’s especially entertaining when they’re a hilarious bunch. That’s what the Jessops are, at once relatable and ridiculous, mundane and misfortune-prone. Anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and somehow their troubles worsen anytime they try to fix them or keep a straight face. It sounds strange, but in a TV landscape of bleak comedies and cynical dramas, it’s refreshing and validating to watch the average middle-class family struggle with the same problems we’re having, whether that’s figuring out a good career or trying to reignite the spark of a marriage. That we see all this unfold through the handheld lens of Sam, the youngest of the family, adds a layer of intimacy and charm that makes Here We Go an imminently comforting watch.

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.