100 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.

New Zealand comic Rose Matafeo directs, writes, and stars in this charming series about a regular woman who unwittingly spends the night with a film star. What was supposed to be a one-night stand hilariously evolves into something quite serious, with both leads learning to navigate the messy contours of modern love (think Notting Hill but with the roles reversed). 

With only six episodes per season, each running at less than 30 minutes, this British romantic comedy series is a sweet and easy gulp; you’ll find yourself alternating between sobs and chuckles throughout the inevitable binge. 

Mo is the semi-autobiographical tale of creator and star Mo Amer, whose tricky bouts with immigration, interfaith relationships, and growing up Arab-American all figure in the show. It’s a bittersweet series that brings the Palestinian and immigrant experience to the forefront—a tricky act that’s dealt with deft ease here. The series may be rife with social, cultural, and political issues, but there’s a big and heartfelt message at the center of it, and Amer tells it with genuine warmth and humor without ever being too self-serious and preachy, making Mo a breezy but meaningful watch.

Despite featuring a sharp script and solid performances, Party Down struggled to rake in views when it premiered in 2009, and sadly had to quit after just two seasons in. But since then, its small cast had gone on to become TV luminaries and its sardonic humor garnered newfound appreciation among the younger crowd. Even the show’s hustle culture premise, which was quite novel then, can be found in almost every show now. 

So it’s not a stretch to call Party Down a pioneering comedy. It’s simple and efficient, with each episode taking place at a different event, but it’s also deeply funny and keenly aware of the ironies and hypocrisies of the industry it’s a part of. People, myself included, were afraid that it might lose some of its underdog edge when it was rebooted in 2023, but rest assured, it remains as knife-sharp and hilarious as ever.  

Growing up in multiple foster homes to an absentee mother and imprisoned father, Paige Alexander (Kerry Washington) has had a tough life, but you wouldn’t know from the way she carries herself. She’s bright, cheerful, and constantly buoyed by her ambitious hopes for upward mobility. But there are cracks to her facade, and all the trauma she’s been keeping in spills over one day when her recently released father decides to move in with Paige and her teenage son.

Trust and abandonment issues start to emerge. Resentment bubbles over. Despite being a relationship therapist, Paige cannot stabilize her love life. A viewer might expect a self-serious dramedy at this point, but Unprisoned refuses to be pigeonholed in this category. Instead, the show extracts unexpected joy from its bleak premise. Paige and her father Edwin (the perfectly cast Delroy Lindo) riff off each other with sparkling dialogue. They deploy endless jokes sometimes to hide their pain, but mostly to connect in that unique father-daughter way. After years of mistrust and negligence, they’re understandably broken but not, as it turns out, irredeemable. Relatable, sympathetic, and big-hearted, Unprisoned is a welcome show about the unexpected ways we heal (and the detours we take along the way). 

Meeting a cute boy at the corner store, sneaking snacks into camp, leaving gifts at your crush’s desk… These are things that got lost for high schoolers who had to take online classes during the pandemic. Because of this, When I Fly Towards You is a timely blast from the past as schools get back on-site. This show captures the classroom experience before it went online, in such a cute and nostalgic manner. With moments that have to be ripped straight from someone’s high school diary, it’s easy to root for the sometimes cringy but mostly charming main characters in this series. The funny misunderstandings and assumptions between them feel all the more sweet as they try to make it up to each other.

With a wolf deity, wheat harvesting rituals, and farmtown folklore, it may seem that Spice and Wolf: Merchant Meets the Wise Wolf would be a traditional fantasy, filling in the genre void after Frieren’s finale. However, new viewers such as myself would be surprised that this series is known as the “Economics anime”, a reboot of the 2008 series that hasn’t met its ending yet. Of course, older fans might be disappointed at the lack of a season 3, but with its striking first episode, 2024’s Spice and Wolf reassures both old and new fans that there’s still an exciting adventure up ahead, with medieval markets, clashes with the church, and of course, the partnership between wolf girl Holo and merchant Lawrence. And this time, they promise to finally complete this adventure on screen.

As a spin-off of The Office, The Paper has the not-so-easy task of living up to the very high standards set by its beloved predecessor. Thankfully, The Paper succeeds by immediately finding its own voice. It’s still a workplace comedy bolstered by small-town shenanigans and heartwarming relationships, but The Paper is less cynical and more hopeful and sweet. If anything, it’s closer to Parks and Recreation than the other shows creator Greg Daniels has worked on. Watching The Paper, you’ll be hard-pressed not to root for The Truth-Teller’s ambitious editor-in-chief, glamorous managing editor, and equally kooky staff. Just as endearing (and hilarious) is the paper’s attempt to gain back relevancy in an age that’s all but forgotten the importance of journalism, especially grassroots and community journalism.

Why worry if your place is haunted, when it’s so difficult to even get one nowadays? These uncertain times make haunted houses somewhat passé, but Haunted Hotel proves there’s still some life left to the concept. It’s pretty funny. Rather than confronting their past, or uncovering unfinished business, the living owners of the Undervale Hotel are already desensitized to their fellow ghostly visitors, so the way Katherine wearily responds to the haunted shenanigans is hilarious. That being said, the jokes go beyond frustration for the hospitality business. It’s also a family business, with the living reckoning with their distance from the dead, especially between Katherine and her ghost brother Nathan. There are bits that feel a tad derivative, but Haunted Hotel provides a fairly pleasant stay, albeit with some demon summonings and exorcisms in between.

What can you expect from a series about a former girl group that comes together for a second chance at pop success? At the hands of co-executive producer Tina Fey (30 Rock, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt), it can only be razor-sharp and absurdly funny. 

Girls5Eva, both the show and the group it names, are rife with nostalgia and comic observations about the middle-age condition. Throwbacks to the early aughts, when Girls5Eva first found fame, highlight the silliness of the era, while commentaries about their 40-something lives give the show a realistic edge. The series also has a lot to say about the sexism that continues to haunt female pop stardom. 

Has the music industry learned from its mistakes and is it now better primed for Girls5Eva’s more honest and mature work? That’s the question the show tries to answer throughout its run, and it does so in endlessly entertaining and thoughtful ways.

Cunk on Earth is a five-episode mockumentary that takes the piss out of every single historical documentary you’ve seen. The host, Philomena Cunk (Diane Morgan), asks actual experts stupid but funny questions about world history, which will often leave them stunned and speechless. 

That’s part of where the brilliance of this show lies really—in the reaction of the intellectuals who take Cunk’s questions seriously without ever breaking. A much bigger part relies on Morgan’s deft impression of a daft host. It’s all idiotic good fun, and it’s a breeze to binge if you’re looking for something lighthearted to put on the screen.

From Sweet Tooth to The Last of Us, there’s no shortage nowadays of post-pandemic shows speculating about a virus-stricken and human-deficient world. But back in 2015, those were few and far between, making The Last Man on Earth a uniquely weird dramedy that was as existential as it was entertaining. 

But even as its novelty wore off over the years, The Last Man on Earth stands the test of time thanks to its deft balance of sadness and silliness. You could be laughing about a poop joke one moment and ruminating about the purpose of life the next—and it never feels jarring. The ensemble cast is also a notable strength of the show, with each cast member becoming more sympathetic and fleshed out every season. Even the latest additions to the crew, like Kristen Wiig’s Pamela, become fast favorites. 

If you’re looking for quick laughs, you can put this show on, but expect some heartache in between as well.

With the worldwide pandemic, there were less and less opportunities for a potential meet-cute when everyone was encouraged to stay home. At the Moment finds those rare moments where love was still able to bloom. It plays with so many of the familiar cheesy romantic tropes, but always with a twist, never playing the tropes straight out. Being an anthology, it doesn’t stick with one couple, so it doesn’t develop really in-depth dynamics, but each episode feels self-contained yet part and parcel of the quarantine experience. Ultimately, At the Moment feels like a little sweet treat for romance fans after a long period of self-isolation.

Hitmen are just cool. But rather than bring us the same fists and bullets that we usually see with these killers, Sakamoto of Sakamoto Days does his best to keep to his normal humdrum life, rather than jump back into the bloodshed. It’s an interesting twist to the gangster thriller. Rather than try to surpass any choreographed fights, or bring up the angst by killing everyone dear, the series humorously contrasts the over-the-top drama these assassins have over the straightforward ordinary life, which, as Shin realizes, is actually great. Sakamoto Days celebrates ordinary life as something worth protecting, and it’s pretty fun to see the crew do so.

A more cynical viewer might be put off by the pity party that happens in the first hour of When Live Gives You Tangerines (although as far as K-dramas go, this one is pretty mild). There is plenty of crying, especially by the child actors who seem forced to do the act. But it’s worth sitting through; the events that follow are lovely and moving. Set in the countryside of post-war South Korea, the series follows a young couple as they elope and raise a family with little means. It gets cheesy at times but leads IU and Park Bo-gum nail their characters to the ground, always keeping them relatable, likable, and true to times. The immersive production design and the clever time jumps pull you in and keep you longing for the next episode.

Young Sherlock isn’t quite accurate to the Andrew Lane book series or the original works from Arthur Conan Doyle. Here, the detective in question is college aged, rather than 14 or 60, a choice made surely to introduce a new ensemble of fresh-faced talent. And unlike its source material, there’s a larger mystery behind each episode’s case. We would say that these changes make the story better fit for television– Holmes at his unpolished youth has more freedom to mess up, so it certainly allows the cast and crew to have much more fun. And while some decisions feel distinctly out of time, Young Sherlock would be enjoyable enough for this generation.

This Fool is a half-hour, 10-part series following Julio Lopez (played by co-creator Chris Estrada) a self-proclaimed “punk-ass bitch” and pushover who’s still in the process of learning to stand up for himself. Julio works for a gang rehab center called Hugs Not Thugs, where he also helps his cousin Luis (Frankie Quiñones) get back on his feet. It’s equal parts silly and sweet, but it also reflects the socio-political problems that tend to pervade Julio and Luis’ Southern LA community. References to violence and inequality are as present as they’ll be in stories like these, but they’re injected here with surreal humor, making it an easygoing but meaningful watch. 

What this Dr. Seuss adaptation might lack in originality, it makes up for by committing to the bit: visual gags aplenty, colorful art direction, and ridiculous situations ramping up into full set pieces. But beyond the show’s playfulness is a story about families just trying to make things work and people who don’t get along (with the second season even touching on anti-war themes)—which should all prove insightful enough for adults and for slightly older kids. And with simple animation that has clear effort put into it, Green Eggs and Ham’s unfortunately short run never comes off as a cheap cash grab.

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.

As classic children’s TV done in the same style as The Muppets, this reboot of Jim Henson’s Fraggle Rock manages to thread together wacky adventures, an environmental message, lots of music, and light satire about human behavior in less-than-30-minute chunks. This show is firmly for kids first, with the carefree, somewhat naive subterranean Fraggles meant to be childlike in nature as they learn how to accept others’ differences and their own complicated feelings through kindness and community. But parents who are at all interested in colorful variety shows should still find lots to enjoy, be it in the intricate craft of puppetry across various species of creatures, or in the genuinely catchy songs that range from innocent earworms to beautifully composed anthems straight out of the musical theater tradition.

There’s a classic male character trope of stoic guys that don’t seem to be fazed by anything. Play It Cool, Guys has an ensemble cast of four of these cool characters, but they aren’t quite put together as others might think. While on the outside, they seemingly handle setbacks easily, the show’s short vignettes and corresponding internal monologues reveal their relatable day-to-day clumsiness. The contrast makes these characters feel so endearing, more so as they get to know each other. As the show progresses with their friendship, the series feels like kind reassurance for all clumsy people out there.

Viewers are familiar with cuisines around the world such as the food from France, Italy and Japan, but now it’s Filipino cuisine that takes the spotlight. Replacing Chef Chico portrays different Filipino dishes in each of its eight episodes, but these meals are great side dishes to sous chef Ella’s journey in managing the Hain fine dining restaurant. Alongside this journey of self-discovery comes heartwarming stories from the Hain restaurant’s customers, the receptionist’s cheeky commentary, and sweet tracks from Leanne & Naara. They all mix into a lighthearted, if a tad bit familiar, cooking drama series, and it does so with the breezy and calm attitude of lead character sous chef Ella.

What does corporate heaven, the Dark Ages, the Oregon Trail, and a post-apocalyptic world have in common? Nothing, except that they are all settings for each season of Miracle Workers. The eccentric comedy anthology series plays out somewhat like a set of extended Saturday Night Live skits, with one of its youngest writers Simon Rich running the show, but the absurd humor works as Rich juxtaposes today’s modern behavior in these novel settings each season. It’s quirky and light on its feet, focusing on silly situations, but through these short episodes, Miracle Workers do create miracles in the way Daniel Radcliffe, Steve Buscemi, and Geraldine Viswanathan’s characters resolve to make a meaningful change, despite terrible circumstances. It’s not as in-depth and profound as The Good Place, but it’s funny and surprisingly witty, dealing with ideas about what’s good and how to get the will to do it.

With the stakes involved in plenty of cases, legal dramas tend to be more serious and dramatic. However, sometimes, ludicrous events can happen in these courts, and they have, in real life. Maamla Legal Hai may not be 100% factual, but the way they mix and match real life legal headlines gets into unexpected, hilarious ways, poking fun at how ridiculous the Indian legal system can be. It might shy away from the serious cases, but Maamla Legal Hai smartly depicts the legal ecosystem, from the wily higher ups, to the idealistic newcomers, with unique charm and witty humor.

In Reboot, a famous sitcom from the early 2000s is revived for a modern audience. While members of the cast attempt to rekindle their fame, the writers behind the show stir up endless debates about what constitutes “funny” in an age of political correctness. The hijinks and meta-humor that arise from this are admirable, but what really makes Reboot tick is its obvious love for the sitcom format. Underneath all the jokes is a commitment to TV comedies; like the most typical of them, Reboot switches from laugh-out-loud hilarity to tender moments of joy and sorrow. The only difference is that Reboot benefits from being self-aware—it’s unafraid to make fun of itself and all the people and shows that came before it. 

Based on a novel, A Perfect Story feels like a classic, straightforward romcom series. All of the elements are familiar to fans of the genre – running away from a wedding, bar meet-cutes, and fake relationships – but there’s a certain charm whenever these familiar elements show up. The show alternates between the timelines of Margot and David, taking its sweet time in the first episode before their timelines merge. And when they catch each other’s eye, it’s easy to root for these well-meaning characters looking for their match. While the story could be easily condensed into a film, the length allows the main duo to delve into a slowburn, friends-to-lovers romance.

After the success of the 2017 series Strong Woman Do Bong-soon, it makes sense to try to recreate the same magic through a spin-off. Strong Girl Nam-soon has plenty of the same elements that made the original a success – the wacky humor, the love triangle with a cop and a CEO male leads, crimes to solve, and of course, the girl with superpowered strength. However, unlike the romcom approach of the original series, this spin-off is more of a family drama, as the titular strong girl gets lost in Mongolia at a young age – leading to the split of her parents, and the focus on that family dynamic. It still is able to balance the crime element too, with the family’s vigilantism. While the humor can sometimes feel forced, Strong Girl Nam-soon keeps what’s great with the original, but rewrites its plot points to have a more natural and understandable background.

Modern dating can seem so frustrating, because it feels like there’s a set of nebulous, unwritten rules behind it, and every single player in the game has different levels of awareness and variations to each rule. Turn to Me Mukai-kun depicts this through the titular office worker, who happens to be out of the dating scene for ten years. As he tries to go back into the dating market, he’s well-meaning, but totally ignorant, so he stumbles at certain moments in his quest to cease his loneliness. It’s very relatable, and Eiji Akaso’s doe-eyed cluelessness makes Mukai seem more endearing than foolish. While there are certain moments that falter, and certain relationships that lack a spark, Turn to Me Mukai-kun is a lighthearted yet unpredictable dorama that might charm you into binge-watching the whole series.

From Me to You: Kimi ni Todoke is a high school romance drama. It’s sweet, it’s wholesome, and it’s comfortingly familiar. It leans more on its romance than its comedy. It doesn’t have high stakes fantasy or action-packed battles, but it captures the high school experience in such a lovely way. Of course, the show would likely reach its romantic happy ending, but what makes the show compelling isn’t just the thrill of connecting with a crush– it’s the inspiration for Sawako to open up, and enable her to connect and have friends. The live action adaptation may not fully capture everything from the original and it speeds through the plot, but it retains the parts that make it work, even for viewers totally unfamiliar with the story.

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.

Reading the synopsis of this ten-episode comedy series might put you off at first. It follows four male friends who navigate a world where women now seem to have the upper hand, or at least that’s what it looks like from their point of view. Thankfully, that view is increasingly challenged and sometimes even deconstructed throughout the show’s run. Their female partners and counterparts flip the coin to reveal the other side of whatever they’re going through, so without ever feeling too preachy, Alpha Males presents the Battle of the Sexes in a surprisingly fair, insightful, and lighthearted way.

Raunchy without being too offensive (for the most part), Alpha Males is proof that you can still tackle sensitive topics without sacrificing comic fun and good humor.

With its slice-of-life approach, A Sign of Affection immediately tugs at the heartstrings with its sweet romance between a deaf university student and a multilingual traveller from manga duo Suu Morishita. The anime adaptation sees the world in Yuki’s eyes, with delicately lined shapes and pink-tinted watercolor paired with Sumire Morohoshi’s sweet voice, and it’s lovely to see the unjaded, kind way she interprets the world. The series does have some of the familiar romance tropes, like love triangles, wingman friends, and the glowy, bokeh lighting, but it’s sort of the point in this charming show. A Sign of Affection likens the careful, hesitant way of falling in love with the way Yuki interacts with the world, or rather, the reactions abled people have to her disability.

As one grows older, only then do they realize the benefits of youth. It’s all there in the title, but unlike other transformation stories where the protagonist reincarnates into a different, younger persona, Grandpa and Grandma Turn Young Again is much more mundane as they turn into their younger selves, but still keep to their calm, small town suburban lifestyle. It’s less exuberant than other stories– there’s no mystery to solve, no conspiracy to uncover– but it’s just so funny to see everyone around them react to the youth they attained, like make them enter their district’s sports team. But as the show progresses, and they continue their day-to-day lives, the show reveals itself as the celebration of the simple, small town life that once wasn’t a guarantee due to the war, the good life that many forgo for the city.

Honestly, it’s a bit insulting to diminish a romance fan’s love for the genre simply due to good looks of the actors, at least in the first episode of Boyfriend on Demand. It does happen, for sure. There’s no doubt that it’s also the draw of this particular show– that is, seeing Jisoo from Blackpink team up with some of the most gorgeous actors currently working in the Korean drama industry, for her character’s virtual simulations. However, a little bit of patience, and Boyfriend on Demand goes beyond the looks, and into her character. As Jisoo’s Seo Mi-rae takes a spin on each trope, the show plays with each specific fantasy and figures out why a fan might indulge in them. Episode 3, in particular, delves into why Mi-rae gets sucked into the game, and the avoidance she relies on to protect herself from pain. Boyfriend on Demand sometimes struggles to hit the right tone (see above) and it hesitates to get in-depth into wider struggles, but ultimately it knows its own heart and delivers lighthearted entertainment.

When long-term couple Melissa (Cecily Strong) and Josh (Keegan-Michael Key) sign up for a backpacking retreat to save their failing relationship, they find themselves instead in the magical town of Schmigadoon, where life is a vibrant, zany, 1940s musical and everyone—from the mayor to the carnie—sings their heart out. It’s all fun and games until Melissa and Josh learn they cannot leave Schmigadoon until they find true love. Shocked to know that they aren’t each other’s one true pair, they then journey to find the people they’re meant to be with before it’s too late. 

From its borrowed Broadway casting (present are Kristin Chenoweth and Ariana DeBose) down to its perfectly choreographed performances, Schmigadoon! is a clear ode to musical theater, and its unabashed appreciation for the genre is truly hard to resist. Even the most musically averse will find something to love in the show. If the theatrics and eye-popping visuals don’t do it for you, then stay for the breezy six-episode run, the great lead chemistry, and the wry, exacting humor. 

Based on the 1992 classic of the same name, A League of Their Own tells the story of the Rockford Peaches—how the women’s baseball team came to be, who its eccentric members are, and what life was like in wartime America, especially for driven women with unconventional goals.

More than a remake, 2022’s A League of Their Own actually updates the premise to be more conscious of sexuality and race, making it feel very modern and up-to-date despite its period setting. It’s a funny and enlightening show with some anachronistic tendencies here and there (expect non-1940s pop music to play), which might rebuff historical purists but will likely charm everyone else.

Mexico City, 1970. Héctor Belascoarán leaves his stable office job and beautiful (but unhappy) marriage to pursue the adrenaline-filled life of a private detective. The police are useless, Héctor points out, not to mention corrupt and often in on the crime, so it’s up to him to tackle the many unsolved cases that haunt the city he loves.

Because he thinks himself a hero, Héctor narrates each episode in that nostalgic noir way, but the catch is that he is, in fact, no slick savior. Hector is still a rookie, prone to blunders and miscalculations, but his perseverance saves the day. In this way Belascoarán, PI is both a tribute and a sendup of detective films of yore; it references the genre in style and substance, but it isn’t above joking about it either. It’s proof that you can challenge viewers without sacrificing the laughs, and vice versa.

Based on the bestselling book of the same name, Everything I Know About Love follows four roommates fresh out of college making a name for themselves in London, 2012. It’s ridiculous how much of the early 2010s this show gets right, from the heavy eyeliner and skinny jeans to the girlboss mindset and the nascent social media boom. The atmosphere alone is addictively nostalgic, but the real draw of the series is the girls themselves, especially lifelong best friends Maggie (Emma Appleton) and Birdy (Bel Powley). 

It’s refreshing to watch their friendship take center stage and be fleshed out and explored this much. Their dalliances are exciting, sure, but they’re also secondary to the relationship at the core of this show. In the end, this is all about bestfriendship—its thrilling highs and its depressing lows, its incomparable joy and tendency for toxicity. It’s a blast to watch, especially in the company of your friends.

Compared to all the meaty and daring shows coming out right now, Primo is relatively lighthearted fare. Its easygoing, PG humor hews closer to network rather than cable television, but the series isn’t without its merits. 

Primo is candid and charming as it tackles the realities of school, family, and work. It takes a somewhat progressive approach as it centers on a Latino family, occasionally and importantly bringing up issues of class and race, but it also feels comfortingly familiar. It follows the classic sitcom formula of everyone getting along before the credits roll all while adding its own modern and multicultural twist to it. 

If you ever longed for an old-school sitcom that keeps up with the times, then this just might be what you’re looking for. 

It’s easy to see With Love and mistake it for a Hallmark special; both are filled with pretty people who spend the holidays looking for love. But where Hallmark tends to be simple and sappy, With Love is refreshingly complex and earnest. The characters, mostly Latino and queer, rarely sugarcoat their problems and desires, even though each episode ends on a relatively sweet note. 

In a joyous move, every one of them takes place during a different holiday too—Christmas, New Year, Valentine’s, Día de los Muertos. And every time, we delve deeper into the lives of our leads and witness the ways they take on universal problems with modern and diverse approaches. It’s breezy and at times raunchy, making it a fun companion for any holiday.

Glamorous could easily fit in the 2000s-era boom of workplace romantic comedies. Like Ugly Betty and The Bold Type before it, it follows a group of fashionable twenty-somethings hoping to climb the corporate ladder with their ideals intact, all while trying to impress their diva of a boss, who guides them with a sparkling iron first. But Glamorous is also very much of its time. Instead of a white heterosexual woman, a queer person of color leads the show. Marco is a new hire in a legacy business, and his youthful presence and acumen inspire the company to take bigger risks in capturing the Gen Z market. 

Interestingly, Glamorous skips a lot of tropes that used to be par for the course in queer narratives—in this post-Glee world, gay people are no longer anomalies, so you won’t find a lot of the usual coming out and fitting in stories here. This, in turn, leaves a lot of room for the show to tackle newer issues, like how the gay community is painfully divided between masculine and feminine types (Marco’s frequent nemesis is Chad who, while openly gay, is hypermasculine and disapproving of Marco’s “Yas Queen energy”), or how corporations capitalize on queer markets (one of the best episodes in the series hilariously explores the icky gray area corporations enter whenever they launch pride campaigns). It’s easy to dismiss Glamorous as fluff, but it’s actually much smarter and more relevant than it seems.

Simple yet captivating, Skip and Loafer is a slice-of-life anime with a refreshing approach to the high school experience. While the anime genre is mostly known for its bright, high-saturated colors and action-filled, fantastical plots, this show celebrates the ordinary, with its pastel toned design, sweet humor, and clean animation. The series is centered around the main duo Mitsumi and Sosuke, but it never skimps on their friendships with their group. In fact, despite the classmates’ different backgrounds, the show’s thoughtful introductions make it easy to see why they would all care for each other, even as we get to know their insecurities. Skip and Loafer feels like a hug from the childhood best friend you had (or the one that you wished you had) – the one who you hung out with after school, the one who inspired you, and the one that changed your life for the better. Every episode is just full of pure, simple joy.

For a series designed to keep young children still for 10 to 12-minute chunks, Dew Drop Diaries is refreshingly thoughtful—not to mention better-crafted than other things you could be showing kids of the same age bracket. Despite the relative simplicity of the show’s animation (and certain elements that repeat in every episode), this is a dynamically directed series with a solid core group of voice actors who manage to be sweet without becoming irritating or patronizing. To be clear, this isn’t an educational show made to lecture young viewers, but a fun, light family fantasy that makes the act of helping with everyday tasks seem like an adventure and an opportunity for creativity. Dew Drop Diaries never tries to force itself to be cool, which is exactly what makes it cool.

Many fantasy K-dramas stick to the serious side, but Destined with You feels more lighthearted as it starts off with a light jab at the handsome grim reaper trope with SF9’s Rowoon. The show honors many of modern-day fated love tropes, and sometimes makes fun of it, but the series does it in a way that’s grounded in its characters and setting. The show first introduces the main duo as individual people, specifically, characters working with and for the public at large. Because of their jobs, Destined with You acknowledges the modern-day systems we use to deal with day-to-day injustices, but also provides the fantasy of having a second recourse in witchcraft. With the show’s pairing, there’s a hope that one way or another, the two could meet halfway.

Misfortune (Mala fortuna) is a telenovela that doesn’t shy away from the genre’s goofy qualities. It’s predictable and a little bit ridiculous, but like most enjoyable soap operas, it knows how to draw you in and keep you invested in all the drama. Our protagonists are two peas in a pod: Julio and Victoria, ordinary people who seduce their way into scamming the ultra-rich family known as the Urquizas. Of course, their feelings (both for the family and for each other) get in the way of their schemes, but the resulting entanglement makes for a sexy and hilarious watch. 

Most cop shows are set on land, but Han River Police is the rare police procedural set by the river. The K-drama takes a more action-comedy approach, with the comedy depending on the standard banter between cops. The unique setting presents new action sequences aside from regular brawls, with its ship accidents, evacuations, and underwater training scenes. However, while the action is fresh, and the team dynamics keep the show from being too serious, its stereotypical villains, as well as certain cops’ machismo, keeps the show from being totally unique. Han River Police still proves to be an entertaining watch, even if its stakes are familiar.

Most media that plays on our hyper-usage of technology has a decidedly scary bent: think “screen-life” thrillers like Unfriended, Host, and Searching. But Still Up — which is not strictly a screen-life show, but relies heavily on FaceTime as a storytelling device — uses similar means for a romantic comedy end. Danny (Craig Roberts) and Lisa (Antonia Thomas) are friends with the same problem: they can’t sleep. For that reason, the show — the first three episodes watched for review, at least — takes place entirely at night. If that wasn’t enough of a constraint, Danny is also agoraphobic, so all of his scenes are set in his apartment (hence why the duo communicate through their phones).

It’s to Still Up’s credit that these limits on its setting don’t give us a sense of claustrophobia. The performances gel the conceits together, and the inventive writing makes something technically constrained feel paradoxically expansive by recognizing that strange spike of clarity and introspective energy that comes when the world gets quiet. Though some of its comedy skews a little too kooky in places, initial romantic rumblings build assuredly to suggest that one nocturnal revelation waiting to be had is that these two night owls might actually be each other’s soulmates hiding in plain sight.

Netflix released yet another coming-of-age show, and this time it’s a lovely coastal vacation set in the Polish seaside. Absolutely Beginners feels familiar, as the quirky protagonists set out to make a short film, they also get into a trio with someone living in the area. It’s not quite a love triangle though, even if the series is marked as romance, and even with its limited runtime, it’s dedicated to building up the friendship between the three. And this friendship is portrayed in such a tender and sweet way that respects both their unique dynamic and their individual paths.

Ensemble romance stories are great for exploring different aspects of relationships, but this time, Taiwanese comedy drama Let’s Talk About CHU tackles sexual relationships. Centered on the Chu family, each of the members struggle in that aspect of their relationships– the parents are at the brink of divorce because of it, Ai prioritizes pleasure but not connection, Yu-sen is taken for granted because of it, and Wei struggles with the expectations of having children. It’s refreshing to see the show tackle these issues, which, until recently, has been mostly taboo to talk about, but it also happens to be direct, honest, and forthcoming about them in such a relatable way. While the show does struggle to balance the plotlines, Let’s Talk About CHU is a multi-generational conversation that’s important to have.

When life gives you heartbreak, sometimes the grief can push you to do stupid things, but in The Accidental Influencer, it becomes a surprise social media sensation that changes the life of Red Ho. Based on the real life story of Taiwanese blogger Jhai Nyu Siao Hong, The Accidental Influencer isn’t afraid to get goofy with the story, turning a break-up that was devastating at the time, to something silly to laugh at, especially with Red Ho’s over-the-top imagination. While the show is a familiar story, it’s certainly a relatable one, and it’s executed in a fresh, if a bit ludicrous, way that makes it a decent pick. If, like Red, you happen to break up just before an important occasion (like this Valentine’s day), then The Accidental Influencer might be the show to watch to soothe your woes.

Children’s television isn’t likely going to be controversial, daring, or particularly groundbreaking, but certain shows acknowledge that they can impact the way their audience views the world. Luz: The Light of the Heart has a familiar Disney-esque plot of a child going on an adventure to learn more about her roots, but through that basic formula, the first Brazilian Netflix kid series takes the opportunity to respectfully portray the indigenous Kaingang community in their plot, who takes care of and is more knowledgeable about the natural land, and whose teachings may be acknowledged if Luz, potential land heiress, manages to find out the truth. There are some of the standard childish shenanigans, like privileged boarding school drama that occurs when Luz enters the school, but overall, Luz: The Light of the Heart isn’t a bad choice if you’re looking for something to watch with children.

Bookie’s very premise is funny: it follows old-school bookmakers Danny (Sebastian Maniscalco) and Ray (Omar Dorsey) as they manage bets via phone calls and actual visits to their clients’ (swanky) whereabouts. They have to do all this the hard way because, in Los Angeles, gambling has yet to be legalized, so the sneaking around makes for an entertaining watch. In true sitcom fashion, their increasing bad luck equals more zany misadventures, but there’s a grimness and darkness to it too as Bookie explores the struggles of Danny and Ray’s paycheck-to-paycheck living. They feel like real people, people you can bet on to have a good time.

White creators handling African stories rarely turn out well, so thankfully, Disney decided to collaborate with pan-African Kugali Studio for their newest series Iwájú. This collaboration, instead of working alone, proves to be fruitful, as Iwájú dreams up of a futuristic world that is distinctly Nigerian, that still captures the real inequalities but also unique art styles and some genuine heart through its relatable characters. The series still does go through its recycled formula, with the familiar precocious pre-teen protagonist and their cute animal sidekick, but to Disney’s credit, it’s great to see them collaborate with, rather than shut down, smaller international studios, even ones that once wanted to “kick Disney’s arse” (Kugali’s words, not mine).

For the unfamiliar, isekai is the fantasy subgenre where a character is transported into a different world. Usually, this is just one transfer, with an everyday character being transferred to a more fantastical world. Doctor Elise isn’t just a reverse isekai– with a surgeon transported to medieval royalty– it also happens to be a double isekai– the titular doctor was initially royalty in the same country before her stint as a medical doctor. While we don’t get to see Elise’s growth as a surgeon, it’s refreshing to see an isekai anime celebrate the simple privileges of ordinary modern life, namely the medical knowledge that we take for granted, and the lack of absolute power that corrupts most characters. The ridiculously successful surgeries might be the ludicrous fantasy that drives Doctor Elise, but it’s lovely to see knowledge and power used for the common good, rather than the superiority complex common in isekaied protagonists.

A few minutes in, it’s easy to dismiss The Flatshare as typical romcom fare. It’s brimming with cliches and cutesy flairs, plus the premise sounds like a contrived way to set up a “Will they or won’t they?” romance. But as it goes along, The Flatshare carves depths to its seemingly simple story. The timeshare aspect speaks to the growing housing insecurity in the UK, where even a materialistic girl like Tiffany is pushed to share a flat. Meanwhile, her disturbing relationship with her ex is an accurate portrayal of how innocuous abuse can seem to outsiders. And of course, there is the unjust incarceration of Leon’s brother, which the show sensitively handles. The Flatshare has a darkness to it that can slip away if you focus too much on its romcom sheen, but if you can appreciate both, then the show comes as a welcome surprise, one that’s equal parts serious and sweet.

Samantha Who isn’t revolutionary TV, and if you’re that kind of viewer, you’ll find many narrative holes to poke in the pilot alone. But Samantha Who stands the test of time: years after it first premiered in 2007, it’s still funny and endearing, all thanks to a deceptively smart script and an incredible cast. Apart from Applegate, there’s a pre-Bridesmaids Melissa McCarthy, and a pre-Hacks Jean Smart, all of whom delight in every single scene they’re in. The other characters and aspects of the show may not impress as much, but the show is like one of those fluffy crepe cakes. A single layer can feel tasteless and unsatisfactory, but taken as a whole, it’s blissfully delicious.