The 45 Saddest TV Shows to Watch Now

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

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

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

At first glance, Monster doesn’t seem like the typical anime of the 2000s. With its muted colors, realistic action, and Eastern European setting, it seemed like a more subdued series compared to other thrillers. But because it feels so realistic, Monster is one of the most thrilling psychological series that happens to tackle the value of a human life, as the compassionate doctor Kenzo Tenma grapples with the weight of having saved a boy who grows up into a manipulative psychopath. Mangaka Naoki Urasawa and showrunner Masayuki Kojima directly challenges their respective philosophies through excellently paced investigations, well-developed characters, and the thorough examination of the different ways humanity has failed each other, and it’s downright beautiful to see how this anime adapts Urasawa’s complex, sophisticated story so faithfully.

The author of the much-loved New York Times bestseller, Sally Rooney, is among the writers of this TV dramatisation, directed by Irish compatriot and indie director Lenny Abrahamson. Abrahamson, who also gave us Frank and the film adaptation of Emma Donoghue’s Room, builds on Rooney’s fantastic source material and an evocative soundtrack to create an intense, atmospheric drama about the vitality and violence of young love.

Initially set in rural Ireland, Normal People follows Marianne Sheridan (Daisy Edgar-Jones) and Connell Waldron (Paul Mescal) as they are figuring out themselves, their connection, and impending adulthood. And that is all I am going to say at this point, because I feel that it is best to know as little as possible going in.

Every detail of every scene feels studied, laying bare the raw emotion of the two main characters. The dialogue is sharp and funny. The acting is flawless. One thing is certain, if you like modern drama that is as much about how and what is said as about what is actually happening, you will have to watch Normal People!

It may have never reached the heights of popularity that other prestige antihero dramas of its time did, but The Americans stayed true to itself for six incredibly consistent seasons. In the vein of “real” spy shows and films, it’s much more deliberately paced, with the bulk of the drama taking place not through shootouts or technical wizardry but through the gradually fraying relationships between characters and their respective beliefs. As the Cold War stretches on for Philip and Elizabeth Jennings (played by real-life couple Matthew Rhys and Keri Russell), the former begins to feel increasingly drained by all the violence he’s committed, wishing for a mundane American life; while the latter maintains a steely dedication to her mission, which also puts her loved ones in harm’s way.

Throughout The Americans’ run, it creates a stunningly detailed tapestry of both Soviets and Americans agents giving themselves over to causes that they still don’t fully understand. But perhaps even more so than a story of loyalty to one’s nation, it becomes a story about the constant demands of marriage and of making connections in a dangerous world despite the risk of betrayal. It never announces its themes loudly, but by the end the weight of these characters’ isolation and disillusionment is unlike anything else you could experience on TV.

In the dark comedy This Is Going to Hurt, Ben Whishaw stars as junior doctor Adam, who’s barely keeping it together in the understaffed and under-equipped ob-gyn ward of Britain’s NHS hospital. We see, often in sad and graphic detail, what goes on in a public hospital and the heavy toll this takes on both the patients’ and medical staff’s personal lives. It’s hard to look away, especially when Adam addresses us in the first person.

Even more upsetting? The miniseries is based on a memoir. Former medical trainee Adam Kay wrote a best-selling book detailing his horrific time at the NHS, and now he serves as executive producer and writer of the series.

Industry has all the markings of an HBO show: an abundance of sex, drugs, alcohol, and sure enough, an inextinguishable affinity for the F word. Like Succession, The Sopranos, and even Euphoria before it, it revels in its freedom to explore the nitty-grittiest parts of its subject matter and put its gruesome findings on full display. But instead of capitalism, organized crime, or teenhood, Industry incisively takes on hustle culture.

Through the eyes of four new hires at a premier investment bank in London, we see the dangerous means people put themselves through in order to achieve some semblance of respect, recognition, or at the very least stability. Bullying is rampant, hazing is normalized, competition is encouraged, and blind loyalty is rewarded. The characters are so flawed and damaged, you’ll often find yourself rooting for their demise. But you’ll also be glued to their arcs and storylines. Will they break the cycle of abuse or continue it? Can they actually change the system from within or does that remain a utopian dream? These questions are hardly charming, but Industry has a way of making them engaging, exciting even. It fully inhabits the meanness you can and should only enjoy behind the safety of a TV screen.

Based on true events, Black Bird follows James Keene (Taron Egerton), a narcotics dealer sentenced to ten years in jail. He makes a deal with the authorities to reduce his sentence, but in return, James has to befriend their deadliest convict—a child murderer played by the excellently terrifying Paul Walter Hauser—and extract a confession out of him before it’s too late.

If you’re a fan of gripping crime thrillers, anti-heroes, star-studded shows, and watching British actors do a perfect American accent, then Black Bird is right up your alley. The miniseries is also an excellent showcase of topnotch performances; Egerton and Hauser bring the house down in their excellently staged two-handers, Greg Kinnear is reliably sturdy as the determined detective, and Ray Liotta in one of his final roles is devastating as an ailing father. 

All four episodes of Adolescence are shot in a singular, shocking take. The camera takes us along as Jamie Miller (an outstanding Owen Cooper) is arrested for suspected murder. In one episode we follow Jamie and his confused father (co-creator and writer Stephen Graham), in another we follow DI Luke Bascombe (Ashley Walters). And in one particularly head-spinning episode, we follow Jamie and his psychiatrist Briony (Erin Doherty) as they both try to get in each other’s heads. The series may seem like a straightforward murder mystery at first. Like Apple TV+’s Defending Jacob, it asks, did young Jamie do it? Will his parents believe him? Will we? But those questions are almost secondary to what the show really gets at. It takes on violent misogyny, a growing trend among the Andrew Tate-influenced youth. It takes on parental guilt, grief, and moral responsibility. It’s a hefty piece of work, but the naturalism of the script and the intimacy of the single-takes makes it feel terrifyingly close to home.

Five Days at Memorial recalls the real and horrifying events that went on at a New Orleans hospital during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Over the course of five days, the caregivers in charge try their best to evacuate thousands of people from the building, but heavy floods, power outages, intense heat, and a sorry lack of planning result in some heartbreaking decisions about the fate of their patients.

The ongoing series is a gut-wrenching and at times excruciating watch, adeptly directed by John Ridley (American Crime) and absorbingly moored by a cast that includes Vera Farmiga (Conjuring)—by now an expert at exhibiting pure horror—and Cherry Jones (Succession).

From the mastermind behind Netflix’s Kingdom, Kim Eun-Hee’s Signal is an exhilarating series that seamlessly weaves together gripping crime thriller elements with an intriguing touch of supernatural. With its unique premise of a mysterious walkie-talkie that connects the past and the present, the show follows a team of detectives from different eras as they collaborate to solve cold cases and unravel the secrets behind unsolved crimes. The superb writing and exceptional performances by the cast, including Lee Je-hoon, Kim Hye-soo, and Cho Jin-Woong, have made Signal a major hit among K-Drama fans. 

Baby Reindeer is a tough watch, starting out with out of kilter comedy that eventually and unrelentingly reveals its darker and darker sides. But not only was this a hard show to watch, this story is genuinely difficult to tell, because of how entangled all the threads of Donny’s trauma gets– it’s not a straightforward story about going through one traumatic incident and then immediately moving to logical forms of healing. It’s about one traumatic incident keeping him stuck and leaving him and his loved ones vulnerable to even more abuse. It’s a terrifying situation. And it’s terribly, terribly honest.

As is only appropriate for a limited series about such a horrific period in human history, The Underground Railroad isn’t meant to be easy viewing. Thanks to uncompromising direction from Barry Jenkins (the director of the Best Picture Oscar winner Moonlight) and unforgettable images from cinematographer James Laxton, this approaches a level of confrontational storytelling that almost seems inappropriate for the comforts of television. But it’s essential viewing nonetheless, and Jenkins makes sure to transform this into a much stranger, more thought-provoking tale beyond the brutality of its first episode.

The Underground Railroad is speculative fiction: instead of being a historical account of the real-life network of routes to help free African-American slaves, it imagines a literal train that swiftly transports Cora (a powerful Thuso Mbedu) from one dystopian vision of white America to another. With every new setting, Jenkins doesn’t just talk about slavery; he talks about how America talks about slavery, and how the stories of these Black slaves are constantly reappropriated by white supremacists.

A black comedy with an aggressively bleak view of its own protagonist, this story of a celebrity’s life falling apart starts off funny and gradually becomes more and more difficult to watch. As the titular character scrambles to keep each part of her life afloat, her sense of self begins to fracture as well—emphasizing how our lives are defined by the responsibilities we have over others and ourselves. Billie Piper is extraordinary in the lead role, spiraling further down in ways that are truly haunting, and Leila Farzad balances her out perfectly as Suzie’s unapologetic, type A manager.

If the show’s first season is impressive enough with its unpredictable mix of styles and stern drama, season two—which only consists of three episodes—ratchets up the tension even more, playing out like an extended anxiety attack backstage at a reality show. Think Uncut Gems but with lots of dancing. For the boldness of its direction alone, I Hate Suzie doesn’t serve to just fly under the radar.

Though it sets itself up as a mystery series, the tense and dramatically heavy Save Me avoids easy questions and focuses instead on how a crisis can affect different members of a community in equally painful ways. The show isn’t immune from random coincidences and contrivances, but even these little twists in the plot point force us to reevaluate how we think about these characters from moment to moment. This group of people that comes together when a teenage girl disappears isn’t made up of the most heroic individuals; in fact, it becomes difficult to root for some of the most prominent characters due to sins that they’re still trying to atone for.

This is what elevates Save Me above other mystery/thriller dramas. And giving depth and dignity to these working class people are a brilliant ensemble full of great performances: lead star and creator Lennie James, Suranne Jones, Stephen Graham, Lesley Manville, and season two addition Olive Gray—whose turn as a traumatized victim of human trafficking feels almost too real.

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

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

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

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

Warning: this workplace series takes everything you hate about corporate life and mirrors it back to you with alarming clarity. It takes place in a morally corrupt multinational called Hampton DeVille, and we mostly follow “junior executives in training” Matt and Jake in their daily goings-on in the office. Sometimes, they’re able to cope by sneaking a nap here or making watercooler jokes there—absurd imaginings and occasional protests also help allay their boredom—but for the most part, they’ve given up on the system and are just trudging through the everyday. While Matt optimistically hopes for a better life outside the cubicle, Jake cynically lets him (and us) know that “There no way not to waste your life.”

Like Office Space and Better Off Ted before it, Corporate is endlessly nihilistic, but unlike them, it doesn’t have a redemptive moment where the protagonists find a silver lining in their jobs. No, Corporate is as bleak as it gets. But buoyed by ridiculous hilarity, sharp social commentary, and the insane ability to perfectly describe corporate life, it remains highly watchable, like a dystopian tragicomedy inching closer and closer to real life.

With the Hays code, the film adaptation of James M. Cain’s novel had to be changed to depict Mildred Pierce in a less sympathetic light. More than half a century later, Todd Haynes teamed up with HBO to pick up the book and adapt it once again. Kate Winslet may not have the stern determination Judy Crawford had in depicting the title character, but her rendition, along with a script more faithful to the novel, transforms Mildred into an indulgent mother who, like many parents, would go to the ends of the earth for her devotion to Veda moving up a higher class, though hopefully not at the same expense Mildred allows Veda to take from her. With more time to expand on the characterization and on the class divide, Haynes’ Mildred Pierce unearths more of what the classic film failed to depict, and stands on its own as great television.

Unlike other adaptations of young adult novels that get caught up in overly romanticized teenage angst, the eight-episode Hulu version of John Green’s Looking for Alaska is far more self-aware about its own precocious characters. Because no matter how much earnest faux-wisdom they spout, all their intelligence still hits a brick wall when faced with unanswerable questions of grief, guilt, and what it means to truly love another person. It’s as funny as it is devastating, with genuinely moving emotional payoffs that are more than worth the wait, thanks to a uniformly brilliant cast that includes Charlie Plummer, Kristine Froseth, and Denny Love.

There is no shortage of craft and ambition in The English, a miniseries that employs tropes of classic Westerns, like the soulful anti-hero and the loyal sidekick, but also twists them enough to make them feel fresh. For instance, instead of typical cowboys, we have as our leads Cornelia Locke (Emily Blunt), an aristocratic Englishwoman, and Eli Whipp (Chaske Spencer), a native who also served in the US army. Both of them are terribly out of place in the Wild West, but they’re fueled with the kind of vengeful drive that leads to bloody outcomes, which are themselves staples of the genre.

The English is sweeping, both in scope and scenery, and solemn. Fans will appreciate how seriously the show treats the genre, and they’ll take pleasure in its familiarity, from the twisty mysteries and brutal disputes to the gritty backdrops and arid vistas. In this instance, the show’s ambition perfectly fits the genre.

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

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

With a film version that didn’t live up to the hype of the original novel, Netflix’s adaptation of One Day released just in time to wreck the fans’ hearts all over again, but this time, it’s a good thing. The expanded runtime allowed Netflix to delve more into the moments in the novel, with each episode dedicated to a day in the year in Emma’s and Dexter’s lives, contrasting their respective worlds and opportunities available to them as different members of London society. And the couple is played beautifully by Leo Woodall and Ambika Mod, with a believable chemistry that isn’t formed in a single spark, but made in multiple moments. If you’re needing a good cry just right before Valentine’s Day, One Day is a superb slow burn romance to let those tears out.

When Blackpink’s Jisoo starred in her first lead role, it was surprising that she chose a story like Snowdrop. Sure, at the time, stories set in the 1980s were a hit in Korea, with dramas such as Reply 1988 and Youth of May that nostalgically recreated the aesthetics of the time, while also re-examining the loss and the pain under the dictatorship then. Snowdrop does the same, but it adds a more controversial twist– the love story isn’t between innocent bystanders caught in the fire, it’s formed between a South Korean student and a North Korean spy. Writer Yoo Hyun-mi and director Jo Hyun-tak take this interesting premise to chaotic, unpredictable scenes, and it’s a fun ride, at least until the secrets he holds and the politics inevitably brings their childhood to heartwrenching ends. Seolganghwa isn’t a perfect drama, but it’s a story that understands how muddled and confusing the era got, and how much the country should avoid a repeat of state interests acting at the expense of personal freedoms.

Emotional and increasingly hard to watch over its five episodes, It’s a Sin nevertheless reminds us about an aspect of the AIDS crisis that often gets buried underneath accounts of suffering and injustice. We’re shown a truly supportive, joyful community that wasn’t simply engaging in shallow pleasures, but helping each other become their best selves. This optimism at the beginning gives the miniseries an even more tragic quality, as these characters struggle to recover from the initial shock and confusion of the spread of this disease. It’s a smartly paced and economical show that that still manages to show off the talents of a brilliant cast—in particular, Olly Alexander, Callum Scott Howells, and a star-making turn from Lydia West going toe-to-toe with the exceptional Keeley Hawes in a scene-stealing guest role.

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

Toxic Town tells the true story of how toxic waste in the steel-making town of Corby, England led a group of affected mothers to pursue justice. Helping them out is pro-bono lawyer Des Collins (Rory Kinnear), while on the other end of the case is Corby’s local government, who (unsurprisingly) are in cahoots with the steel mill responsible for the poisoning. The show’s beats are familiar; it’s a classic legal drama with streaks of political corruption and conspiracy, while also being an underdog story about victims rising to the powers that be. But its familiarity is easily forgiven thanks to the heartwarming performances of Jodie Whittaker and Aimee Lou Wood, who play two of the mothers with disabled children. The show, though short at just four episodes, gives them ample space to grieve, celebrate, and essentially be human–as opposed to just angry women serving as plot points to a drama. Their humanization and compassion for one another, as well as the thrilling pace and intelligent back-and-forths, are what make the show worth watching.

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

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

For the longest time, religious cults have been an untouchable subject in Korean dramas, especially with some of the crimes that occurred that still remain controversies to this day. Because of this, Save Me is quite a surprise, as it depicts the journey of a girl who moves to town being sucked into and trying to escape a religious cult. It’s an eerie thriller, but it’s one that starts by alternating between the time Im Sang-mi moved to town and the present time from the boys’ perspective, so this and the slow pacing might make it hard for people new to K-dramas to watch. However, the performances are excellent, with both acting veterans and newcomers shining in the moments that they’re given. While the ending was rushed, and they could have gone darker and deeper into the cult, Save Me was a decent attempt at depicting this controversial issue.

Babylon Berlin is mostly an intriguing spy thriller with both the sleekness and the style of the Golden Twenties, but what makes it stand out is the way it depicts the inevitability of the country’s upcoming struggles, as well as the hope it held in itself to reach a brighter future, with the new millennium. It’s a pretty brilliant concept. Through the eyes of its alternate protagonists, the show depicts Berlin polarized by two ideologies, and it keeps this context to drive Inspector Gereon Rath’s investigation, with the help of police clerk and flapper in the underground Charlotte Ritter. While the later seasons lost a bit of its edge, Babylon Berlin nevertheless paints a new perspective of the capital that once was at the forefront of art and science.

Set in the seemingly idyllic town of Three Pines in Quebec, Canada, Three Pines the series follows Chief Inspector Armand Gamache (Alfred Molina) as he attempts to solve a string of murders and disappearances in the area. It’s a classic whodunnit that doesn’t try too hard to be twisty and complicated; instead, it lays out its clues neatly and cleverly without giving too much away, all while digging deep into local issues such as the institutional neglect of indigenous people.

There’s no shortage of mysteries and crime thrillers on TV at the moment, but what makes Three Pines stand out is its seemingly virtuous lead. “You look for good even in the worst of humanity, don’t you?” says one witness about Armand, but it will be interesting to find out just how far his well-meaning ways can go.

Stolen Youth is the true account of how bright kids from prestigious colleges were manipulated and abused into joining a cult. In just three episodes, director Zachary Heinzerling efficiently tells the entire story from start to end, complete with compelling talking heads and visual guides. Unlike most true crime documentaries, Stolen Youth doesn’t dial up the sensationalism, nor does it solely rely on the incident’s bizarre arc for drama. Instead, it adds insightful details to the case by diligently following up on the key players. 

Chilling, revolting, and incredibly gripping, this is a docuseries meant to be finished in one sitting.

With games creating whole virtual worlds, with stunning landscapes, powers, and storylines, it’s easy to escape into the fictional simulations, to the point of being addicted. Good Night World reimagines this idea in the present as a family drama, where video game addict Tachiro Arima struggles to relate with his family because of his addiction. As the show progresses, the game integrates with the real world, with real life-threatening consequences, but the show slowly uncovers how this game unraveled the Arimas’ family bonds, through neglect, depression, and shared trauma. It’s an interesting series about connection and video games, if you can get into the world of the series.

On the surface, The Woman in the Wall is immediately scary. It’s riddled with jumpscares, shrieks, haunting Latin songs, blood-hued flashbacks, and, of course, incessant Catholic and Gothic imagery. But while it’s effective as a horror, it’s more meaningful as a tribute to the survivors of the Magdalene Laundries, that is, Catholic convents where nuns took care of “wayward women,” which ranged from teen girls who’ve engaged in premarital sex to prostitutes. They’re often abused and forced to work long hours, and in the case of some pregnant women, their babies were taken away from them as punishment for their sins. That’s what happened all those years ago to Lorna (Ruth Wilson), who’s never learned how to cope with her loss and trauma in the years since the laundries were banned in ‘96. She becomes the main suspect in the case of a murdered priest, and the more we learn about it, the more we question Lorna’s memories and recollections. Is she capable of this brutality? Where is her baby? And what does the detective, played ably by Daryl McCormack, have to do with all this? The show can seem too much at first, but it weaves all these questions and prickly themes deftly by the end.

Any parent would defend their kid in court, though, sometimes it depends on the case. A Nearly Normal Family brings one such Swedish family through a case, as their nineteen year old daughter is accused of murdering a man, four years after the family decides not to prosecute their daughter’s rapist without evidence. The thriller series unfolds into a compelling murder mystery, as the show plays with the family members’ different perspectives that expands and continues the show’s intrigue, even if you think you have it all figured out. And as the investigation continues, the family’s secrets slowly get unveiled, threatening to break the Sandells apart, with their conflicting morals and unresolved trauma. While some viewers might not appreciate the slow burn, it’s an interesting crime thriller-family drama mix that questions how far we’re willing to go for our loved ones.

The Program starts small and intimate, with director Katherine Kubler sharing the story of how she got into a school that turned out to be, in everything but name, a prison. In Ivy Ridge, Kubler and her peers were physically assaulted and subjected to cult-like practices, with most of the kids leaving the institution worse off than better. But soon the diaristic approach gives way to a complex and well-researched investigation of what is known as the “troubled teen industry.” As it turns out, there are plenty of other institutions like Ivy Ridge that scam desperate parents into spending thousands of dollars to incarcerate their kids and hand them over to faux educators. There are times when Kubler’s anger (understandably) gets the better of her and the storytelling, but ultimately, this is a well-made and important account of an overlooked atrocity.

The Narrow Road to the Deep North is a limited series depicting World War II in the eyes of an Australian prisoner of war, but make no mistake, that’s not all it is. Oh, sure, a big chunk of it is set in the 40s. Jacob Elordi delivers an excellent performance as Dorrigo Evans, a sensitive, young army surgeon seeking the few pleasures the world would grant him just before the horrors he’ll face in his imprisonment in Burma. However, it’s the present day that grounds this sprawling period piece and makes this past all the more poignant. The incredible haunted portrayal by Ciarán Hinds proves how, despite all the success he’s gotten, there’s still something missing. The Narrow Road to the Deep North captures the weight of the life Evans has lost, one he’s never really gotten over and could never make it up for.

With Sweet Home and Stranger Things, we weren’t surprised that Netflix opted to create a live-action Parasyte, but we were surprised it comes from the other side of the sea. Based on the iconic Japanese manga, Parasyte: The Grey is a Korean spin-off with different characters but the same titular aliens, with a more serious approach to the concept. The series alternates between the Grey Team, the leading government agency that aims to eradicate the alien parasites at all cost, and with Jeong Su-in, who, like the original Shinichi Izumi, co-exists with her parasite, as they try to figure out their strange existence. Fans of the original might be disappointed at the lack of humor, but some viewers might appreciate the unflinching, gruesome way The Grey deals with the parasitic nature of human society, as well as the gross and scary transformations these aliens make of their hosts.

It wasn’t until recently that Chinese science fiction has become popular, as plenty of the stories can now take flight through non-traditional internet channels and the translation work of Asian Americans like Ken Liu. 3 Body Problem by Liu Cixin is one of those translations, and with the Game of Thrones showrunners along with Alexander Woo, Netflix has created their own take on the ambitious, innovative sci-fi novel. It doesn’t quite match up, but the show is able to take the novel’s unique blend of abstract theoretical physics with intriguing mystery and meditations on how scientific exploration is driven and stopped by religion and politics. The multiple storylines and times that can get confusing, but ultimately, the show is still able to sustain its tension through great world building and intimate drama. With the source material fully completed, we’re hoping that the showrunners don’t run into the same snafus that plagued Game of Thrones’ ending, but so far, Netflix’s take on the 3 Body Problem is a decent introduction to Liu’s sci-fi masterpiece.

With the rise of short video content apps like TikTok and YouTube shorts, there are, unfortunately, plenty of kids that do stupid things, egged on by the internet. Red Rose plays with this idea in a mysterious, possibly possessed, mobile application. The show feels slightly reminiscent of Black Mirror’s Shut Up and Dance episode, albeit in a more supernatural, creepy way, and there’s a thread here on how teens’ grief and other negative emotions are manipulated for increased internet usage. While the certain episodes feel like it dragged, the series is still a fairly solid watch if you’re wanting a spooky time.

While it’s becoming increasingly difficult to stand out among a throng of Netflix True Crime specials, Till Murder manages to hold its own by squarely and concisely centering on the main conflict: Soering vs. Haysom. It’s his word and against hers, his show of love and logic versus her natural charm and charisma. Was he a hopeless romantic who was manipulated into slaying the two people he thought tormented his beloved? Or was she the victim of a murderous and obsessive boyfriend who couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else owning her? The framing, while simplistic and a tad sensational, helps in quickly grabbing your attention and holding it for all four hours. 

The 1984 Bhopal gas leak is the world’s worst industrial disaster, and with the success of HBO’s Chernobyl, YRF Entertainment partnered with Netflix to create a miniseries based on the event. The Railway Men: The Untold Story of Bhopal 1984 is a compelling watch, with four fictional protagonists that serve as composite characters of real life heroes in the tragedy. Even as the viewers know what will happen – the case details are available online and the show’s first moments reveal the outcome – it’s still a powerful depiction of the preventable tragedy, as the show recognizes the personal consequences through their heroes. While the narrative does sometimes lose balance, and the certain effects falter, the series carefully depicts the preventable chaos with an anger over the injustice that still remains unresolved.

When a scientist drops dead, the immediate questions are what’s the main reason, and what exactly were they studying. It’s the mystery that drives the popular 3 Body Problem novel by Liu Cixin, which spawned two separate live-action series. Unlike the Western Netflix version, Tencent’s Three-Body sticks close to the source material, devoting more than twice as much time to the events. It’s because of this that Three-Body gets to delve deeper into the novel’s themes over the visuals– it gets to delve deeper into the ways science and tech has been manipulated for certain interests and whether humanity is ready for newer tech when history has proven otherwise. If you’re totally new to the story, the shorter, star-studded Netflix adaptation might be more your jam, but readers who want a more in-depth and faithful adaptation would prefer Tencent’s Three-Body.

Even in a bloated genre like true crime, Six Schizophrenic Brothers manages to be shocking because of its horrifying premise. It’s about a family that had to deal not just with the titular illness, but with multiple and chronic cases of abuse, rape, incest, and murder. And perhaps the most amazing part of it all is that director Lee Phillips was able to gather many of the siblings and have them tell the story themselves. So it’s a baffling shame that Phillips also had to lean on cheesy visual and sound effects to sensationalize an already appalling story. Whenever someone reveals a hard truth, glass shatters and fans are flamed. Whenever one of the ill siblings is introduced, they’re accompanied by sinister sounds and backgrounds. Then there are the questions he asks them, which are more exploitative than insightful. It’s true that the documentary, like watching a fire, is an engrossing experience that’s difficult to look away from. But in this case, the terror comes both from the story and the awful editing choices.