20 Best TV Shows on Tubi Right Now

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.

How the Brits have mastered the art of making very funny shows about very grumpy people will never cease to amaze me. Belonging to that stacked category is Black Books, which follows a trio of shopkeepers as they go about their days in a semi-alcoholic haze. The situations themselves are mundane and involve everything from fixing the shops’ finances to going on dates, but it’s how they cope that makes the show hilarious. It’s more slapstick and surreal than anything, leaning heavily on the actors’ expert physical comedy and timing. The lead, Bernard (played by Dylan Morran who you might know as the book thief in Notting Hill), is a cynical drunk who abhors people, even and especially his own customers. But he’s tempered by his levelheaded accountant Manny (Bill Bailey) and the next-door shopkeeper Fran (Tamsin Greig). This isn’t the sort of sitcom that dives too deep into the psyches of its characters, but that doesn’t make them any less relatable or lovable. Though it first aired in 2000, Black Books doesn’t feel dated at all, thanks in large part to its surreal humor and its nihilistic characters, who share more than a few similarities with today’s quiet-quitting generation.

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.

When there’s lives at stake, and there’s no one around, you know who to call. Not Ghostbusters– you call an emergency hotline. It’s exactly the high risk, high stakes job that makes for an excellent police procedural, and it’s why Korean drama Voice is so compelling– the premise necessitates that the ensemble is given a few pieces of information, have to rise up to the emergency with an actual solution, and are forced to bicker depending on what their specialized knowledge tells them. And it’s so fun seeing the veteran detective and a genius rookie voice profiler butt heads because of it, with Jang Hyuk and Lee Ha-na crafting chemistry through biting words and the urgency of the situation at hand. While certain procedures seemed a bit clunky on screen, Voice nonetheless takes an interesting peek at the crime fighters at the end of the hotline and maximizes the potential conflict that stems from a unique ability.

Before Park Chan-wook adapted her novel Fingersmith in The Handmaiden, author Sarah Waters wrote Tipping the Velvet, her debut novel that painted the life of lesbian women in Victorian London. Surprisingly, this controversial novel was produced and broadcast by the BBC in 2002, sticking faithfully to the plot, with all the racy sex scenes and relaxed depiction of lesbian life that shocked the public at the time, but over the years, the miniseries has become known as the refreshing classic that shifted the way lesbians were depicted on screen. While primarily centered on white women, Tipping the Velvet changed the way Victorian sexuality was depicted, with the joy, sensuality, and happiness in Waters’ passionate narrative.

Though it may be self-serious nearly to the point of parody, Line of Duty is that rare hard-boiled police show that actually works because of its commitment to being cold and clinical. As each season focuses on a new case of corruption within the police, it chooses not to focus on character but on packing as much meticulous detail as possible into its investigations. The result is a slower paced drama that may take some getting used to, but it’s one whose every additional clue or revelation makes the nature of this modern police work feel that much more draining to the soul—a great change of tone from the heroic police shows we tend to see on TV.

Everyone grows up learning about the theatric death of President Lincoln—while enjoying a play with his wife, the actor and Confederate soldier John Wilkes Booth shoots him straight in the head, dashes to the stage, and escapes into the wilderness before eventually getting caught. But most people tend to gloss over that last part when, in fact, Booth’s capture was a wild ride that involved the rabid participation of thousands of troops and civilians. Ironically, it united a nation that was still grappling with the loss brought by war. Through seven episodes, Manhunt zooms in on that moment in American history and closely follows the cat-and-mouse chase between Booth and Secretary of War Edward Stanton. It’s a powerfully performed piece, as one would expect from Emmy-winning actor Menzies, but the surrounding characters are just as colorful and impassioned. They capably bring life to a near-forgotten piece of history and make it feel just as urgent and important as the day it happened.

Love Life, like the Prime Video show Modern Love, is an anthology series featuring all sorts of romances and relationships. But unlike the latter,
which gives us wildly different characters and plotlines in each episode, Love Life dedicates an entire season to one person. It follows them from the moment they meet their first love up until they meet their forever person. We’re shown the many relationships, career opportunities, friendships, and fallouts that happen in between so that by the finale, we get a bigger picture of their growth as people. It’s breezy enough to follow, offers many nuggets of wisdom, and features some of the most charming leads to boot. My only gripe is that the length could be shorter than 10 episodes–in fact, I’m sure each season would work better as a movie–but it’s refreshing to see this deep a dive into modern romantic love. It’s a shame Max canceled the show after the second season and relegated it to streaming purgatory by erasing it from their catalog, but thankfully, the almighty Tubi has since picked it up and made it available to stream free.

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.

Despite a particularly rocky and self-serious freshman season (not to mention a less-than-optimal finale), The Magicians overcame the budget constraints typical of a series on Syfy and found a heart and a sense of humor that only grew across its five seasons. So even if its story can get convoluted and its adventures a little corny, it anchors itself on a core cast of likable characters whom the show isn’t afraid to separate, hurt, or throw into impossible situations. And once you get used to its tone, its themes become easier to appreciate—of magic being a finite resource that ultimately hurts more people than it helps.