In Lumon, a company that resembles the increasingly intrusive oligarchs of Big Tech, Mark (Adam Scott) and his colleagues undergo a procedure that allows them to separate their work memories from their non-work memories. It sounds like a dream: the perfect work-life balance. But things get complicated when one colleague mysteriously leaves and is replaced by confused new hire, Helly (Britt Lower). Mark and Helly dig into shocking truths about what they really do, and for whom.

Just like the endless halls of Lumon, Severance is filled with twists and turns, many of which are impossible to see coming. Slow, smart, and sneaked with a dystopian eerieness that doesn’t feel all that far off, Severance is sure to leave you wary of corporate slavishness, if you aren’t already. 

The best thing about The Rehearsal—Nathan Fielder’s elaborate Russian doll of social experiments and self-examination—is how seamlessly it goes from prank comedy to surrealist horror. The show’s concept of staging situations where real people can practice making an important decision (complete with actors playing all the background characters) pays off in spades. Fielder’s insistence on over-preparation collides beautifully with the unpredictability of human behavior, leading to some of the funniest and weirdest interactions to grace TV.

But the greatest trick that The Rehearsal has up its sleeve is Fielder, playing a version of himself using this show to understand how to live a meaningful life. As he stretches these rehearsals beyond their limit (at certain points, recreating his own rehearsals with someone playing himself), his character’s persona also begins to crack. Suddenly the series isn’t just a comedy, but a poignant reflection on empathy and forgiveness, and a psychological mind-bender about an egomaniac who refuses to give up control of reality itself. There’s nothing else like it on television.

Sci-fi is already a pretty wild genre. Anything can happen in this fantasy world, so it takes a special kind of skill to make a new entry seem original once more. But Pantheon throughout its eight-episode run manages to be just that thanks to its resonant storytelling, inventive editing, and brilliant, heartfelt premise. 

The scope of the story is as wide as it is wild: it’s about the unregulated rise of “uploaded intelligence,” after all, where human minds are fully uploaded and digitized for corporate use. Global tech companies are in an arms race to transform this discovery into weaponry, as they are wont to do, without giving mind to the human and environmental costs. Challenging them is the unlikely duo of Maddy and Caspian (Katie Chang and Paul Dano, respectively) who, as direct victims of this greed, have more than a few grievances to express. 

It’s exciting to see how far the dystopia of Pantheon goes, but anytime it flies too high, it’s always grounded by the fleshed-out humanity of Maddy and Caspian. The series runs on their self-discovery and existential crises as much as it does on extraordinary circumstances. Expect to shed a tear or two while watching this series. 

Despite being released amid a deluge of period dramas and biopics, Starz’s  The Serpent Queen, which follows Catherine de’ Medici’s rise from Italian servant to Queen of France, is a strong standout in today’s streaming fare. 

By balancing modern storytelling (expect poppy needle drops and fourth-wall breaks a la Fleabag) and historical realism (the costume and production design are as accurate and detailed as any thoughtful production), The Serpent Queen manages to have a genuinely fresh take on the historical drama. It’s also refreshing in its refusal to sugarcoat history’s crude ways, so despite its modern feel, don’t be too surprised to see 13-year-olds bedded and bodies graphically pulled apart by horses.

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.

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. 

One of the most original, underseen, and unexpectedly wholesome shows on HBO, High Maintenance spends each episode looking into the everyday lives of various New Yorkers, often with eccentric jobs or alternative lifestyles. The only thing that connects them is that they all happen to be clients of an unnamed weed dealer (played by Ben Sinclair), who becomes a witness to their ordinary joys and struggles. Barely any of the stories we get to see throughout the show’s four seasons have a traditional dramatic arc to them, but the series remains a one-of-a-kind comfort nonetheless—showing us just how colorful and interesting a mundane life can be when we have well-meaning people surrounding us. And it’s a prime example of how television should be allowed to tell stories in any form, making perfect use of the half-hour episodic format to capture these fleeting, beautiful snapshots.

This World Can’t Tear Me Down is a timely release on friendship, punk, and anti-fascism. From the Italian cartoonist Zerocalcare, his second Netflix show shifts his musings over mental health to his experiences with regard to the country’s rising neo-Nazism. As xenophobia tears his friend group, it’s easy to feel the fear and self-doubt Zero’s cartoon counterpart feels. It’s easy as well to empathize with Sarah and Cesare, characters failed by the system around them. In many ways, they themselves feel like they haven’t met their potential. But the show suggests that perhaps status and achievement aren’t what being successful is all about– it’s about holding onto principles. Through punk soundtracks and shifts between stop motion and 90s cartoon style, This World Can’t Tear Me Down captures the millennial generation’s bewilderment, as well as their hope.

In the hands of a lesser artist, something like The Choe Show might have come off as a vanity project or an excuse to show off one’s art and one’s thoughts about art. But David Choe seems to want the opposite: together with an eclectic mix of guests, he lays bare his most shameful feelings and hardest struggles without ever asking the audience for sympathy and forgiveness—all the while using paint and performance to carve a path toward healing and mutual understanding.

The interviews are already impressive on their own, pitched somewhere between a casual chat and an exorcism of personal demons. But it’s around these conversations about addiction, abandonment, and family trauma where the show truly comes to life. With a whole team of animators and illustrators, Choe lets every pointed statement and loaded anecdote leap off the screen. Noise, color, photographs, home video tapes, and performance art footage constantly invade what we’re watching, as if the show is being created and reinvented right before our eyes. Fun, chaotic, boundlessly imaginative, and always open to change—if that’s how it is with art, that’s how it should be with people, too.

With mass media’s misrepresentation of the Roma people, it was high time there was a show dedicated to accurate portrayal. Infamy is that show. As British-raised Gita moves back with her extended Romani family in Poland, we get introduced to Romani culture– their rules, customs, and art. This Polish Netflix series might even be the first time you’ll hear about Romanipen, the rules and familial principles that allowed them to survive. However, with Gita’s Western background, the show also depicts her immigrant experience, culture clash, and the discrimination of her people by the dominant Polish people. Mixed with hip-hop tracks from the UK, Poland, and the series’ original creations, Infamy takes a nuanced approach to Gita’s struggle and artistry.