Our countdown of every 2019 TV show continues! For prior installments, check out the links below. And honestly, you can pretty much rearrange all of the shows in this post in any order you want, because they’re all kind of great:
30. Game of Thrones (HBO, Season 8; 2017
rank: 13
of 108). Gulp. OK, let’s get this out of the way: The last episode of Game of Thrones was bad. Or, rather, the
last half-hour of the last episode was bad; the much-maligned finale concluded
with an appalling whimper that arguably betrayed the uncompromising ferocity that
was the series’ signature. Here’s the thing, though: The first half-hour of the finale featured some pretty terrific stuff,
including perhaps the most
stunning image the series has ever produced. And leading up to that finale,
Season 8 as a whole, while uneven, was filled with killer material. Its second
episode, which found its characters grimly preparing for the deadly battle to
come, is one of the finest hours the show has ever produced, full of humor and tenderness
and hard-won camaraderie. And even if Game
of Thrones’ ultimate destination was disappointing, its journey was always
full of marvelous sights and sounds: an armada of fires blinking out one by
one; a deadly game of hide-and-seek in a dusty library; a giant dragon
mournfully cradling a fallen rider; Carice Van Houten’s eyes; Maisie Williams’
face. It’s undeniable that the conclusion of this show left a bitter aftertaste.
There’s also no denying that, along the way, it routinely delivered images and
scenes we’d never before seen on television.
29. The Witcher (Netflix, Season 1). It’s fitting that I ended up ranking this show immediately ahead of Game of Thrones, because it plainly aspires to be the next Game of Thrones, at least on some level. The irony, of course, is that The Witcher’s exhaustive world-building, while impressive, is plainly its weakest element. There are lots of kingdoms and armies and sorceresses whispering cumbersome names into the ears of men wearing fancy armor, and it’s all rather impossible to follow. That’s OK, though, because while this is a very plotty show—in fact, the multiple timelines are pleasantly confusing, goading you to decipher when different scenes are happening—its fun lies in its visual imagination and its robust execution. Henry Cavill basically has just two line readings—“no” and “fuck”—and he delivers both of them with spectacular scorn. And while the beginning and end of the season bog down in typical palace intrigue, episodes 3-6 represent a remarkable run of self-contained adventure, featuring playful dialogue, gnarly violence, and unapologetic horniness. (Anya Chalotra, whom you will absolutely be seeing again, complements Cavill’s manly ruggedness with her own distinctive allure.) No idea what’s happening on this show? Doesn’t matter; there’s always something beautiful to see.
28. Veep (HBO, Season 7; 2017 rank: 26). It’s still funny. That’s really all that mattered about Veep, which understandably struggled to maintain its satirical edge as the reality of American politics asymptotically approached parody. But even if the show’s lampooning of democracy felt less incisive in its final years, its writing remained razor-sharp, as did its uniformly great performances; Julia Louis-Dreyfuss continued to find new ways to make a grossly narcissistic president seem amusing, which is a hard feat to pull off these days. And the series finale also delivered a surprising emotional gut-punch. This show was always more memorable for its YouTube-ready insult montages than for its characters, but that’s fine; look around the country these days, and sometimes you just need to laugh.
27. BoJack Horseman (Netflix, Season 6.0; last year: 12 of 93). I feel like Netflix kind of botched this one. The streaming giant decided to cleave the final season of one of its best shows into two halves; the final eight episodes of BoJack Horseman will be released tomorrow night. This means that the eight episodes which did air in 2019 felt frustratingly incomplete, ending on a cliffhanger that played as a sudden pause rather than a clever tease. This is annoying, because each prior season of BoJack concluded with a powerful combination of confusion and catharsis; for 2019, at least, Netflix robbed us of that sense of reckoning. Still, what we did see remained largely fantastic; the fourth episode in particular features such ingenious use of animation, it plays like a brilliantly choreographed musical. And the series retains its trademark tone, balancing off-the-wall comedy with weary existential crisis. I can’t wait to see how BoJack Horseman ends; I just wish I’d seen it in 2019.
26. Brockmire (IFC, Season 3; last year: 26). How on earth does this show work? The third season of Brockmire casts J.K. Simmons as a cantankerous commentator who’s nicknamed “Matt the Bat” on account of his incredibly large penis. After Matt is diagnosed with cancer, he and Hank Azaria’s alcoholic announcer strike up a cautious friendship, ruminating on the afterlife and pondering old regrets. In the meantime, Brockmire deals with the yips on a broadcast, gets in fights with Bob Costas and George Brett, and ejaculates onto a model village. It sounds completely ridiculous. But there’s a sweetness to Brockmire that’s impossible to resist, along with a startling honesty. This show is full of, ahem, inside-baseball jokes and broad humor, but it’s also a tender look at middle age, romantic longing, and complex familial dynamics. And it boldly reinvents itself with each new season; this time around, following two years of drunken revelry, it centers on the arduous struggle of maintaining sobriety. I can’t wait to see what curveball it throws at us next.
25. Jane the Virgin (The CW, Season 5; last year: 14). Now here’s a show that stuck the landing. The brilliance of Jane the Virgin’s conceit—using a putative telenovela to explore complex issues of race, class, and womanhood—also paradoxically lowered its ceiling, because the soap-opera aspects of the show were always a bit too broad. But when the series focused on its characters, it simply soared. Gina Rodriguez’s luminous performance was always the high point, but over time the whole cast clicked beautifully; Season 5 in particular found moments for Yael Grobglas to explore gentler sides of her ostensible ice princess. There’s a musical sequence at the end of this season’s 12th episode that’s an absolute triumph, bottling the show’s spirit of incandescent joy. And unlike Game of Thrones, the series ended on a note of happiness that felt earned rather than phony. So fare thee well, Jane the Virgin; you may have been a little wacky, but your legacy is one of love, love, love.
24. Dickinson (Apple, Season 1). I just wonder what the elevator pitch was. “OK, it’s a biopic of Emily Dickinson, but she’s, like, young and spunky, and we see that her poetry is inspired by sitcom-style awkwardness, and also there’s lots of great pop music, and hey can we get Wiz Khalifa to play Death?” Suffice it to say that this is show is weird. But it isn’t uneven; there’s a consistency to its strangeness. Thanks to a bold command of tone and structure—and thanks to Hailee Steinfeld’s astute, empathetic performance—Dickinson conjures a fascinating world, a heady blend of period quaintness and plainspoken vernacular. There’s a vitality to its feminism, to the way that it makes blunt statements in such innovative ways. During certain moments—such as the sudden blast of Mitski during a sex scene, or the shot of Steinfeld clad in a red dress, racing in slow motion toward a horse-drawn carriage—I could not stop for breath.
23. You’re the Worst (FXX, Season 5; 2017 rank: 24). Befitting its title, You’re the Worst’s characters were imperfect to the end, and the show’s final season wasn’t without its flaws. The flash-forward gimmick (shades of the second season of Breaking Bad) proved to be an irritating feint, while a few episodes which focused on secondary players were oddly broad. But the heart of the show was always the electric chemistry between Aya Cash and Chris Geere, who together crafted a messy and complicated relationship that refused to fit neatly on the TV Happiness spectrum. Additionally, Season 5 perpetuated the series’ gratifying predilection for formal experimentation, from changes in aspect ratio to silky long-take walk-and-talks to a thrillingly bizarre premiere that seemed to take place in an entirely different reality. You’re the Worst was a show that could feature a searing evisceration of a relationship’s future one minute and a hilariously random appearance from Ben Folds the next, but it never felt tonally wobbly. In the end, much like its sweetness, the series’ messiness felt utterly distinctive and also entirely true to life.
22. The Magicians (Syfy, Season 4; last year: 18). There’s an ’80s pop episode. Look, even as a fantasy show, The Magicians is so untethered from reality, it’s difficult to take seriously as a piece of dramatic television. Characters die and quickly come back to life (sometimes after a stint in the underworld); villains blather about The Library and some weird magical famine; spells are cast by people contorting their hands in weird ways. Whatever. There’s an ’80s pop episode. And it features one character gloating about how she has four-octave range while another mutters that she’s a showoff. (Plus, Kacey Rohl returns for a few blessed episodes.) Making narrative sense would somehow dilute the pleasures of this glorious show, which is full of intelligence and inspiration and breathtaking filth. That it also features well-defined characters and whip-smart dialogue is a juicy bonus. Season 5 is airing now, to which I simply say: Here we go again.
21. Mrs. Fletcher (HBO, Season 1). Kathryn Hahn has had big roles before, most notably alongside Paul Giamatti in Private Life, plus the (terrible) series I Love Dick. (She also headlined the best episode of The Romanoffs.) But the talented actor has never had such a dynamic and well-rounded part as in Mrs. Fletcher, where she plays a single mother who sends her oafish son off to college, develops a taste for pornography, and begins exploring her sexuality. If that sounds like a trashy premise, it isn’t; Mrs. Fletcher is incredibly nuanced in the way it examines sex and aging. It’s also bracingly empathetic, in particular in its characterization of that oafish son (Jackson White), who initially comes off as an obnoxious jock only to gradually be put in his place. (The sequence where he eagerly sits down for lunch next to some fellow lettermen, only to be mystified by their ensuing conversation on cap-and-trade, is one of the show’s saddest and funniest scenes.) But Hahn is the real star, and she amplifies the series’ twin spirits of excitement and empathy; watching her come to grips with her newfound power is oddly thrilling. Hahn may have appeared in Bad Moms, but that film never envisioned a mom like this.
20. Pose (FX, Season 2; last year: 11). The first season of Pose was such a bolt from the blue, it’s almost disappointing that Season 2 basically settles for just running it back. But there are plenty of new stories to be told in this universe that’s so full of pain and love and bigotry and optimism. Pose doesn’t skimp on the brutality; it’s unflinching as it examines the relentless prejudice (and often violence) visited upon its marginalized characters. Yet it also makes room for moments of wonder and joy, as in an extended funeral episode that somehow transforms into a celebration, or a beach vacation that’s heartwarming in its peacefulness. Pose is set roughly three decades in the past, and the familiarity of the discrimination that it depicts is dispiriting. But in following its characters with such affection and grace, it also creates reason for hope.
19. The Handmaid’s
Tale (Hulu, Season 3; last year: 7).
18. Killing Eve (BBC America, Season 2;
last year: 6).
Two shows that didn’t need to be renewed, two shows that don’t crackle with
quite the same energy as they once did… and two shows that still absolutely
rule. The Handmaid’s Tale no longer possesses
the political urgency of its fire-breathing debut, and its escalating crises
have a whiff of narrative desperation as opposed to organic development. So
what? This is still a ravishing show, full of exquisite technique and
powerhouse acting. Elisabeth Moss is a boss; Bradley Whitford is a genius.
There are images of startling power and breathtaking beauty. It’s one of the
most watchable shows on TV.
Almost as watchable as Killing Eve. The second season of this show was never going to be able to top its eye-popping first, but it’s still a total hoot, full of gripping suspense, black humor, and inspired oddness. Sandra Oh continues to excel as the weary straight woman, while Jodie Comer remains electric as an unstoppable force of cheerful carnage. Is the show spinning its wheels a bit? Who cares? There’s a scene where Comer’s killer casually pushes someone in front of a truck, then texts Oh’s handler a series of emojis: a truck, a gasping face, a ghost, and a thumbs-up. I’m not fluent in emoji, but I believe my response to that was, <3 <3 <3.
17. Ramy (Hulu, Season 1). What’s it like being Muslim in America? That’s not a question I’d ever thought to ask myself, which is sort of the point of Ramy, a series that assembles standard TV tropes—the goofy best friends, the out-of-touch parents, the misadventures in dating—and reorients them around a protagonist grappling with the contradictions of his faith. It’s an intriguing premise, but the real genius of Ramy lies in its episodic variety. One installment pivots to focus on Ramy’s mother (Succession’s Hiam Abbass), following her as she becomes an Uber driver in an effort to reintroduce some spice to her life; it’s a revealing half-hour, full of surprise and sadness and insight. And the series’ obvious highlight is its nervy flashback to the immediate aftermath of 9/11, when an adolescent Ramy struggles with his sexual urges while his friends ask him if he’s a terrorist. Inventive episodes like that uncover the enormous potential of this show, which is somehow both ordinary and extraordinary, showing you an America that’s been right beside you all along, and that you never knew was there.
16. Stranger Things (Netflix, Season 3; 2017 rank: 18). Man, this show is such a blast. Yes, it’s loaded with ’80s nostalgia, a facet that Season 3 mines even deeper by moving most of the action to a mall, with its ice-cream shops and Back to the Future screenings. But the references aren’t the point; the fun is the point. Stranger Things is one of the most purely enjoyable series to air in recent memory, and its boundless enthusiasm is infectious. This is a show about a gang of teenagers who collaborate to infiltrate a Russian bunker and thwart the destruction of their town. That premise alone is tantalizing, but it’s the execution that really sells it, the way the Duffer Brothers patiently orchestrate set pieces and then pay them off with huge moments of triumph. If you don’t enjoy Stranger Things, then I’m afraid I’m forced to ask: “How many children are you friends with?”
15. Gentleman Jack (HBO, Season 1). Gentleman Jack is inspired by the diaries of Anne Lister, a gay female landowner who lived in Halifax in the 1830s and who dressed like a man. She behaved like one too, asserting herself in the arenas of business and real estate rather than simply acting as a homemaker. Her story is sensible grist for a dramatic series, especially one with a sharp political viewpoint. What’s startling about Gentleman Jack, though, is how romantic it is. Anne, played with supreme exactitude by Suranne Jones, pursues a relationship with a rich neighbor (Peaky Blinders’ Sophie Rundle), a playful dalliance that gradually morphs into a genuine love affair. The series is clear-eyed in depicting the prejudices of its period, and of how even a woman as nominally independent and headstrong as Anne was forced to conceal her conduct and circumscribe her behavior without the bounds of polite society. It’s in part a heartbreaking look at how personal cruelty and pervasive discrimination can ruin people’s lives. Yet it’s also a work of glorious passion, imbued with extraordinary clarity and feeling; I haven’t been this invested in a fictional relationship in some time. And if parts of it feel fantastical, that’s the show’s prerogative; after everything she went through, Anne Lister deserves some happiness.
14. Chernobyl (HBO, Season 1). Woof. This show is a bruiser. Chernobyl is pitiless in its reenactment of the 1986 disaster, meticulously chronicling one of history’s scariest episodes with dispassionate precision. What makes the series truly disturbing, however, is its portrait of an administrative state that values cant over truth, and that is all too willing to sacrifice human lives in order to safeguard its global reputation. Remind you of anything? Contemporary parallels aside, Chernobyl is terrifying but also indecently entertaining, with a lacerating performance from Stellan Skarsgård, whose line reading of “We need a new phone” is a masterpiece of macabre humor. And in its fourth episode, the show both locates new depths of despair (in an arc involving feral dogs) and concocts a set piece that recalls Dunkirk in its incalculable anxiety. Like I said, it’s a bruiser. Good thing nothing like this will ever happen again. Right?
13. Fleabag (Amazon, Season 2; 2016 rank: 31 of 88). Fleabag is the consensus critical choice for best TV show of 2019; according to this unofficial Metacritic poll, it received more than twice as many first-place votes as any other program. So if you accuse me of grievously underrating it by ranking it just outside my top 10, then fine. In my view, the series has flaws; some of the secondary characters are silly, and some of the big emotional swings feel a little forced. With that in mind, this is one hell of a show. Phoebe Waller-Bridge is a genius as both a performer and a writer; her limber face is a work of art, her giant brain is a buzz saw of activity. And her constant breaks of the fourth wall are a never-ending delight, goosed even further once another character catches on. (Side note: This happens on Gentleman Jack too!) The love story that blossoms between the lead and Andrew Scott’s internet-immortalized Hot Priest is thrilling in its complexity; the bond that calcifies between the two sisters is even more poignant. Again: It’s a hell of a show. There were a lot of “hell of a shows” in 2019.
12. Russian Doll (Netflix, Season 1). Like this one! Groundhog Day is a durable premise—it basically powered the first season of Westworld—so it’s not all that difficult to craft an entertaining show where the main character repeatedly dies. But it is hard to do it in such a fascinating, surprising, entertaining, and philosophically stimulating way. Russian Doll poses lots of complex questions—about relationships, parenting, metaphysics, and all sorts of other things—but the key to its success is its restless imagination; you think you know where it’s headed, and then it suddenly swerves, seemingly at random but really with absolute assurance. The end of the fourth episode produces a stunning new wrinkle (oh, how I wish Netflix didn’t release all of its episodes at once and could force viewers to sit with them for a week!), while the final two installments are exhilarating in their ingenuity and unpredictability. Holding everything together is Natasha Lyonne, giving a fearless performance as a gives-no-fucks woman who slowly starts, well, giving a fuck. Russian Doll is intricate, but it isn’t mystifying, and its puzzle-box structure yields payoffs both intellectual and emotional. You’ve lived it all before, and you’ve never seen anything like it.
11. Sex Education (Netflix, Season 1). It’s just so rare to watch a show where every character is great. Sex Education features a sprawling teenage ensemble, and I somehow find myself rooting for everyone in it: the awkward nerd, the flamboyant artist, the closeted bully, the underprivileged genius, the stressed-out jock, the cheerful sexpot, the spacey fantasist. They’re all drawn with such wonderful specificity, an all-too-human blend of anxiety, confusion, and decency. The premise of Sex Education is pretty strong to begin with—Asa Butterfield, playing the son of a professional sex therapist (a marvelous Gillian Anderson), sets up a hustle at school giving sex advice to his peers despite being woefully inexperienced himself—but it’s the sincerity that elevates the show, the way it cares deeply for its batch of misfits. Watching this series can be agonizing, given how it depicts its fumbling adolescents with such realistic detail. But it’s also joyous to spend time in this universe, and to cheer for these flawed, splendid people. That’s why the ultimate sensation is one of satisfaction—of release. Relatedly: I want a crumpet.
Coming tomorrow: the top 10.
Jeremy Beck is the editor-in-chief of MovieManifesto. He watches more movies and television than he probably should.