We’re counting down every show we watched in 2019. For prior installments, check out the following links:
50. Modern Love (Amazon, Season 1).
Like with any anthology, Modern Love
is less a cohesive series than a collection of hits and misses. Sure, there’s a
vague thematic throughline about the complexities of contemporary romance—whether
between tech-savvy millennials, weary gen-Xers, or dogged boomers—but it doesn’t
add up to much beyond, “Love is complicated.” Still, the series’ economy is
impressive; each episode clocks in at roughly 30 minutes, and each manages to
tell a complete story. It’s also beautifully cast, and when it hits—such as when
it tracks the separate relationships of Catherine Keener and Dev Patel, or when
it spends a wonderful evening in the hospital with Sofia Boutella and John
Gallagher Jr., or when it follows the ups and downs of a bipolar Anne Hathaway—it
plays like gangbusters. That other episodes are less successful feels
appropriate; after all, who gets love right on the first try?
49. Now Apocalypse (Starz, Season 1). Now Apocalypse is a show about a dude who has visions of an alien with a giant penis and is possibly a rapist. It’s like a cross between Under the Silver Lake and Fire in the Sky. If it sounds ridiculous, it is. But it’s also strangely sweet, and its insane storyline is really just cover for a tender look at four LA twentysomethings struggling to find love, work, and satisfaction. Naturally, Starz cancelled it before it could even attempt to weave its disparate threads into something coherent. Pity. But with any luck, it’ll still serve as a launching pad for two of its leads: Kelli Berglund as a struggling actress who discovers a talent for BDSM, and the wonderful Beau Mirchoff as a beautiful mimbo whose stupidity is eclipsed only by his decency. When Mirchoff’s character innocently ponders if a male coven is “a type of stove”, you’re watching a star being born.
48. Jessica Jones (Netflix, Season 3; last year: 27 of 93). The latter seasons of Jessica Jones never reached the extraordinary heights of its first—David Tennant’s Kilgrave remains one of the greatest villains in any genre—but that shouldn’t diminish their sustained achievement. Season 3 falters in the bad-guy department, casting Jeremy Bobb (who’s everywhere these days) as one of those tediously ingenious serial killers who seems lifted from a James Patterson novel. That’s a bummer, but the core of Jessica Jones has always been Krysten Ritter’s gritty, soulful performance. She’s aces again in the final go-round, which digs even deeper into Jessica’s friendship with Rachael Taylor’s Trish, a complex relationship stained with jealousy, confusion, and bittersweet love. Netflix’s Marvel shows may have sputtered on the whole, but with this jagged and poignant show, it gave us a gift.
47. Catastrophe (Amazon, Season 4; 2017 rank: 61 of 108). This show never tried too hard. It crafted two wonderful characters, threw the messiness of life at them, and watched them try to sort it out. It was always funny, because Sharon Horgan and Rob Delaney are funny people, but it also had a melancholy tone that felt deeply realistic. The final season leans into that quality with some force, most notably with a touching finale that seems contrived until you realize it isn’t. It also touches on gender dynamics and workplace harassment without being too strident. But for the most part—and despite some faintly dubious subplots involving the supporting characters—Catastrophe’s final episodes were content to just spend a bit more time with these flawed, charming people. So was I.
46. Supergirl (The CW, Seasons 4.5 and 5.0; last year: 15). The seams are showing a bit as Supergirl steams ahead into its fifth season. The cheap special effects are looking a little sillier, and the lackluster villains are getting frustrating. And yet, this show still makes me pump my fist at least twice per episode, with its heart-on-its-sleeve politics, its palpable affection for its characters, and its adorable gawkiness. Melissa Benoist continues to shine, while Katie McGrath is slowly taking the mantle as the series’ most complex figure, torn between loyalty and legacy. I doubt that Supergirl will ever be a truly great show (though it came awfully close in its third season), but it always makes me feel something.
45. Big Little Lies (HBO, Season 2; 2017 rank: 23). No, it didn’t need a second season; yes, the first season was better. But while the new batch of Big Little Lies episodes wasn’t as bracing as our first visit to the beautiful seaside neighborhood of Monterey, it may have actually been more interesting. Instead of trafficking in a contrived murder mystery, Season 2 deals with fallout, watching its imperfect characters wrestle with feelings of guilt, anxiety, and defiance. Of course, this show is essentially a soap opera that happens to feature some of the best actors in the world, and the custody battle between Nicole Kidman and Meryl Streep, while perhaps procedurally dubious, made for riveting television. Also, someone please give the girl who plays Reese Witherspoon’s younger daughter her own show immediately.
44. The Other Two (Comedy Central, Season 1). This show will not change your life. It’s very slight, with threadbare storylines and no real themes to speak of. It’s also kind of perfect. The lead performances, from Heléne Yorke and Drew Tarver, are flawless. Roughly 80% of the jokes land. Ken Marino is involved. There’s a Call Me By Your Name parody, an extended lip-synch sequence, and a gag about Ellen DeGeneres that I still think about to this day. It’s utterly disposable and thoroughly excellent.
43. On Becoming a God in Central Florida (Showtime, Season 1). Damn, Kirsten Dunst is good. On Becoming a God in Central Florida, which casts Dunst as an impoverished widow who decides to run a pyramid scheme to make ends meet, is an uneven show; there are moments of absolute greatness alongside scenes and plot points that flail badly. But holding everything together is Dunst, who delivers a riveting performance that mingles tenacity, regret, and pride. (Also, keep your eye on Théodore Pellerin, who’s very good and very funny as a hapless middle manager.) The message of Central Florida—basically, “pyramid schemes are a crock of shit”—isn’t all that involving, and its admirable attempt to dig into the minutiae of legalized swindling doesn’t always pay dividends. But then there’s Dunst killing alligators or demanding cunnilingus or dancing with sequined puppets, and you can’t help but be enthralled.
42. Veronica Mars (Hulu, Season 4). “A long time ago, we used to be friends,” and every Marshmallow knows the rest. Resurrecting a long-dormant cultish property isn’t without its hazards, and the new season of Veronica Mars occasionally stumbles while trying to walk the fine line between creativity and fan service. But while I didn’t find the latest mystery to be all that compelling, I was still happy to return to this show’s lovingly detailed milieu, and to spend time with its sharply detailed characters. The dialogue is solid, the acting is on point (hey, it’s J.K. Simmons!), and the daughter-father dynamic between Kristen Bell and Enrico Colantoni remains funny and touching. I didn’t need more Veronica Mars, but I’m pleased it came back anyway. We were always friends.
41. Vida (Starz, Season 2; last year: 58). It’s always nice to see a show get better in its sophomore season. Vida is still far from excellent, but it now feels like a flesh-and-blood TV series rather than a thoughtful but tentatively sketched setup. Its politics are more organically ingrained in its story, while the sororal relationship between Mishel Prada and Melissa Barrera (both very good) remains messy and heartfelt. (Roberta Colindrez is a predictably welcome addition as a no-frills bartender.) Vida’s conceptual modesty can limit its ceiling, but it hardly ever missteps, and there’s valor in the way it tells a small-scale story with such detail and tenderness. Sign me up for another round.
40. The Crown (Netflix, Season 3; 2017 rank: 49). It’s hardly Modern Love, but The Crown’s rigorous crisis-of-the-week format almost makes it feel like an anthology in its own right. (Another odd coincidence: Both series inexplicably chose to premiere their respective 2019 seasons with their worst episodes.) Yet the show’s rigid structure keeps paying off, because The Crown somehow still feels fresh three seasons in. It’s understandable to miss Claire Foy, but Olivia Colman is a worthy successor, while Tobias Menzies is arguably an upgrade on Matt Smith. And while a handful of Season 3 episodes are forgettable, several others—typically those centering on Helena Bonham-Carter’s Princess Margaret, but also hours involving the aftermath of a tragic avalanche and the clandestine plotting of a coup—are fleet, immersive, and sad. If you couldn’t care less about the putative struggles of the royal family, I get that, but it’s better to perceive The Crown as a simple character study about foolish, out-of-touch people struggling to understand an increasingly modern world. On that level, the show is interesting, and even moving.
39. Pen15 (Hulu, Season 1). Yikes. In Pen15, Maya Erskine and Anna Konkle, who are both 32, play fictionalized 13-year-old versions of themselves. This premise suggests that the show will play as broadly comic, and that it will be a silly send-up of teen-movie tropes. Wrong. To be sure, Pen15 is frequently funny, and it traffics heavily in turn-of-the-millennium nostalgia; hell, there’s an entire episode devoted to the uniquely teenage experience of watching Wild Things on VHS. But the series is deeply committed to exploring the excruciating awkwardness of early adolescence, in particular from the female perspective. This means that certain plot points—involving fashion, menstruation, and masturbation—are captured with a devastating combination of cluelessness and sympathy. There’s a cringe-comedy style to the show that can make it difficult to watch—some of it is, as the kids say, too real—but Pen15 isn’t really designed to make you wince. It’s instead a work of absolute kindness, even as it forces you to travel back in time and confront your old, helpless self.
38. Mindhunter (Netflix, Season 2; 2017 rank: 28). The intensity of this show is undeniable. It’s unrelenting, but it’s also meticulous in its procedural and period detail. It’s largely impeccable. Yet for whatever reason, the second season of Mindhunter didn’t quite grab me the way I’d hoped it would. The extended arc involving the hunt for a serial killer in Atlanta is conveyed with clarity and dark humor, but it never yields a payoff, and while that lack of catharsis is obviously rooted in history, it still feels like an artistic shortcoming. Similarly, the runner involving Holt McCallany’s possibly psychopathic young son, while unquestionably chilling in the abstract, never quite shook me to my core. To be clear: This is a very good show, and it’s made with extraordinary care. But I’m still waiting for it to draw blood. (And based on recent news, it sounds like I might be waiting awhile.)
37. The End of the Fucking World (Netflix, Season 2; last year: 21). This show is so sad. Yes, it’s quirky and bleakly funny and surprisingly suspenseful, but the relationship between its leads—beautifully played by Jessica Barden and Alex Lawther—is one of confusion, misunderstanding, and asymmetrical pain. It’s heartbreaking. Yet it’s also joyous, watching these broken characters fumble around, searching for the right words and trying to make sense of their chaotic bundle of feelings. The first season of The End of the Fucking World was so perfect, it hardly needed a renewal. But I’m thrilled it received one, because shows this distinctive—spiky, tense, unwavering—are hard to find.
36. Broad City (Comedy Central, Season 5; 2017 rank: 42). Saying goodbye to this show was always going to be hard, but did it need to deliver such a classic finale, so full of fear and humor and poignancy? Like any comedy series, Broad City tended to be hit-and-miss, and its final season was no exception; the second episode in particular, featuring Ilana setting up a makeshift workspace on the sidewalk, was a groaner. But the show’s heart was always the friendship between Ilana and Abbi, and it continued to mine that relationship in remarkable ways in its final hours, in that inimitable funny-sad way. It concluded on a note of wistful optimism, a reminder that even when people move away, they aren’t really gone. That’s something to keep in mind as we recall this strange, beautiful show.
35. Undone (Amazon, Season 1). Well this is different. Undone doesn’t fit neatly into a particular genre. It isn’t live-action, but it isn’t entirely animated either, instead using rotoscoping. And while its short length (eight 23-minute episodes) is atypical for a drama, it sure as hell isn’t a comedy. It’s hard to describe. Is it a character study? An anti-romance? A conspiracy thriller? Undone is all and none of those things, and its slipperiness—its refusal to be pigeonholed—is what makes it such a fascinating show. At its center (beyond its gorgeous animation) is Rosa Salazar’s wonderfully brittle performance as a woman who’s unsure if her mind is starting to disintegrate. This is a series full of strangeness and mystery, of questioning the world and your place in it. It’s hard to fathom. But its singularity is hard to deny.
34. Mr. Robot (USA, Season 4; 2017 rank: 36). Its plot was always incomprehensible, but Mr. Robot was never about what happened; it was about how, and why. In its final season, Sam Esmail’s massively ambitious series still had its drawbacks; there’s far too much blather about the Dark Army and the Deus Group and the Washington Township power plant and blah blah. An early episode in which three characters spend most of the hour wandering through the woods feels like a screeching metaphor for the show’s own ungainly scope. But, twist! Beginning with its fifth episode—an absolutely thrilling heist hour with no dialogue whatsoever—Season 4 rediscovers its mojo, supplying a number of insulated installments that probe deeply into Rami Malek’s psyche while also delivering the genre goods. Esmail’s craft remains formidable, and in its closing hours, Mr. Robot goes for broke, providing one last reveal that makes you recontextualize the entire show. Does it make perfect sense? Not at all. But it sure is something to watch.
33. Servant (Apple, Season 1). Well hey there, M. Night Shyamalan. To be clear, the polarizing filmmaker didn’t create Servant; its showrunner is TV veteran Tony Basgallop. But Shyamalan’s fingerprints are all over this show, a deliciously creepy thriller that features just a few characters and takes place entirely within a handsome Philadelphia brownstone. There’s very little violence in Servant, and only a whiff of unexplained phenomena. What there is instead is constant tension, a slow-building dread amplified by the sharp craft—the cinematographer is rising star Mike Gioulakis—and the slightly mannered performances. (Six Feet Under’s Lauren Ambrose is the standout, though it’s a hoot to see Rupert Grint as a caddish drunkard.) The series’ long-simmering mystery can only end in a letdown, but the journey is intoxicating, and in its two best episodes—both directed by Shyamalan—Servant fully realizes the potential of its hellish conceit. It gives new meaning to “hush little baby”; watching from your couch, you’ll be terrified to make a sound.
32. Black Earth Rising (Netflix, Season 1). I generally avoid using the term “underrated”, but, like, did anybody else even watch this show? It rules! Created by Hugo Blick, whose prior series was the stupendous geopolitical thriller The Honourable Woman, Black Earth Rising is jam-packed, full of twists and intrigue and thorny racial politics. (There’s a death in the second episode that’s one of the most shocking things I’ve ever seen on TV.) It’s also made with consummate skill; Blick, who himself appears in a few episodes as a disturbingly amoral lawyer (think Paul Bettany without a soul), is a superior director, and his set pieces thrum with energy and tension. He’s also a very active writer, and the puzzle-box structure of Black Earth Rising can occasionally feel exhausting in its complexity. But it’s salvaged by its humanism; Michaela Coel’s go-for-broke performance is highly watchable, and even when it doesn’t work, it’s counterbalanced beautifully by John Goodman’s rumpled dignity. The story is full of questions and surprises, but the greatest mystery of Black Earth Rising is how it could have gone so thoroughly ignored.
31. The Loudest Voice (Showtime, Season 1). Yeesh. If you were a relative or a dear friend of Roger Ailes, you might not care for this show, which makes no pretense of objectivity. For everyone else, The Loudest Voice is a chilling portrait of an American villain, a monstrous man who permanently poisoned the nation’s political language and abused countless women besides. Russell Crowe, delivering his best performance in ages, smartly doesn’t try to make Ailes sympathetic, but he does make him explicable, showing us how Ailes’ venality and predation stemmed from all-too-human selfishness and self-regard. The scariest thing about this series is how true it feels, and how it paints a portrait of an America that’s so upsettingly recognizable. Two nights ago, Lou Dobbs responded to the revelations surrounding John Bolton by using graphics purporting to chart explosive ties between Bolton, Mitt Romney, and James Comey. As The Loudest Voice makes hauntingly clear, for this insanity, we in large part have Roger Ailes to thank.
Coming tomorrow: witchers, poets, politicians, magicians, assassins,
announcers, and more.
Jeremy Beck is the editor-in-chief of MovieManifesto. He watches more movies and television than he probably should.