Ranking Every TV Show of 2020: #s 30-21

We’re continuing with our ranking of every TV show of 2020. For prior entries, check out the following links:

#s 124-110 (tiers 12 and 11)
#s 109-85 (tiers 10 and 9)
#s 84-61 (tiers 8 and 7)
#s 60-41 (tiers 6 and 5)
#s 40-31 (tier 4)

Tier 3: Are we sure this isn’t the top 10?
30. Mrs. America (FX on Hulu, Season 1). The premise sounds suspiciously like bothsidesism: Mrs. America explores not only the women who fought to pass the Equal Rights Amendment, but also the women who mobilized against it. But this series doesn’t purport to be an apolitical piece of storytelling, even if it proceeds with consummate rigor and exceptional detail. What animates Mrs. America isn’t so much the struggle of the women’s liberation movement (though that’s surely part of it) but the more abstract process of political organizing. It examines how the pursuit of a common goal can transmogrify into a squabble over competing interests, and how advocacy can splinter people apart as well as bring them together. Structurally, the show is astute, with each episode focusing on a specific character while gradually deepening the larger schisms at work. It’s buoyed by a top-flight cast, led by Cate Blanchett (who owns the series’ final, most devastating image) but also featuring Rose Byrne, Uzo Aduba, Sarah Paulson, and a characteristically wonderful Margo Martindale. If Mrs. America isn’t always satisfying, that’s because dissatisfaction is baked in to the zero-sum game of contemporary politics. It recognizes, with dispiriting clarity, everyone’s equal right to be disappointed.

29. Pen15 (Hulu, Season 2; last year: 39 of 101). Yikes. It was inevitable that the second season of Pen15 would commit even harder to the excruciating awkwardness that made its first go-round such a critical success. What surprised me about the follow-up, though, was its gentleness. It isn’t as though the series has lost its edge; the agonizing pool party scene in the premiere will disabuse you of that notion straight away. But there’s something sweeter about Season 2—a layer of compassion that bubbles up and resides alongside the omnipresent angst. It was always there, I suppose, but it feels more pronounced now, and it makes this batch of episodes more enjoyable, even if Pen15 remains a creepily authentic recreation of middle-school hell. The final two installments, centering on a drama club’s hapless attempts at adapting an Arthur Miller-esque play, are a perfect fusion of the show’s seemingly disparate elements, somehow combining pubescent rage, childish bickering, sexual confusion, and bone-deep tenderness into a cohesive whole. Standing ovation.

28. Wynonna Earp (Syfy, Season 4; 2018 rank: 25 of 93). Turns out the one demon Wynonna Earp couldn’t vanquish was the coronavirus. Obviously, there are worse problems than the interruption of a silly sci-fi series about Wyatt Earp’s great-great-granddaughter, but for all of the valiant struggle that this series went through to get a fourth season, to have its production suspended midway through was just a cruel twist of fate. Still, the six episodes we did get are predictably glorious. The show is basically just winging its mythology at this point, which is fine with me, because the bonkers plot was never the point. It’s about the characters, and they remain as scrappy and dopey and lovable as ever. (The new villain seems like a miss at this point, but we’ll see.) There are killer nuns and trapped ghosts and shape-shifting babes and vengeful homesteaders, and it’s all happily ridiculous; what unites everything is the underlying warmth and the gung-ho spirit. To paraphrase the theme song, I’m telling this devil to give me more.

27. P-Valley (Starz, Season 1). Talk about local color. P-Valley takes place in Mississippi (it’s filmed in Atlanta), and you can practically feel the humidity that soaks everyone’s clothes with sweat. But the series—which follows the lives of several dancers at a strip club, along with their flamboyant manager—is more than just a swampy take on G-String Divas. It’s a bold and even sprawling look at a local economy, hitting on issues of gentrification, city politics, body commodification, and spousal abuse. If that makes the show sound overstretched, it kind of is, but P-Valley is so pungent in its depiction of its characters’ inner and outer lives, it’s easy to forgive it a questionable subplot or two. It also features one of the year’s breakout performances from Nicco Annan as Uncle Clifford, the queer proprietor of the town’s exotic watering hole. With a velvet voice and talons for nails, Annan makes Clifford utterly magnetic, refusing to tarnish her with even a hint of shame. The dancers are plenty hot (seriously, hello Elarica Johnson), but the real attraction is busy counting her money in the back.

26. Homecoming (Amazon, Season 2; 2018 rank: 19). I try not to waste too much time worrying about consensus opinions, but, like, did anyone actually watch the second season of Homecoming? It’s really good! After a bracing first run directed by Sam Esmail (Mr. Robot), it was natural to anticipate a downturn, but that expectation seems to have preemptively squelched enthusiasm for Season 2, which is just as kinetic and suspenseful. Janelle Monáe is deeply sympathetic as a victim toiling to reconstruct what happened to her, while Hong Chau is excellent in an enlarged role as an ambitious executive. And even with Kyle Patrick Alvarez replacing Esmail in the director’s chair, the series retains its signature snap, with gripping set pieces and lightning-fast pacing. Who says you can’t go home again?

25. What We Do in the Shadows (FX, Season 2; last year: 60). I enjoyed the first season of What We Do in the Shadows well enough, but I never quite understood the praise that critics lavished on it. Well, either my taste improved or the show did, because I found Season 2 to be simply delightful. The show is more focused, with more inventive ideas and brisker execution. It’s also just plain funnier; no longer content to coast on the wacky setup, the writers have bothered to craft dialogue that’s actually witty. And the actors seem more relaxed, playing off of one another expertly so that the show functions as a true ensemble piece. Vampires may never age, but this show’s dramatic upgrade illustrates that sometimes, there’s no substitute for experience.

24. Insecure (HBO, Season 4; 2018 rank: 60). Speaking of improvements. Following a solid first season, Insecure had settled into unmemorable territory—not bad enough to be execrable, but not interesting enough to be truly good. Season 4 bounces back in a big way, delving seriously into the slow-motion disintegration of its central friendship. Maybe it isn’t that funny, but this series has always been sharper as commentary than comedy, and its insight into its main characters’ lives—their jobs, their lovers, their passions, their frustrations—has never felt more acute. And in breaking down the relationship between Issa Rae’s activist and Yvonne Orji’s lawyer, Insecure restores its own sense of emotional clarity and empathy. It also—and this has become something of a theme with this year’s rankings, or maybe just my taste in general—wields individual episodes with purpose, such as a freighted trip to Mexico or an all-night reunion with an ex. It took awhile, but this show can feel proud once again.

23. Industry (HBO, Season 1). I’m trying to imagine the elevator pitch for Industry. “OK, it’s a damning depiction of the toxicity of the modern workplace set at an investment banking firm in London, only all of the characters are super hot and have a ton of sex that only further deteriorates their already-fragile emotional well-being.” And you know what? Sold! (Or maybe bought? I don’t know finance.) The setup for Industry isn’t exactly the stuff of high drama, but of course, the specifics of the characters’ profession is entirely beside the point (though the series does at least seem reasonably steeped in stock-market nomenclature). What matters is the atmosphere: a poison cloud of intensity, competition, and desperation. And yet, while the series is undeniably high-strung, it’s also playful and even funny, with lots of enjoyable character pairings and zippy dialogue. This is a show that’s deeply angry about the disturbing power dynamics inherent in a capitalistic society (particularly in regard to gender imbalance); it’s also a ton of fun. To quote one of its absurdly sexy strivers: It’s a whole snacc.

22. Fargo (FX, Season 4; 2017 rank: 4 of 108). The first three seasons of Fargo all landed in my top five for their particular year, so I suppose it’s fair to call Season 4 relatively weak. The reliably colorful characters feel somewhat disconnected from one another, and the wide-ranging plot never quite coalesces with the proper force. Whatever. This remains a ferociously well-made show, with a massively talented cast and a knack for smoothly orchestrated violence. Chris Rock is saddled with the anchor role, which means that Jessie Buckley and Jason Schwartzman get to have all of the fun (and do they ever), but the bench remains extraordinarily deep, with plum parts going to Jack Huston, Timothy Olyphant, and Glynn Turman. (Also, keep your eye on Salvatore Esposito, who makes a major impression as a daunting heavy.) And even if Fargo’s various threads don’t weave together seamlessly, its individual moments can still be staggering: a poisoned pie with unforeseen consequences; a fateful stumble on an icy sidewalk; an extended homage to The Wizard of Oz. Out of respect for past seasons of Fargo, I’ll call this one a disappointment; out of respect for the current one, I’ll call it a blast.

21. Lovecraft Country (HBO, Season 1). This show is a lot. It’s a throwback serial that’s also a racial critique that’s also a sci-fi mind-bender that’s also a horror anthology. There are vampires and wizards and pitiless blondes and interstellar journeys and Indiana Jones homages. If you’re wondering how Lovecraft Country could possibly cram all of this material into a streamlined and coherent narrative, well, it can’t, not exactly. But not unlike Fargo, the episode-to-episode pleasures of this monumentally ambitious series dwarf any issues of writerly consistency or structural integrity. The cast is solid; rising stars Jonathan Majors and Jurnee Smollett are both effortlessly charismatic, while Abbey Lee is marvelously icy. But it’s the conceptual stuff that really sizzles, like a racially tinged take on body-switching, or a time-travel loop that revisits the Tulsa race massacre with a flourish straight out of Harry Potter. Tracking the story can be tiring, and it doesn’t always pay off. But that complaint feels mundane when weighed against pleasures that are proudly, majestically otherworldly.

Coming tomorrow: astronauts, queens, comedians, and soccer coaches.