Ranking Every TV Show of 2020: #s 40-31

Our countdown of every TV show of 2020 continues. Prior installments can be found at 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)

Tier 4: Imperfect, but spicy
40. Giri/Haji (Netflix, Season 1). Narratively, Giri/Haji is reasonably entertaining but fairly familiar—a shopworn genre exercise loaded with double crosses, corrupt cops, and loathsome gangsters. But stylistically, this show is exquisite. Directed by a pair of relatively unknown TV veterans (including one who worked on Entourage, of all things), it’s deliriously experimental, regularly deploying changes in color scheme and aspect ratio, and these flourishes enhance the pulpy vibe rather than distract from it. (Also, Kelly Macdonald!) The finale features an operatic rooftop sequence that’s an absolute showstopper, a bravura fusion of action and ballet that practically demands an instant rewind. Does it make sense? Not really. Is it riveting? Unquestionably.

39. Tales from the Loop (Amazon, Season 1). The title suggests an anthology series, and Tales from the Loop sort of is, with each episode focusing on a different character residing in its nondescript Ohio town. But the different installments are nonetheless loosely connected—Rebecca Hall appears in most of them, which is always a good thing—and the show occupies a curious grey zone somewhere between serialized and episodic. Tonally, it’s somewhat muted, chronicling sci-fi misadventures that tend to be more existential than exciting. But in its best episodes—a body-switching lark that turns into literal identity theft; a chilling solitary encounter on a deserted island; a stunning time-bending hour that puts two new lovers through a crucible of doubt—Tales from the Loop amasses a quiet grandeur that belies its modest presentation. It can feel like a creature from another universe—strange, amorphous, and beautiful.

38. Westworld (HBO, Season 3; 2018 rank: 29 of 93). There are plotty TV shows where the storytelling is so byzantine, I get frustrated by my inability to follow them. And then there are plotty TV shows where the sensory pleasures are so gratifying, I disregard my inability to follow them. Guess which one this is? Thematically, I’m not exactly sure what Westworld is going for anymore, though it at least earns points for having actual ideas. But visually and sonically, it remains magnificent. Motorcycle chases! Swordfights! Evan Rachel Wood clowning a Hemsworth while wearing heels and a cocktail dress! The scene-to-scene thrills of Westworld are so giddily heightened, they allow me to overlook any quibbles I may have about the consistency of its storytelling. Besides, Season 3 receives a boost with the arrival of Aaron Paul, whose archetypal loner is placed in intriguing juxtaposition to Wood’s flame-throwing android, allowing the series to bring its grandest character back into proper focus. There’s a part of me that craves a sharper and more coherent version of this series, one whose vision of dangerous technology and corporate greed is more carefully honed. But whatever, so long as it keeps rolling out killer sequences featuring immaculately costumed actors and set to orchestral covers of pop tunes, I will happily keep buying tickets to this deranged, ravishing attraction.

37. The Mandalorian (Disney, Season 2; last year: 51 of 101). The first season of The Mandalorian was so admirably resistant to the serialized problems that plague so many franchises, it arguably veered too far in the other direction; its spareness could feel limiting as well as appealing. For the most part, Season 2 functions as a sensible course correction, largely maintaining the adventure-of-the-week structure but slightly nudging things toward more ambitious possibilities. Naturally, this results in an uptick in fan service, and on occasion, The Mandalorian can feel like its primary purpose is to introduce new characters for their own future spinoffs in Disney’s increasingly sprawling empire. (Do you know who Grand Admiral Thrawn is? You will!) But overall, the season works. The action is crisper and more dynamic, the dialogue is sharper and funnier, the environments are even more majestic, and the story features some legitimate heft as opposed to just carelessly bouncing from one scrap to the next. Plus, Baby Yoda is as adorable as ever. Even scruffy-looking nerfherders would approve.

36. Hanna (Amazon, Season 2; last year: 81). It is hardly surprising, and often inevitable, when a popular TV series is renewed for a second season and then fails to recapture the spark of its inaugural run. So it’s deeply satisfying when a show flips the script, diagnoses its problems, and comes back stronger than before. The second season of Hanna is far from perfect; Dermot Mulroney is poorly cast as the new big bad, and its child-army premise strains credibility if you think about it for too long. But the show feels so much more alive in Season 2, possibly because it’s liberated from any perceived need to live up to Joe Wright’s (largely spectacular) film. Esme Creed-Miles is a far more confident presence, and her titular assassin’s fraught partnership with Mireille Enos’ cool fixer ripples with slippery mistrust and wary affection. The action is more robust, too, with some dynamite set pieces that course with energy and precision. There’s even an unnerving subplot about data mining and social indoctrination which, if not fully fleshed out, is nevertheless intriguing and spooky. Before its first season, I questioned whether Hanna should have even been made; now, I’m not prepared to let it go.

35. Devs (FX on Hulu, Season 1). Alex Garland has a fertile imagination, but that isn’t his gift; hell, lots of people can dream up all sorts of crazily disturbing shit. No, Garland’s talent—which he previously expressed cinematically with Ex Machina and Annihilation—is that he can convey the bustling ideas pinballing across his consciousness to audiences via sound and images. To watch his work is to be transported into his mind, and to bear witness to the twisted concepts that spring forth from his brain. Devs, his first work for the small screen (though nothing about it feels small), is about… well, honestly, I’m not sure. Garland’s vision of a golden-hued technopolis is so mighty, so perfectly conceived, that it can be difficult to connect it to our own reality. What seems indisputable is that Devs is a product of considerable deliberation and immaculate craftsmanship. Whether it adequately connects its sensory wonders to its noirish tale of romance, murder, and betrayal—along with quite a few philosophical ruminations—is an open question. But it’s not one that I really feel the need to answer. Devs takes me to another world. That’s more than enough for me.

34. The Magicians (Syfy, Season 5; last year: 22). This show never quite became the truly exceptional series that it had the potential to be. Maybe it was the budget, or the commercial imperatives of securing new seasons, or the need to satisfy a large (and wonderful) cast. But even if The Magicians was never perfect, it was consistently awesome, routinely serving up classical storylines with a distinctly modern sensibility—think Mozart by way of the Sex Pistols. Its final season is occasionally burdened by too much plot busyness, but it’s still a romp, full of whimsy and imagination: a time-loop adventure, an involuntary musical sequence, an exquisite heist episode where the characters inadvertently break the fucking moon. The show was never really about magic; it was its rambunctious humor and playful spirit and sheer force of personality that made it magical. And while its similarities to Buffy the Vampire Slayer can hardly be ignored, I’m still not sure I’ve ever seen a show quite like it, or will again. Some spells can only be cast once.

33. Quiz (AMC, Season 1). As a filmmaker, Stephen Frears has been difficult to pin down, veering from prestige dramas (Mrs. Henderson Presents, Philomena) to gritty thrillers (The Grifters, Dirty Pretty Things) to oddball comedies (Tamara Drewe, Lay the Favorite), not to mention one of my favorite movies ever made (High Fidelity). I’m not inclined to tell him to stop making features, but Frears seems to have found his groove with three-episode docudramas—first two years ago with A Very English Scandal, and now with Quiz, a brisk and deeply immersive series about, well, a very English scandal, specifically the prosecution of a contestant who allegedly cheated on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? That doesn’t exactly scream high-stakes drama, but Quiz is smart in the way it leans in to its modest trappings, creating a cloistered world where everyone—the sweaty participants, the harried producers, the shouty executives—takes the game-show format with strenuous seriousness. (The exception is the show’s host, underplayed beautifully by the indispensable Michael Sheen.) The obligation to conform with actual events diminishes the series’ finale somewhat, but Quiz still crackles with nervous energy, amplified by its steady cast, including Matthew Macfadyen, Fleabag’s Sian Clifford, and Catastrophe’s Mark Bonnar. “Cheating on a quiz show, that’s sort of like plagiarizing a comic strip,” Paul Scofield scoffed ages ago in Quiz Show. This Quiz may lack that movie’s speed and humor, but it possesses its own bewildered momentum, ensuring that you’ll stay tuned in right until the very last question.

32. Ozark (Netflix, Season 3; 2018 rank: 44). There’s a vertiginous suspense to this show—the way its characters are always on the precipice of certain doom, only to yank themselves back via quick thinking or dumb luck. It can be exhausting, but there’s generally enough variety and local color in Ozark to prevent it from feeling repetitive. Jason Bateman has officially dropped the pretense of being a decent guy, and the series is all the better for it, while Julia Garner remains its emotional rock. And while Season 3 is arguably exactly like prior seasons only more so, it receives a considerable boost with the arrival of Tom Pelphrey (recently appearing as Gary Oldman’s brother in Mank), who brings with him a blast of anarchic energy that enlivens this grubby, grimy world. Critics justifiably lament Netflix wrapping shows too early, but the announcement that next season will be Ozark’s last is probably wise; it’s just hard to imagine how the series could maintain its constant tension indefinitely without growing stale. For now, though, it continues to manage a tricky balancing act—ominous but not desolate, entertaining but not preposterous. Bateman’s tense money launderer just wants to keep his head down, but lucky for us, he never seems to run out of problems to solve.

31. Unorthodox (Netflix, Season 1). Unorthodox is technically an American show (OK, fine, German-American), but it might as well take place on another planet. At least, that’s how most viewers will perceive it, given its extraordinary immersion into an ultra-orthodox Jewish community in Williamsburg. It’s fascinating for its insight alone—the marriages, the rituals, the gender roles—but this is more than just an exposé of a retrograde culture. It’s an escape thriller, watching nervously but compassionately as a young woman attempts to break free of a society where subjugation isn’t so much an affirmative act of oppression as a basic governing principle. Inspired by a memoir from one of its writers, Unorthodox isn’t objective and doesn’t pretend to be, but it still feels utterly true in its observational detail and quiet despair. Yet the series is too hopeful, too humane, to be punishing. In uncovering a world blanketed by darkness, it supplies a ray of light.

Coming this afternoon: vampires, demons, strippers, and teenagers.