Ranking Every TV Show of 2021: #s 30-21

We’re continuing with our rankings of every TV show of 2021. For earlier episodes, check out the following links:

#s 108-95 (tiers 11 and 10)
#s 94-84 (tier 9)
#s 83-61 (tiers 8 and 7)
#s 60-41 (tiers 6 and 5)
#s 40-31 (tier 4)

Tier 3: Double-honorable mention
30. Mythic Quest (Apple, Season 2; last year: 17 of 124). Two seasons in, Mythic Quest seems to have developed a critical reputation as a serviceable office sitcom with a periodic gift for telling stellar standalone stories. I agree that the series’ best installments are its departures—Season 2’s is actually a double feature, first set in a gloriously unglamorous 1970s writing studio, then flashing back to the present day and bringing in William Hurt (while also affording F. Murray Abraham the chance to deliver the line, “I’m gonna fuck his wife”)—but I think this description underrates it. Front to back, Mythic Quest remains a deeply enjoyable show, with an excellent cast, snappy writing, and a brisk pace. And those moments of isolation aren’t the only instances of formal cleverness; there’s also a bottle episode here that brilliantly leverages the actors’ collective talent for hurling choice insults. (Charlotte Nicdao’s perpetually thwarted designer remains the MVP, though Caitlin McGee’s cheery basement dweller deserves more screen time.) Franchise bloat is real, but some games have earned the right to keep churning out sequels.

29. Impeachment (FX, Season 1). Too real? I have apparently reached the age where I can remember living through the historical events that have become grist for prestige adaptations, and I wasn’t especially excited about living through the saga of Bill Clinton’s impeachment a second time. Thankfully, the investigation at the center of Impeachment is less narrative than thematic. Yes, the series hits all of the expected nuggets—the tapes, the dress, “the meaning of the word ‘is’”—but it’s more interested in exploring the heavy costs that society’s prurience can exact on women who are slut-shamed and trivialized. The show is a little overstuffed—most of the Paula Jones material, while philosophically consonant, feels tacked on—but when it homes in on Beanie Feldstein’s Monica Lewinsky, it acquires both potency and poignancy. (Sarah Paulson, meanwhile, is appropriately despicable, turning Linda Tripp into a deplorable villain who nevertheless perceives herself as the tragic hero.) The sixth episode, in which the net around Lewinsky rapidly tightens, is a chilling depiction of government wielding unchecked power. Good thing history never repeats itself.

28. For All Mankind (Apple, Season 2). When evaluating an entire season of television, how much weight are you supposed to give a fantastic finale? For most of its second season, For All Mankind is enjoyable but serviceable. It smartly centers some of its female characters—in particular Wrenn Schmidt’s savvy mathematician and Jodi Balfour’s ascendant commander—while also rounding out the male heroes who scanned as generic alpha dogs when we first met them. But the pacing is a little slack, and some of the subplots—in particular one involving Shantel VanSanten’s dissatisfied bar owner—are duds. And then along comes “The Grey”, a scorcher of an episode that brilliantly weaves all of the season’s many strands into one gripping, glorious braid. Whether it entirely redeems the rest of the season—which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly in need of redemption in the first place—is an open question. But with Season 3 on the distant horizon, it’s nice to see this uneven, engaging alternate history truly blast off.

27. WandaVision (Disney, Season 1). I like the Marvel movies well enough, but the biggest knock against them is that they lack true personality. WandaVision, the first MCU-sanctioned series for the small screen (those old Netflix shows aren’t canon, I guess?), corrects for that deficit many times over, and I mean that literally. The show doesn’t just have a personality; it has many personalities, as each episode reinvents itself to lightly parody a beloved sitcom touchstone from the annals of American television. Not being a sitcom historian myself (sorry, I grew up on Square One and Saved by the Bell reruns), I can’t really speak to the veracity of the series’ imitative prowess, though its homages to shows like Bewitched and The Brady Bunch certainly seem to be lovingly textured. What matters is that WandaVision is doing something; it’s taking comic-book characters and placing them within a precisely detailed architecture. That’s a big win, and it becomes bigger thanks to the winning performances from Elizabeth Olsen, Paul Bettany, and Kathryn Hahn. Inevitably (or maybe not? show some courage, creators!), the series loses some steam when it reintegrates itself back into the MCU proper. But in its early episodes—and even in some of its later ones, which pay tribute to Modern Family and its ilk—it vibrates with its own peculiar identity. Strange, really. Even when it’s constantly calling back to the TV programs of yore, WandaVision feels very much like its own thing.

26. Only Murders in the Building (Hulu, Season 1). This show is utterly delightful. The cast is great: Steve Martin and Martin Short are fine wine, while Selena Gomez plays off their old-man connection with deliciously youthful impatience. The story deftly maintains the balance between playful send-up and legitimate whodunit. The staging is sharp, the pacing is taut, and the dialogue sings. And yet, has Only Murders in the Building become maybe a tad overpraised? I really like it, but outside of the seventh episode—an absolute tour de force of formal audacity and quiet sincerity—it never quite transcends its cutesy “Let’s make a murder mystery about a murder mystery” vibe. Still, it executes that vibe awfully well, and the zippy zingers never overwhelm the humanity of the characters. Great stuff. Just maybe not great enough to inspire its own worshipful podcast.

25. Ted Lasso (Apple, Season 2; last year: 14). One of my personal tenets is that criticism is about conversation; you will never hear me tell people to stop arguing about art, because spirited argument is what animates great art in the first place. And yet, oof, did things get ugly during the second season of this series, to the point where I just wanted to tell everyone to shut up and let me enjoy my warm slice of uplifting nourishment in peace. I don’t think Ted Lasso is a perfect show; its comedy can falter on occasion, and its wholesomeness can sometimes slide into sap. But it remains a thoroughly enjoyable work, acknowledging the virtues of kindness while grappling with the exhausting toll of relentless positivity. It’s also more daring than it seems, willing to shake up its characters and experiment with odd detours. (Sue me, I loved the Beard episode.) Jason Sudeikis continues to do great work as an upbeat coach clinging to his personal philosophy, while the relationship between Brett Goldstein and Juno Temple is one of the sweetest I’ve seen on TV. Am I suggesting that you’re a fool if you dislike this show? Don’t be silly. But that it makes so many people angry, I just find hard to believe.

24. Billions (Showtime, Season 5.5; last year: 19). At what point does Billions become less about itself and more about the constant stream of references that all of the characters spout, like they’re characters in a more omnivorous version of High Fidelity? Come to think of it, has anyone on Billions ever made a High Fidelity reference? And does it make me shameless that I enjoy all of the references, or does it just mean I have great taste? But honestly, this is overblown; the plot machinations on this show are so dizzying, it’s hardly just sitting back and recycling existing material. That those dizzying machinations are beside the point is arguably troubling, or maybe it would be if the speed-talking characters weren’t such a blast to hang out with. In its best seasons (2 and 4), Billions miraculously matched its slick style with complex personalities whose fraught emotional predicaments were equally invigorating. I’m not sure it’s at that point any longer. But it remains superior entertainment, and the whole cast—most notably Maggie Siff, Asia Kate Dillon, and a deliriously indecent David Costabile—continues to fire on all cylinders. I’ll invest with these degenerates forever.

23. Dr. Death (Peacock, Season 1). Woof. I’m resistant to true-crime procedurals, which tend to flatten the complexity of real life into conveniently digestible packages, often with a shrill sermon attached. Dr. Death doesn’t entirely avoid that trap; I’m sure there’s more to the story, and it can’t always bring dynamic energy to a narrative steeped in medical and legal minutiae. But man, if you watch this show, you will never feel comfortable scheduling a surgery ever again. The simplicity of the crime is what’s so scary about it (well, that and its constant repetition), and Joshua Jackson smartly leans into the title character’s good-old-boy charm while leaving his underlying motivations ambiguous. What Dr. Death is really about, though, is the stubborn entrenchment of established institutions in the face of willful depravity. That’s why the real stars are a gleefully hammy Christian Slater and a more reserved Alec Baldwin; their angular partnership, as fellow medical professionals seeking to stop a criminal in their ranks, forms the series’ stern moral backbone. (AnnaSophia Robb is quietly excellent as a determined prosecutor.) This show is essentially a slasher movie, and the guy holding the knife isn’t the only killer in the picture.

22. Blindspotting (Starz, Season 1). The themes of Blindspotting—which tackles the racial disparity endemic to the American justice system, the challenges of single motherhood, and the richness of Black community, among other topics—are undeniably important. What’s more important is how they’re conveyed with such urgency and alacrity. This is a serious show, but it’s also a fun one, with a warm tone and inviting performances. Its characters’ frequent flights of fancy presumably function as an escape from the callousness of the modern world, but they double as vibrant expressions of creativity. Jasmine Cephas Jones holds the center with ease, co-creator Rafael Casal steals every scene he’s in (his best bud Daveed Diggs remains off-screen until the very end), and Helen Hunt, well, who doesn’t love seeing Helen Hunt? The Blindspotting movie (one of my favorites of 2018) hardly called out for an expanded universe. The Blindspotting show has me craving more.

21. Yellowjackets (Showtime, Season 1). People sure are buzzing about this show, huh? Sorry. But this bracing, dual-timeline study of women in (and inflicting) peril does more than simply resuscitate the case for a weekly release schedule. It also recognizes the appeal of smart genre storytelling, building to hairpin turns and shocking deaths without relying too heavily on puzzle-box mystery. The once-and-future-queen structure practically compels speculation—who survived? who holds a grudge? who got eaten??—but Yellowjackets is too forceful a work to reduce itself to a mere guessing game. What’s scary about this furiously suspenseful show is that it still has room to improve; despite some terrific actors (Melanie Lynskey! Christina Ricci!), the present-day scenes can feel boggy. But maybe that’s only in comparison to the wilderness-set flashbacks, which seethe with tension and unpredictability. (Also, the soundtrack totally rules, as does the cassette-hissing title sequence.) And if the remainder of Yellowjackets doesn’t quite compare to its pilot, that’s only because that pilot is one of the most electrifying episodes of television I’ve ever seen. Not that it’s especially complicated. Sometimes, a plane crash is all you need to take flight.

Coming tomorrow: comediennes, musicians, sinners, and hoteliers.