Ranking Every TV Show of 2022: #s 20-11

Entering the home stretch, we’re nearly finished with our rankings of every TV show of 2022. For prior installments, check out the following links:

#s 110-96
#s 95-81
#s 80-61
#s 60-41
#s 40-31
#s 30-21

20. The Handmaid’s Tale (Hulu, Season 5; last year: 12 of 108). Here’s a philosophical conundrum: What if a once-great TV show stayed great and nobody noticed? It’s fair to accuse the fifth season of The Handmaid’s Tale of creative stasis, at least in stretches; there are only so many ways for Elisabeth Moss to gaze intently at the camera in prolonged close-up. But even if the series stops short of fully reinventing itself, it nevertheless continues to reshape its thorny dystopia in provocative ways. Moss brings her “A” game every episode, the visuals still possess their haunting amber glow, and Bradley Whitford has turned an archetype into one of the most weirdly complex villains on TV. “Do you have an irony deficiency?” he deadpans at one point. But The Handmaid’s Tale doesn’t lack for much—not black humor, not unpredictability, and not spellbinding shots of Moss staring into your soul.

19. House of the Dragon (HBO, Season 1). It was always going to nail the spectacle. The budget of this series is roughly equal to the GDP of Casterly Rock, and it shows; the castles are meticulously ornamented, the creatures move and breathe with rippling realism, and the wigs shine with exotic luster. What’s really surprising about House of the Dragon, at least in light of the catastrophic conclusion to Game of Thrones (which, I’ll remind you, was actually Not That Bad outside of its last 40 minutes), is the quality of the writing—the depth and humanity of the characters, the clockwork precision of the plotting. The danger of prequels is that they’ll be too dependent on their predecessor—too tempted to tease future developments and drop winking references—but while House of the Dragon plainly takes place in the same geographic and temporal universe as Game of Thrones, it already feels very much like its own thing, swiftly accumulating independent stockpiles of desire, anger, and tenderness. We may know where it’s going, but at least it’s getting there by taking flight.

18. The Bear (FX on Hulu, Season 1). The seventh episode of The Bear—an 18-minute single-take triumph that crawls through a restaurant kitchen where the heat is rising in more ways than one—is possibly the greatest single piece of television in 2022. In fact, it’s so good—so absorbing in its camera moves, so inexorable in its momentum, so merciless in its build of tension—that it threatens to obscure the rest of the series, which is very solid and also nowhere near as great as its finest moment. If that’s an unfair judgment, it’s the least of Carmy Berzatto’s problems; played by Jeremy Allen White, he’s the brilliant cook stuck slaving away in his dead brother’s Chicago sandwich shop, surrounded by shifty cousins, sulky subordinates, and hangry customers. Of course, Carmy himself is a complete asshole, and The Bear doesn’t spare him from its jaundiced view of society. What’s satisfying about the show is how it gradually thaws its frozen heart, treating its struggling and disgruntled characters (including an excellent Ayo Edebiri) with honesty and warmth, without ever sacrificing the intensity and verisimilitude that make it so jolting in the first place. It’s a ferociously humane pressure cooker. Thank you, chef.

17. Andor (Disney, Season 1). The hyperbolic acclaim surrounding this program—it’s the show of the year! it’s the greatest Star Wars thing since The Empire Strikes Back!—isn’t just exaggerated; it’s fundamentally antithetical to the series’ no-nonsense professionalism and artistic rigor. By definition, all Star Wars properties are science-fiction, but Andor nonetheless feels deeply rooted in human emotions and earthly challenges; sure, the characters are revolutionaries and soldiers, but they’re also just people with jobs and families. That the series operates as a surprisingly persuasive text on the nuances of rebellion in a tyrannical state is impressive but also incidental; the master plot is less important than the finely grained details. Andor also deftly threads the needle between serialized and episodic, delivering a handful of mini-arcs that each build to their own climax, two of which—the long-awaited execution of a dangerous heist, and the desperate breakout from a dystopian prison—are electrifying in their energy and friction. That these spiffy set pieces are tethered to three-dimensional characters is quite the bonus. Who knew that a galaxy far, far away could hit so close to home?

16. Pachinko (Apple, Season 1). The sheer ambition of Pachinko—a sprawling series that spans decades, continents, and empires—is its own reward. But it’s far from the show’s only reward. Nimbly bouncing from the terrifying oppression of colonial Korea to the gleaming modernity of late-’80s Tokyo, Pachinko creates an intricate tapestry in which long-simmering grudges and desires interweave with the contemporary ravages of isolation and capitalism. Yet while certain elements are quite bleak—the seventh episode, which focuses exclusively on a cataclysmic earthquake, is wrenching in both its large-scale devastation and its personal sense of loss—this is no piece of miserabilism. It’s fun and colorful, with lively performances (most notably from Kim Min-ha and Youn Yuh-jung, the latter who recently won an Oscar for Minari) and sharp style. It’s fitting that the title sequence, which invites you inside the series’ filigreed world with irresistible enthusiasm (and which is second only to Peacemaker’s for its visual verve), takes place in one of the titular parlors. Sometimes, gambling big pays off.

15. Wedding Season (Hulu, Season 1). Is this the most underrated show of the year? That’s a dubious label because it hinges on your subjective perception of others’ opinions, so let’s instead call it my favorite series that I didn’t hear anyone else talk about. Your loss, because Wedding Season rips. Braiding together strands of various genres (the whodunit, the rom-com, the spy thriller), it’s a lightning-paced romp whose momentum never flags, even as it takes time to sharpen its humor and round out its characters. It’s also anchored by what ought to be a star-making performance from Rosa Salazar, who seems to be making a habit of propping up little-seen gems. (Remember Brand New Cherry Flavor? You probably don’t, but you should!) Her blood-spattered bride is an alluring cocktail of contradictions—cranky yet charming, capricious yet loyal, helpless yet completely in control—and she commands your attention without deigning to ask for it. Some nuptials aren’t meant to last, but even if Wedding Season ends up tragically lost in time to the #PeakTV glut, Salazar is destined for immortality.

14. Never Have I Ever (Netflix, Season 3; last year: 53). I enjoyed the first two seasons of Never Have I Ever well enough—it’s cute and wholesome, with a culturally specific slant on teen-comedy tropes—but I assumed that it had a relatively low ceiling. Well, if teenagers can eventually grow up, then so can TV shows. Season 3 of this charming comedy is remarkably assured; no longer anxiously concocting goofy premises, it’s confident enough to simply let its characters breathe and evolve. It’s still rooted in familiar high-school shenanigans—popularity issues, boy troubles, academic tomfoolery—but the humor is less desperate and more natural, and the relationships are simultaneously dreamy and grounded. The realities of aging mean that any series set in high school has a limited shelf life, but I’m starting to hope these girls get held back forever.

13. Severance (Apple, Season 1). Strange, I know that I watched this show, but I have no memory of it. Just kidding. The mere premise of Severance—in which employees volunteer to surgically partition their brains, preventing them from recalling their time at work once they leave the office (and vice-versa)—is tantalizing in how it’s primed to explore meaty issues of corporate exploitation and work-life balance. But Severance is more than a think piece about the banality of forced fun. Directed primarily by Ben Stiller (who, between this and Escape at Dannemora, is proving himself quite capable at long-form storytelling), it’s a marvelously offbeat thriller, with killer production design and sly visual flourishes. Adam Scott is a steady anchor, one who allows the more flavorful supporting performances—Tramell Tillman as a terrifyingly efficient middle manager, Michael Chernus as a hopeless self-help writer, John Turturro and Christopher Walken in one of the year’s sweetest romances—to really pop. And in an era where many TV shows struggle to stick the landing, Severance delivers a powerhouse finale, one that brilliantly builds on the entire season’s groundwork and crescendos to a climax of masterful suspense. It’ll be hard for Season 2 to top that, but if there’s one thing this series understands, it’s how to manufacture a brand new start.

12. Barry (HBO, Season 3, 2019 rank: 63 of 101). The pattern here is unusual. Most multi-season shows either start out strong and then fizzle, or begin tentatively before finding their footing. Barry seemed to be conforming to the former track; if its first season was an inspired mixture of taut action and absurdist comedy, its second just felt stuck in mud. So it’s quite the shock just how good Season 3 is—how efficiently it moves, how confidently it blends its tones. As a farce, Barry is fluid and versatile, mixing physical humor, snappy dialogue, and acrid Hollywood satire. Yet it’s somehow even more accomplished as an action show; some of its set pieces (directed by Bill Hader himself) pulse with the clarity and imagination of a Coen Brothers picture. But perhaps the craziest thing about Barry is how gracefully its seemingly opposite poles—its zany comedy, its ruthless intensity—occupy the same space, complementing each other as they tunnel deeper into a heart of darkness. It’s hilarious. It’s also a nightmare.

11. The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (Amazon, Season 4; 2019 rank: 2). Season 4 is the weakest go-round for The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel; this means, given that each of its prior installments ranked in my top five for their respective years, that its quality has diminished from “Hall of Fame worthy” to “simply extremely good.” I won’t deny that some slight creative rust has oxidized, and that the series is recycling some of its best bits even as it strives to push forward. But when those bits are so wonderful, then who cares? This remains a stupendously well-made show, humming with color and vivacity and craft. The season premiere features a cacophonous sequence set on a Ferris wheel, and everything about it—the rhythm, the dialogue, the editing—is pure magic. As the titular comedienne, Rachel Brosnahan is still utterly luminous, while the rest of the cast (in particular Alex Borstein and Luke Kirby) parry the Palladinos’ dialogue with effortless flair. The finale promises that the upcoming (and last!) season of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel will venture in a new direction. I look forward to that, but it’s hardly necessary. On TV, sometimes the best history repeats itself.

Coming tomorrow: the top 10.