Ranking Every TV Show of 2022: #s 30-21

Our weeklong project of ranking every TV show from 2022 continues. If you missed earlier pieces, you can find them at the following links:

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

30. Hacks (HBO, Season 2; last year: 16 of 108). The theory of Hacks is that stand-up comics risk falling into a creative rut if they keep performing the same material over and over. Obviously, the same concern applies to TV shows, so it’s gratifying that Season 2 of Hacks takes pains not to just repeat the charming, antagonistic banter of its first go-round. To be sure, Jean Smart and Hannah Einbinder still make beautifully dyspeptic music together; there is no shortage of zingers, comebacks, and eye-rolls. But the series is smart enough to change up the pace, taking its literal show on the road and exploring the logistical and artistic challenges of a late-career pivot. That sounds meta, but by this point, Smart and Einbinder’s caustic chemistry is its own main attraction. The characters may worry about staying relevant, but the actors don’t need to change a thing.

29. Peacemaker (HBO, Season 1). When I laughed at John Cena’s trademark quip in The Suicide Squad (“I cherish peace with all my heart; I don’t care how many men, women, and children I need to kill to get it”), I wasn’t expecting it to serve as the launching point for an entire TV show. And in our age of superhero saturation, the bar is fairly high for yet another series about a costumed vigilante. Fortunately, it turns out that James Gunn is good at this stuff. Peacemaker is about as entertaining as a mercenary spinoff can be: funny, dynamic, and oddly sweet. Cena has always been more comfortable as a comedian than a villain (recall his awkward fit in the Fast & Furious saga, though honestly, don’t), and here he’s ably supported by a reliable crew of misfits and weirdos: the trusty Danielle Brooks, the cranky Steve Agee, the scorching Jennifer Holland. Peacemaker doesn’t explore new territory, but its familiarity is what’s fun about it—the way it puts a lightly comic spin on stock scenarios. And then there is the magnificent title sequence, a euphoric blast of turbocharged dancing set to a Wig Wam jam that emphatically answers its own question: Yes, you do really wanna taste it.

28. The Sex Lives of College Girls (HBO, Season 2; last year: 9). There’s no sophomore slump for The Sex Lives of College Girls, which continues to explore the lives of its titular foursome with its easygoing mix of spiky humor, no-nonsense progressivism, and stealthy tenderness. Maybe the jokes don’t all land, and maybe the visual style is overly busy. But there’s a rich specificity to this show, which may tackle Social Issues du Jour (cancel culture! white privilege! free speech on campus!), but which does with an agility that evades shrill moralizing. The madcap plots and topical themes are rooted in the characters, who are written with well-textured warmth and portrayed with glowing sincerity. Sure, there are plenty of lines about boobs and penises, but the real organ at the center of this show is the heart.

27. Black Bird (Apple, Season 1). And now for something completely different. As its title suggests, there’s a darkness at the center of Black Bird—a hollow center that swallows all surrounding light like a voracious black hole. This sense of antimatter is embodied, with chilling persuasiveness, by Paul Walter Hauser, who invests his purported serial killer with perverse kindness and clammy curiosity; he seems like a decent guy, at least until you listen to the words tumbling out of his mouth and look at the dead spots in his eyes. Next to him, Taron Egerton is tasked with playing the smooth-talking, quick-thinking mole, a part the Rocketman star fulfills surprisingly well. As yet another true-crime drama, Black Bird doesn’t do much that’s new; most of the investigative stuff is straightforward, and the ticking-clock suspense can feel contrived. But as a depiction of human evil, it’s almost indecently engrossing, pulling you inside its dark nest and leaving you to wonder if anyone can hear your screams.

26. Pam & Tommy (Hulu, Season 1). Ah, here’s a relief, a docudrama that’s light and fun! You should know better. In fairness, there’s a healthy amount of joy in this series, which depicts the ill-fated marriage between Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee; they’re two celebrities who genuinely have the hots for each other, and they’re even mutually supportive, at least for awhile. But in the ’90s, nothing good could last, and their fire burned too bright. Nominally, Pam & Tommy is a fact-based procedural that charts the rise of online pornography by way of the couple’s (in)famous sex tape, and it’s pretty interesting in that regard, navigating a myriad of logistical issues: lawsuits, supply chains, mob financing. Yet the series is more compelling as a sober dual character study. As the Mötley Crüe drummer, Sebastian Stan strikes a tricky balance between boisterous and obnoxious, but there’s a reason Pam’s name appears first in the title. Hidden under mounds of makeup and silicone, Lily James is legitimately unrecognizable, but there’s more to the performance—and to the show—than simple cosplaying. James locates the sadness at the center of Pam Anderson, a not-especially-talented actress whose voluptuous body became fodder for leering exploitation. (Scenes in which Baywatch producers debate how much of her ass they can show on camera without drawing the ire of network censors are devastating in their casualness.) As a recollection of a decades-old zeitgeist, Pam & Tommy is entertaining; as a portrait of invaded privacy, it’s tragic.

25. Slow Horses (Apple, Seasons 1 and 2). You know the rule by now: The key to good spy fiction isn’t the plot, it’s the flavor. That’s especially true in the first season of Slow Horses, which elevates a grimy kidnapping story with snappy dialogue and shifty characters, led by a delectable Gary Oldman as a bureaucrat who’s as disheveled as he is brilliant. (Kristin Scott Thomas is perfectly cast as a security magnate.) Had the series ended there, it would have earned a place in the mid-50s on this list, equal parts enjoyable and forgettable. But then Season 2 begins, and damn does it move like a shot. The central puzzle is far more engaging, while the character dynamics acquire greater weight and punch. Oldman, meanwhile, lords over everything with his signature brand of laissez-faire superiority; he’s always three steps ahead of the bad guys, and he’ll probably save the day, provided he isn’t too busy slurping noodles. It’s those kind of playful details that turn Slow Horses from serviceable thriller into must-see TV.

24. Irma Vep (HBO, Season 1). Olivier Assayas’ 1996 film Irma Vep is something of a classic in critical circles, but I don’t much care for it; it’s intriguing, enigmatic, and ultimately ponderous. Yet this eight-episode reimagining, with Alicia Vikander replacing Maggie Cheung in the title role (which is an anagram for… figure it out!), is striking in its narrative energy and aesthetic playfulness. Visually, Assayas pulls out all the stops, toying with aspect ratios and color schemes while sating my appetite for gorgeous period costumes. And the meta story, in which an unhinged director (Vincent Macaigne) loses his grip during production of an antique thriller, hums with energy and perversity. Movies about movie-making are almost always interesting, and this Irma Vep grapples seriously with the state of modern art while still functioning as a funny and fast-paced calamity. (Also, Adria Arjona, good grief.) You might roll your eyes when Vikander starts walking through walls, but Irma Vep’s casual flirtations with surrealism only bolster its fly-on-the-wall credibility. Making a movie must be a nightmare, but watching this show can feel like a dream.

23. What We Do in the Shadows (FX, Season 4; last year: 40). We all know vampires can live forever, but what about comedies? You would think, four seasons in, that this bloodsucking mockumentary would have exhausted its funniest material. Yet What We Do in the Shadows arguably hits its peak in Season 4, delivering one comic corker after another. The key lies in the writers’ imagination; individual episodes carry their own premises that are exhilarating in their novelty and flawless in their execution. How many other series could slow-play a joke about a fake HGTV show for eight freaking episodes and still not have its punch line function as the best-constructed half-hour of the season? A symphony of sight gags, insults, and dick jokes, What We Do in the Shadows’ blood continues to run fresh with ace performances and marvelous ideas.

22. The Girl from Plainville (Hulu, Season 1). Not for the faint of heart, this one. There’s something undeniably sordid about The Girl from Plainville, which attempts to convert real-life tragedy—the sad story of a Massachusetts high schooler who badgered her boyfriend via text into committing suicide—into stylized entertainment. But one of the series’ themes is performance: how its confused characters feel the need to adopt certain personas in order to navigate the social perils of teenage life. They process the real world through a scrim, retreating into their phones and even fabricating alternate realities rather than wrestling with the truth. To that end, the show relies on a superhuman star turn from Elle Fanning, who refracts her natural charisma into a cracked-mirror queen bee; when she isn’t being coddled or consoled, she drains the light from her eyes, turning her body into a vacant shell. The Girl from Plainville will undoubtedly send parents running to research surveillance-monitoring techniques, but it’s less a cautionary tale than an excavation, digging into the disconsolate lives of its troubled youths. Some text messages can’t be unsent.

21. Ramy (Hulu, Season 3; 2020 rank: 11 of 124). Throughout its run, Ramy has received nominations at both the Emmys and the Golden Globes in their respective “comedy” categories. I recognize that we’re collectively obsessed with genre and classification, but calling this show a comedy is like calling The Last of Us a travelogue; you’re omitting some crucial information. Its third season is still very funny, or at least, it’s often funny in very unusual ways. But there’s a darkness to the title character that verges on oblivion; even as he finally realizes professional success, he’s as ethically vacant as ever. The genius of Ramy is that it doesn’t succumb to misery or navel-gazing, instead using its hero’s predicament as the launching pad for a series of absurd, stressful misadventures that are wildly variable in terms of plot and tone, but which all feed into its central theme of conflicted faith. Why are we here? How should we act? What comes after? With luck, another season.

Coming tomorrow: chefs, dragons, assassins, and weddings.