Moving right along, our rankings of every TV show of 2024 continue below. If you’d like to check out prior episodes, you can access them at the following links:
#s 88-76
#s 75-61
#s 60-51
#s 50-41
40. Somebody Somewhere (HBO, Season 3; last year: 37 of 94). We generally apply the “Who asked for this?” rhetoric to sequels of works that already reached an obvious conclusion, like Bad Sisters or Big Little Lies. Somebody Somewhere is hardly so finite—its characters don’t solve crimes or get investigated, they just exist—so it seems churlish to complain that we received more episodes of it. That said, something about this (presumably) final season feels vaguely unnecessary, given how tenderly Season 2 wrapped things up; in particular, the decision to give Bridget Everett’s loner a love interest feels like a concession to the Valentine’s Day industrial complex. Still, this remains a beautifully observed show, with terrific interpersonal dynamics and an intuitive grasp of encroaching middle age, which is rarely depicted on TV at all, much less with such sensitivity and insight. Now it’s time to leave these flawed, wonderful people in peace.
39. Agatha All Along (Disney, Season 1). OK, now here’s an unnecessary and mercenary brand extension: a spinoff of a TV series which was itself a spinoff of a secondary villain from a superhero movie. The gall! And yet, look past the corporate obscenity and the obligatory crossovers, and you’ll discover that Agatha All Along is broadly charming. That’s partly thanks to its cast; Kathryn Hahn is steady as the anchor, while the supporting coven—comprising Sasheer Zamata, Ali Ahn, and Patti LuPone, the last of whom centers the series’ most memorable episode—embody their silly roles with conviction. (Plus, yay, Aubrey Plaza as [redacted]!) But the real key here is how the show embraces its stature as, well, a TV show; it’s structured such that each episode presents new locations and challenges, allowing the creators to toy with mood, style, and wardrobe. Marvel’s empire is so vast and domineering, it’s easy to forget that comic-book storytelling is meant to be fun. And while the synergistic finale here is something of a bummer, it’s fitting that a series which basically involves an extended walk down The Witches’ Road prioritizes not the destination, but the journey. Also, cool song!
38. The Acolyte (Disney, Season 1). Wait, is the evil empire good now? As with any other Star Wars property, The Acolyte’s built-in appeal engenders a somewhat treacherous balancing act; it needs to cater to its ravenous fans who demand their morsels of universal lore while also carving out its own identity. Showrunner Leslye Headland and her crew largely pull off this feat not through any particular form of ingenuity, but simply by making the show sturdy and good: The pacing is fleet, the themes are engaging (turns out the Jedi might be flawed mystics rather than omniscient super-beings, who knew?), and the action is lucid and dynamic. (Remember, George Lucas’ single greatest creative masterstroke was having people fight with different-colored swords.) What’s more, despite being an obvious piece of Star Wars IP, The Acolyte doesn’t feel tethered to its predecessors, instead just telling its own story with confidence and flair. It’s an apprentice with no need of a master.
37. Bad Monkey (Apple, Season 1). Bad Monkey is supposedly based on a novel by Carl Hiaasen. I say “supposedly” because this show seems like it was created specifically for Vince Vaughn, who plays a suspended detective who gets embroiled in byzantine conspiracy involving severed limbs, stolen jewels, fraudulent insurance claims, and Zach Braff as a disgraced pill-popping surgeon. Frankly, the plot is way too complicated to bother trying to decipher, and while the series tries to pay homage to the beauty of the Bahamas (and the rapacious appetites of white Americans who seek to colonize it), that stuff never really clicks. But Vaughn is fantastic as the motormouthed hero who’s both morally upright and casually dissolute, and whenever Bad Monkey involves him just riffing with his friends or insulting his superiors, it’s a blast. It also supplies Vaughn with talented sparring partners—not just the ever-reliable John Ortiz, but also Natalie Martinez as a weary coroner who matches her co-star’s winking charm. Perhaps next time out, the series will ditch the mystery and just let these two lovebirds glisten in the Florida sun.
36. Evil (Paramount, Season 4; 2022 rank: 53 of 110). I often bemoan that I’m incapable of parsing complex plots, but while I never know what the hell is happening in Evil, that’s a good thing; few shows leave me feeling so thrillingly lost. I’m sure there are fan theories and Reddit threads and evidence boards purporting to tie all of this series’ absurd developments together, but that strikes me as swimming against its ferocious riptide; the show is meant to be experienced, not understood. Viewed through that lens, Evil is giddy entertainment, with time-travelling daughters and deadly ballerinas and toxic social-media apps that feature literal ghosts in the machine. It’s ridiculous and serious in equal measure, and its appealing central cast lends its supernatural shenanigans a resolutely human core. It won’t make me reexamine my faith, but it does reinforce my devotion to the power of original storytelling.
35. 3 Body Problem (Netflix, Season 1). Sorry, what was I saying about not understanding labyrinthine narratives? But one of the many ideas hurtling around 3 Body Problem is the notion that nobody fully comprehends what’s happening—that our species is at the mercy of mighty forces beyond our control. I will leave the hard science to more learned viewers and readers; what works for me is the craft—the artistic poise and aesthetic grandeur. There’s a set piece in the fifth episode that’s one of the most astonishing things I’ve seen on TV this year, and it’s that overall level of showmanship which makes the show so arresting, even if the writing can be sappy or strained. If the clock is counting down and the aliens are on their way, then at least impressive, ambitious shows like this can distract us before the end.
34. The Franchise (HBO, Season 1). In terms of timing, The Franchise is probably 5-10 years too late; it would’ve been more potent to mock superhero productions at the height of their popularity, rather than during their ongoing descent. (Have you bought your tickets to the new Captain America flick yet? Neither has anyone else, it would seem.) No matter, because in pure comic terms, this thing is funny. Yes, it can be specifically funny, as when it targets studios’ tokenism regarding gender equality or highlights the misery of overworked special-effects technicians. But it’s more just generally funny: the pace of its dialogue, the construction of its jokes, the pitch of its performances. One of the dirty little secrets of the MCU is that its movies tend to work better as spiky comedies than action blockbusters. By that measure, in earning its ample laughs, The Franchise isn’t lampooning the comic-book boom but paying tribute to it.
33. True Detective: Night Country (HBO, Season 4; 2019 rank: 92 of 101). There are a lot of metaphysical ideas cascading across the screen in the latest season of True Detective—about the intersection of science and faith, about the enduring ravages of colonialism, about the inherently exploitative nature of capitalism. But its real thesis can be reduced to two words: Chicks rock. It is so satisfying to see Jodie Foster in a role worthy of her talent, while Kali Reis proves an able scene partner, and together they invest the series’ macho procedural elements with an unapologetically feminist urgency. As a murder mystery, Night Country is reasonably involving without being earth-shattering. As a dual character study, it’s quite absorbing, acquiring an elemental power from the simple image of two women peering forward with flashlights, willing to take a leap into the eternal darkness.
32. The Sex Lives of College Girls (Max, Season 3; 2022 rank: 28). First, the bad news: Reneé Rapp is gone, and while Gracie Lawrence is a competent replacement, she doesn’t provide the same spark. Beyond that, the writing here is getting a little patchy, with too many obvious jokes and clunky setups. And with all that said, this show is still delightful: It mixes irony with earnestness, it conveys its themes clearly, and it exhibits an abiding warmth. Not all of the subplots on The Sex Lives of College Girls work, but all of the characters are wonderful. It’s a decidedly mature series that I hope never grows up.
31. The Penguin (HBO, Season 1). I’m wary of admiring this show too heavily, because the pitch—let’s take a DC Comics villain and make him the star of a Sopranos-style drama, now watch as the subscriptions pour in—is kind of smug and irritating. The problem with The Penguin, then, is how good it is: the immersive design, the thoughtfully drawn characters, the narrative confidence. Above all, it features stupendous performances from Colin Farrell and Cristin Milioti, both of whom fully inhabit their roles without a trace of movie-star glamour or superior condescension. As with most shows of its ilk, The Penguin’s pacing can be slow, and its palette is too dark for my tastes. But to the extent that HBO endeavored to make a TV show which nominally features comic-book characters yet stands wholly apart from its cinematic brethren, it succeeded. Talk about organized crime.
Coming later today: shrinks, spies, vampires, and Italians.
Jeremy Beck is the editor-in-chief of MovieManifesto. He watches more movies and television than he probably should.