As the headline suggests, we’re continuing to rank every TV show of 2024. For previous installments, check out the following links:
50. Creatures Commandos (Max, Season 1). I’m not a superhero fanboy, but I’m weirdly in the tank for James Gunn, having thoroughly enjoyed all three of his Guardians of the Galaxy movies, along with Peacemaker and his Suicide Squad reboot. Still, we’re getting dangerously close to oversaturation (need some Gunn control amirite), and on the surface, Creature Commandos—an animated series that follows a handful of lesser-known DC villains as they team up and save the world or whatever—feels a bit like grist for the content mill. But while the cartoonish mayhem can be perfunctory, there’s a surprising depth of character here; Gunn is a gifted writer who’s able to briskly humanize his freakish antiheroes, as well as provide them with a stream of quips. He also understands television, which is why each episode centers on a specific member of the titular tribe; I know critics are supposed to groan about backstory, but the concise flashbacks here are more affecting than the story proper. Creature Commandos may just be intellectual property, but that doesn’t mean it lacks intelligence.
49. The Regime (HBO, Season 1). Too soon, or too late? It’s important to recognize that this series, about a despot clinging to power in a small fictional European country, isn’t really a Trumpian allegory, which makes sense given that Donald Trump is too stupid and boring to be a meaningful dramatic character (nice try, The Apprentice). It’s more about how autocrats weaponize the machinery of the state for their own ends. That’s disturbing but not all that insightful, and as a piece of dystopian fiction, The Regime doesn’t feel especially new. Except, that is, for its central figure, who happens to be played by Kate Winslet in a characteristically fantastic performance. The role as written is pathetic, and rather than attempt to class up the part, Winslet leans into the sweaty desperation, even as she also supplies a quick-thinking cleverness. She’s starving her people to enrich herself, and I’m voting for her without a second thought.
48. Abbott Elementary (ABC, Seasons 3 and 4; last year: 40 of 94). Whatever it’s fine. I will always like this show and never love it. It’s pretty good, and in our climate of constant turmoil and fake renewals and tax-inspired cancellations, a series that’s consistently pretty good has value. Class dismissed. (As of this writing, Season 4 still has three episodes left to air, so I reserve the right to amend my grade.)
47. Curb Your Enthusiasm (HBO, Season 12; last year: 2021 rank: 70 of 108). If you’ll permit a navel-gazing interlude: Curb Your Enthusiasm is the one show on this list where I defied my OCD and didn’t watch it from its inception, instead starting at Season 9 back in 2017. After this final season ended, I went back and burned through the first eight installments, which means that pretty much everything now runs together for me, and I’m incapable of distinguishing one batch of episodes from the other. I do think that Season 12’s broad arc, in which Larry David becomes a cause célèbre after giving water to a woman waiting in line to vote (and thus violating one of the antidemocratic laws which have swept through the nation), symbolizes the series’ overall qualities: generally funny, somewhat topical, and a bit too self-satisfied. It’s cool that Curb was so popular that it became idiomatic (I still live in mortal fear of the stop-and-chat), and a handful of episodes are genuine classics. Having said that, it’s not in my personal Hall of Fame.
46. Sugar (Apple, Season 1). There’s ambitious, and then there’s whatever this is. Sugar takes place in a highly stylized universe, one where Colin Farrell plays a hard-bitten private dick who cruises around Los Angeles in his Corvette while the screen constantly flashes to clips of classic noirs. It’s vivid, and the hard-boiled plot—involving a missing beauty, a suspicious dame, and nefarious underworld types—only adds to the intrigue. And then halfway through we discover… I couldn’t possibly say. But while Sugar is ultimately too odd to work as a piece of storytelling, it’s still consistently entertaining, thanks to its unusual vibe and Farrell’s committed, sympathetic performance. He’s just a decent guy trying to find the girl, even if he’s also a pawn in a ridiculous narrative whose twists and turns are out of this world.
45. One Day (Netflix, Season 1). You’ve probably forgotten about the film adaptation of One Day, starring Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess, but it was a perfectly respectable (if minor) movie that didn’t exactly cry out for another treatment. Yet the concept of David Nicholls’ novel, which visits its two main characters every year on Saint Swithin’s Day, proves ideal for the small screen; the episodic format allows each “day” to take on its own texture while still advancing the larger narrative. Initially, Ambika Mod and Leo Woodall seem like an awkward fit, but that stiffness is by design, and the way their relationship evolves over the years is touching. Naturally, some installments are more arresting than others, and the melodrama occasionally betrays signs of writerly manipulation. But this is a nice show about nice people learning to be nice to one another, and it’s told in a nice way. It’s not historic, but it can still go on your calendar.
44. Say Nothing (FX on Hulu, Season 1). The subject matter of Say Nothing, centering on the exploits (and exploitations) of two sisters who join the Irish Republican Army, is too inherently interesting to resist, even if it recalls the opening scene of Kneecap (lamenting that every movie set in Belfast opens with a car bombing). Lola Petticrew is very good as the lead, and a handle of sequences—an extended hunger strike, a betrayal of an old friend—land with real force. The problem with the series is its sprawling scope; it spans decades, and while it tries to home in on the far-ranging consequences of a specific murder, its later passages lack the chilling intimacy of its early hours. That said, this is a well-made and well-acted show that captures a political conflict on a human scale. Will it make you think twice the next time your engine fails to start? Time will tell.
43. Presumed Innocent (Apple, Season 1). God dammit. This show’s very existence is designed to offend me, given that Scott Turow’s novel was already adapted into a thoroughly enjoyable (and highly successful) movie with Harrison Ford; must every work of art be remade, and as a TV show no less? And so I’m almost disheartened to report that this series, starring Jake Gyllenhaal (plus a host of stellar character actors), is consistently entertaining, with sharp dialogue and inexorable momentum. No it doesn’t really provide anything that the movie didn’t already deliver, but on its own terms this Presumed Innocent remains irresistible for its courtroom melodrama and its escalating panic. Turns out the real guilty party is me.
42. Skeleton Crew (Disney, Season 1). The logical part of my brain recognizes that Star Wars was always childish; hell, I was a kid when I fell in love with it. Paradoxically, that lifelong affection made me chafe against the first episode of Skeleton Crew, which follows a quartet of prepubescent schoolchildren stumbling onto a hidden spaceship, and which feels extremely kid-lit in the process. You can’t make Star Wars for kids, it’s too serious, I cried insanely. But as this series progresses, something weird happens: It becomes largely delightful, even though (or because?) it never relinquishes its youthful silliness. As the lone adult in the room, Jude Law could have phoned things in, but instead he commits fully, and the young cast (especially Ryan Kiera Armstrong) smoothly acquits itself. Sure, Star Wars can carry thematic resonance, but part of Skeleton Crew’s fun lies in its limitless discovery: new planets, new aliens, new adventures. Even curmudgeonly adults can appreciate that.
41. A Man on the Inside (Netflix, Season 1). Speaking of curmudgeons, I always admired The Good Place more than I adored it, so I wasn’t especially enthused about Mike Schur and Ted Danson reteaming for a goofy caper. But part of the appeal of A Man on the Inside is that it doesn’t try too hard to secure your affection; Danson is charming but low-key (Stephen McKinley Henderson steals scenes at regular intervals), and the series never pushes its “crime in a retirement home!” premise too far, keeping its focus on its characters. Such modesty might cap its ceiling, but the relaxed vibe feels right. Danson once implored us to “take it sleazy,” but with this shows he reminds us that wholesomeness is its own form of pleasure.
Coming tomorrow: witches, warriors, gangsters, and actors.
Jeremy Beck is the editor-in-chief of MovieManifesto. He watches more movies and television than he probably should.