And here we are. After five days, 88 TV shows, and far too many words, we’ve arrived at the top 10. This is probably a good time to remind everyone that these rankings are objectively determined through a careful process of pure scientific rigor and are in no way the result of the vagaries of personal taste.
10. The Bear (FX on Hulu, Season 3; last year: 2 of 94). It’s imperfect. The pacing drags, it doesn’t really have an ending, and there are probably a few too many scenes of the Faks hitting each other. Whatever. As a piece of pure artistry—the marshaling of creative resources to produce a work that’s both viscerally invigorating and intellectually stimulating—this thing still (forgive me) cooks. The season premiere alone is a marvel, less a standard introduction than a grand overture (with a score from Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross!) that sets the mood for the vertiginous chaos to come. And while there may be two standout episodes (the one where Tina shifts careers and the one where Sugar goes into labor), their excellence shouldn’t distract from The Bear’s sheer force—the way it continues to define its characters and build a unique blend of suspense, pathos, and humor. And with all that said: If Hulu keeps dumping out entire seasons of this terrific show all at once, well, I found a hair in my soup, and I want to speak with the manager.
9. English Teacher (FX, Season 1). I get the temptation to make fun of Gen Z. They’re young, they’re always on their phones, and they use lots of funny words with dubious meaning. Get off my lawn, kids! But the brilliance of English Teacher is that, while it operates as a savagely funny satire targeting America’s youth, it also doesn’t hesitate to turn around and take aim at itself; the teachers, in their own exasperated way, are as clueless as the students. The result is less a smirking piece of condescension than a smart and versatile sitcom, one that hums with curiosity and imagination. (And yes, I am ignoring The Thing surrounding the series because it doesn’t affect the on-screen product, also I am a privileged asshole who’s disturbingly capable of separating art from artist, thanks for understanding.) This show may have its finger on the pulse of its very specific generation, but its snappy dialogue and expert rhythm are timeless. I’d give it an A-plus, but I’m pretty sure the plus symbol is problematic.
8. Tokyo Vice (Max, Season 2; 2022 rank: 60 of 110). Now this is a surprise. I liked the first season of Tokyo Vice well enough, but it was still too dense and slow-moving to be dynamic. But with Season 2, the series takes a dramatic leap forward, integrating its seemingly disparate storylines—journalistic rigor, Yakuza intrigue, sex-work challenges—with elegance and precision. As its preternaturally curious reporter, Ansel Elgort is far more self-assured (what was I saying about separating art from artist?), but he’s also just one piece of a rich and varied ensemble, which also includes the characteristically great Ken Watanabe as a rugged detective and Shô Kasamatsu as a gangster who acquires power almost in spite of himself. The series’ scope remains vast, but it now showcases the narrative momentum and kinetic excitement to justify its ambition. Every premature cancellation hurts these days, but Max killing Tokyo Vice in the midst of its ascendancy is especially galling, given that this thoughtful, gripping show still had plenty more stories left to print.
7. Mary & George (Starz, Season 1). Remember what I wrote yesterday about Expats being the most underrated show of the year/the best one I personally didn’t hear anyone praising? Scratch that. Starz isn’t exactly a premium destination these days to begin with, and the specific marketing effort here was (to my knowledge) nil. Your loss, because Mary & George rips. It may have the hallmarks of well-mannered Anglophilia, with its flowery frocks and its handsome manors, but it has a mean streak that belies its gentility. The writing sizzles with wit (“She’s so unhappy.” “Well, she’s getting married.”), and the plotting is downright devious in the way it upends your wholesome expectations; the show looks pretty and plays dirty. (Also, Julianne Moore, good actor!) Whether the series is historically accurate, I can’t say, nor could I care less. But if all is just, it will be redeemed by history.
6. Shōgun (FX, Season 1). The crank in me hesitates to include this in my top 10, because it seems to be the consensus pick for show of the year. (It won the Emmy for Outstanding Drama Series, besting such venerable competitors as, er, The Morning Show.) But sometimes, the people are right. In a way, Shōgun works in tandem with Mary & George; it’s a gorgeous period piece that routinely defies its own gorgeousness, not just with its mud-spattered detail but with its delightfully profane dialogue. But there’s another level at work here, thanks to Anna Sawai’s quietly wrenching performance as a woman of suppressed longing; every time she translates one of Cosmo Jarvis’ filthy diatribes, she adds a layer of intrigue to the character, imbuing his words with her own particular desire or anguish. That kind of filigreed detail extends to the entire show, which manages to be both a bold Shakespearean epic and a campy soap opera. It’s about the fate of an empire and the exchange of silent glances in a teahouse.
5. We Are Lady Parts (Peacock, Season 2; 2021 rank: 14 of 108). Not sure if you’ve heard, but things in America aren’t going so great these days, especially for minorities. So We Are Lady Parts, a series about four Muslim women in England who start a punk-rock band, carries an added resonance for its themes involving art, religion, and identity. The trick of the show isn’t that it’s enjoyable despite its pungent rhetoric; it’s that it integrates its ideas so gracefully into its narrative. Its characters are three-dimensional, its style is flamboyant, its music is kickass, and its humor is inviting, and all of these qualities are further enriched by the urgency of its messaging. Put another way, this isn’t a series about aspiring musicians who also happen to be Muslim women; it’s a series about how their dreams, their skill, and their ethnicity are all connected. It hits your head and your heart, making you think and rocking you out.
4. Black Doves (Netflix, Season 1). When it comes to appealing to my personal preferences, “Keira Knightley in a spy show” is basically a description of pornography. So, yeah, I expected to enjoy Black Doves, with its double agents and false identities and dastardly missions. But I didn’t anticipate it would be this exhilarating, this flush with tension and vitality. Knightley, of course, is excellent, bringing just the right tinges of tenderness and self-doubt to her lethal operative, while Ben Whishaw complements her beautifully as an inveterate assassin with a classically troubled past. (Casting Happy Valley’s Sarah Lancashire as their untrustworthy handler is so perfect, it feels like cheating.) But Black Doves is more than just good-looking actors ditching tails and stealing disks and kicking down doors and crashing through windows. Or maybe it’s exactly that, just orchestrated with unparalleled élan. It’s sexy and funny and briskly paced and cleverly plotted. Whaddya need, an encrypted roadmap?
3. The Diplomat (Netflix, Season 2; last year: 15). What if Black Doves, but without any action? It sounds glib to describe The Diplomat as a geopolitical thriller where the weapons are the words, but the writing on this show is so razor-sharp, it turns that dopey logline into genuine theater. In a sense, this is television’s Red Rooms, conjuring an atmosphere of supreme anxiety and monumental stakes without having its characters actually do much of anything besides talk (and talk). The key is that, while the narrative machinations are deftly choreographed and furiously suspenseful, the series devotes equal attention to rounding out its characters. Together, Keri Russell and Rufus Sewell essay one of the small screen’s most complex and fascinating marriages—a moment where Sewell’s proud schemer asks for help unlacing his shoes stopped my heart—while David Gyasi, Ali Ahn, and Ato Essandoh round out the main cast with smarts and charm. Throw in Allison Janney’s blond bob and cool disdain (her line reading of “Is that a paperclip?” is majestic in context), and this show will have you pumping your fist, even as the characters can’t stop running their mouths.
2. Hacks (Max, Season 3; 2022 rank: 30). Hollywood loves eating its own, and no TV series has a more caustic grasp on the entertainment industry than Hacks, which interrogates Tinseltown’s systemic failings with a mix of rage, sadness, and sanguinity. But while the show is laudable for its piercing discernment, its self-awareness is far from its main attraction. That would instead be its ferocious one-two punch of Jean Smart and Hannah Einbinder, who by now have cultivated such a complex and thorny relationship that it seems to reach beyond the screen and smacks of lived experience. Hacks has plenty to say—about male entitlement and female endurance, about work and love, about aging and immaturity—but its acerbic ideas don’t sully its viewing experience, which is largely joyous. That’s never more true than in this season’s finale, a phenomenal episode that builds to an electric confrontation, and which portends a new and exciting direction going forward. This show may be about an artist stuck in a rut of complacency and repetition, but in terms of storytelling, its well is far from dry.
1. Industry (HBO, Season 3; 2022 rank: 7). What if everyone from The White Lotus worked in the same office? There are no heroes or villains in Industry, just a troop of anxious, voracious strivers constantly pushing against the capitalistic tide. That the series takes place in the world of high-risk finance is mostly irrelevant, though not entirely; its insights into the ingrained nature of human greed achieve greater clarity when enmeshed within its comprehensive (and often incomprehensible) realm of swaps and trades and valuations. But the dualities on display here—hiring and firing, advancement and failure, friendship and betrayal—have currency in any workplace, where the employees are thronging disciples and the corporation is god. Of course, Industry isn’t really about work so much as the people who perform it, exploring how their feverish pursuit of success invariably results in compromise, sacrifice, loss.
If you think all of this sounds depressing, think again, because this show is a blast; the writing buzzes with intelligence and alacrity, smoothly conveying the series’ themes while tapping into a rich vein of sly, vibrant humor. It also maintains a brilliant balance, advancing its long-form narrative while delivering spiky, distinctive episodes that play like their own mini-epics; an hour centering on Sagar Radia’s market-maker evokes the spiraling panic of Uncut Gems, while the long-simmering conflict between Myha’la’s self-starter and Marisa Abela’s ice princess finally explodes with a devastating exchange of slaps. Yet even if Industry’s characters are crisply individuated—can I really forget Harry Lawtey’s lovesick hunk or Ken Leung’s wily manager?—they’re really all the same. They’re each buying a lotto ticket for a better tomorrow, and all it costs is their soul.
(For the complete list of our rankings of every TV show of 2024, click here.)
Jeremy Beck is the editor-in-chief of MovieManifesto. He watches more movies and television than he probably should.