In case you missed it, we’ve spent the past week painstakingly ranking all 110 TV shows that we watched in 2022. Naturally, each show comes with its own detailed capsule, but if you’re one of those people who’s only interested in the actual rankings—and who gets irritated by all of that pesky writing—then this post is for you. All of the rankings are included below; to access a particular piece and view its corresponding blurbs, click on the appropriate link in the header. Read More
Over the past week, MovieManifesto has ranked every single TV show we watched in 2022—that’s right, all 110 of them. At long last, we’ve arrived at the finish line. But if you want to check out prior batches in the rankings, you can find them at the following links:
10. Euphoria (HBO, Season 2; 2019 rank: 9 of 101). I know it’s ridiculous. The whole point is that it’s ridiculous. The chaotic, outlandish happenings on Euphoria—the blackmails and beatings, the kidnappings and shootouts, the elaborate student play whose production budget surely exceeded Harvard’s endowment—aren’t meant to be plausible. They’re designed to tap into the series’ melodramatic conception of teen angst—the idea that when you’re in high school, every kiss and every spat feel like seismic, life-altering events. Naturally, Season 2 expands the show’s already-sizable scope and ambition (no, I wasn’t previously familiar with Chloe Cherry’s work, why do you ask?), but the twin hearts of Euphoria remain a kind of heightened double helix: the soaring, doomed romance between Zendaya and Hunter Schafer, and the cyclonic energy of Sydney Sweeney, who plays every scene as if she’s either the neediest girl in the world or the fucking Terminator. And while Sam Levinson is far from the most subtle artist around, there’s real craft underlying his sledgehammer style, with rich colors and striking camera moves. In literal terms, Euphoria is nothing like high school. But given how boldly it evokes the swirling emotions of your past, it may as well be a documentary. Read More
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. Read More
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. Read More
40. The Gilded Age (HBO, Season 1). As befits the work of Julian Fellowes (Downton Abbey, Belgravia), this is a ridiculous show, featuring two-dimensional characters, predictable writing, and painful contrivances. It is also delightful. Part of this lies in its sumptuous trappings; there are opulent mansions, magnificent dresses, splendid hats. But there’s also a sincerity to the storytelling that feels heartwarming rather than cloying. Carrie Coon and Morgan Spector shine as the Big Apple’s ultimate power couple, while Christine Baranski lobs casual insults like she’s tossing grenades. Everything about The Gilded Age is clankingly obvious and shamelessly engineered. But railroads run on power, not subtlety, and this series is a locomotive, steamrolling over all criticism with unstoppable, beautiful force. Read More
