Oh, it’s the same olde boring refrain: too many shows, too little time. And while it may be the same olde song, it must once again be played on repeat. No one can possibly watch everything, and some shows, even ones you recognize as quality, if they don’t resonate with you from the jump, you simply don’t stick with them. Because again, there are so many damn shows.
The two shows that most fall into that category for me are Beef (Netflix) and Slow Horses (Apple+). Obviously, both of them are at least good (if, to my current state of mind, slightly overpraised), but neither pulled me in like they did so many others whose opinions I greatly respect. Feel free to think what you will of me for their notable exclusions–it’s not like I can stop you, and there may come a day when I think, “what the hell was I thinking?”
I also had to leave Fargo (FX/HULU) off despite its obvious return to form after a down (but still worthy) fourth season. The trouble is, only five episodes of the season are currently available to me, and I have a rule: if you haven’t seen the whole thing, the list, it does not make. I say this in spite of a fully nude Jon Hamm speaking to his state of “moist repose” from an outdoor wooden bath tub, while being questioned by two police officers. It’s one of the best lines of the year.
Alright, let’s get my honorable mentions out of the way. I was all ready for Hijack to be another Idris Elba vehicle that I wish were far more sporty. But Hijack (Apple+) was one of the most pleasant surprises of the year for me. The title pretty much gives it away, but watching Idris Elba think through how to manage the hijackers (he depends far more on his brains than his notable brawn), and get back to his family, over seven hours told in real time was pretty damn thrilling. Well, up until the last fifteen minutes or so when the show should have known when to quit. Hijack isn’t high art, but it delivers exactly what it promises: thrills at 30,000 feet, and it does so while being better than it needed to be.
Few people were more stoked than I to see the return of Timothy Olyphant as Raylan Givens (one of two signature roles in Olyphant’s career, Sheriff Bullock from Deadwood being the other) in Justified: City Primeval (FX). The early episodes have that great slow burn that the original series was known for, but while City Primeval was very enjoyable, the move to Detroit from Harlan County just doesn’t work as well as one might hope. Primeval makes great use of location and feels like Detroit (a city I’ve spent a fair amount of time in), but despite being well-written, directed, and acted, it never quite sings like “You’ll Never Leave Harlan Alive.” Still, I’m hopeful (in part due to its teaser ending) that there will be another, stronger round of Justified to come. For now, City Primeval will do.
Hulu’s Wu-Tang: An American Saga has sat just outside of my top ten for all three of its seasons. This year is no exception. Still, let me heap some praise on a show unlike any other that is as devoted to character and creation as any series on the air. A couple of episodes got bogged down by fantasy elements that were too clever by half, but the rousing finale which tied up most of the loose ends (and the Wu-Tang Clan is nothing if not a group of loose ends), while making the viewer understand the importance of this unruly rap group from Staten Island who somehow changed the world of music without ever having a hit on the radio, is really something. The climax of the series shows the real Wu-Tang Clan performing to a sea of thousands with the band’s leader, The RZA, conducting a 100-plus person orchestra to hip-hop beats. To call that close “scintillating” is to use too weak a word, but I’ll go with that until I become a better writer.
Now, onto the top ten (and just as a reminder, the only list that really matters is your own):
Perry Mason (HBO):
Few shows have ever improved more from their first season to their second than HBO’s Perry Mason. While I enjoyed the first season, you could feel the series weighed down by the telling of an “origin story.” I also occasionally questioned whether Matthew Rhys (a very fine actor) was miscast as a hardboiled gumshoe, who later becomes an attorney. To be clear, this version of the venerable show from the ‘50s starring Raymond Burr, never intended to be your grand dad’s Perry Mason. This version was much closer to L.A. Confidential than its predecessor in name. Regardless, over time, Rhys really grew into the role, and Chris Chalk as a Walter Mosley-like character was excellent as Mason’s reluctant investigative partner. However, no one on the show could touch Juliet Rylance as Della Street (what a great noir name), Mason’s secretary and then co-litigator. Rylance (who was also fabulous in the equally short-lived The Knick) gave a wonderfully sophisticated, heartfelt, and sneakily funny performance as a woman hiding her sexuality while trying to live in a man’s world—knowing she needed to be twice as good as any man to do so. For all of Perry Mason’s improvement on screen, HBO sent the show packing. That’s a shame, because it was just starting to cook with gas.
The Crown (Netflix):
Confession time. Every episode of The Crown I saw for the first time this year. That is correct, I never watched a single frame of it before popping on season one for background noise this fall. Why? Because our society’s fascination with Great Britain’s royal family not only baffles me, it annoys me. To my mind this is an institution that should be left to the ages and for future historians to pick over its bones. However, a well-made show doesn’t have to be about something I naturally am drawn to. It just has to be well-made. And boy, is The Crown ever well-made. I was also pleased to see that from beginning to end, the show’s driving forces: writer Peter Morgan and producer/director Stephen Daldry, never indulged in hagiography. Flaws aplenty are on display. Whether it was the Queen denying her sister (a wondrous Vanessa Kirby) the wedding she promised her, or depicting Princess Diana (the incredible Elizabeth Debicki) as a good person, but not a saint, surprises abounded on The Crown. Just as a historical dramatization alone (John Lithgow as Churchill and Gillian Anderson as Margaret Thatcher are remarkable), The Crown is worth viewing. The show’s final season is told in two parts. The first covering the events that led up to Diana’s death. And my, is that stretch riveting. The second part suffers from Debicki’s absence in the aftermath of the tabloid tragedy that consumed her. Will and Kate’s courtship is a bit of a bore, but the relationship between Will and Harry carries with it great dividends. And the finale, which brings together all three women who played the Queen (Claire Foy, Olivia Colman, and Imelda Staunton), is elegiac aces.
The Last of Us (HBO):
Oh, hell. Who needed another zombie show right? And one based on a video game? Seriously? Well, show-creator Craig Mazin upended all expectations by making The Last of Us both satisfying as horror (Mazin would argue the zombies aren’t exactly zombies, and I’ll more or less concede that point) and as character study. Pedro Pascal has long-deserved a role that puts him front and center on a great, well-seen project. He finds it here as Joel Miller, a decent man who has done indecent things to stay alive. A young girl he picks up on his journey (played to the hilt by Bella Ramsey) opens Joel up to his own, nearly lost, humanity. The two make for an entertaining and, eventually, moving duo. I also loved the framing of multiple episodes as sort of stand alone mini-movies. One of the finest hours (okay it’s a little more than an hour) of television this year came in the show’s third episode, “Long, Long Time,” which told an entire character arc in a remarkably efficient 76 minutes about a loving relationship between two men played by Murray Bartlett and, perhaps unexpectedly, Nick Offerman. The tenderness and skill at which the episode was delivered had people made of stern stuff (including my wife) breaking down during its ending. I don’t know that any of the seven episodes that followed quite crested that same peak (although “Left Behind” and the finale came close), but to even see what most of us would think of as “genre fare” extend itself to these artistic lengths was a genuine thrill.
Dead Ringers (Amazon Prime):
Good god, where to even begin? Imagine taking a look at David Cronenberg’s disturbing masterpiece from 1988 of the same name, about twin gynecologists living the most twisted of lives, and thinking, “I can one-up that.” That is exactly what show creator and writer Alice Birch did. I have to admit, I’m a bit stunned in retrospect that I even made it through the whole season, considering how dark, and, er, brazenly anatomical the first few minutes of the show are. But if you can gird your loins (and it takes a lot of girding), what you will find here is a masterpiece in grand guignol filmmaking, and just maybe (because this is a sizable statement) the performance of Rachel Weisz’s life as the gender flipped twins. Dead Ringers may not be for the faint of heart (hell, there were times when I wondered if I was old enough to be watching it), but it is one hell of an artistic achievement, and certainly like nothing else on television.
A Murder at the End of the World (FX/HULU):
The very last show I completed viewing before making my list. Created by actor/writer/director Brit Marling and her common co-conspirator writer/director Zal Batmannglij (one wishes the creators of The OA, The East, and Sound of My Voice were more prolific, but let me not digress), A Murder at the End of the World marries the set-up of an Agatha Christie novel and (trust me here) the themes of 2001, while echoing the sort of Nordic feel one might get from the Danish version of The Killing. While the murder mystery portion of the show is suitably exciting, Marling and Batmannglij have higher aims than just telling a quality whodunnit. They are more interested in the “why,” as well as mixing in greater themes about technology (particularly AI) and the environment. That’s heady stuff for a show that sets up our hero Darby (played by the ever-enchanting Emma Corrin) as an amateur sleuth who gets invited to an Icelandic retreat by a shadowy tech pioneer (the still ridiculously handsome Clive Owen), where, as you might guess, a murder takes place that unveils not only dark personal secrets, but also asks questions about our current existence, where we are headed, and if we even deserve (as a race) to go forward. The show is packed with a lot of ideas, and sometimes you can feel the strain of them, but despite the degree of difficulty that A Murder at the End of the World is working at, it absolutely delivers.
Shrinking (Apple+):
I’ve always been a “take him or leave him” type when it comes to Jason Segal. He seems like a nice, affable, reasonably talented guy. And to be honest, I haven’t gotten excited about anything Harrison Ford has been attached to (save Blade Runner: 2049) in decades. But what an unexpected pleasure Shrinking is. While it reminded me more than a little of the fine Ricky Gervais show After Life, in its themes of a widower trying to find a way to exist in a world without his spouse, Shrinking takes that scenario and delivers it with considerable warmth, sadness, and frequent hilarity. Segal, as a grieving therapist who decides to take a new tack of brutal honesty and excessive involvement in his clients lives (to very mixed results), while also attempting to reconnect with his late teen daughter (a terrific Lukita Maxwell), is completely winning in every way. Shrinking is a deceptively hard show to pull off, I think. The tonal balance of comedy, tragedy, and the spaces in-between (which is where the show really excels) could come off as far too somber, or even worse, trite. But Shrinking never steps wrong, and Harrison Ford is a god damn revelation here. He hasn’t been this funny on screen since Working Girl (if you’re keeping score at home, that was 36 years ago). But here, Ford not only reminds us of why we fell for him as an actor in the first place, but he also adds shades of true vulnerability (based on his character’s mortality) that I found genuinely courageous. And, it must be said, any show that closes with a wedding playing David Bowie’s “Modern Love” surely will send my heart sailing with the opening notes. “There’s no sign of life, it’s just the power to charm,” Mr. Bowie sings. And Shrinking sure does have the power to charm.
Bono & the Edge: A Sort of Homecoming (Disney+):
There’s really no getting around it: if U2 put out a show made up of them setting alight the flatulation of teenagers for 86 minutes, I’d probably give it a pass. That’s how much this band has meant to me over the course of my life. But what a delight it is to say that Bono & the Edge: A Sort of Homecoming needs no “pass” from me at all. While it’s categorized as a documentary (and it’s not not that), it is also not so easily categorizable. Seldom have I even seen a show like this cover not only the history of a band (naturally), but also the history of a country (Ireland) with such efficiency. So, is it a documentary? Yes. Is it an interview show (with none other than David Letterman)? Yes. Is it a concert film? Yes. Yes, yes, yes. And yet still, as with all of the band’s best work, A Sort of Homecoming transcends easy labels. Director Morgan Neville clearly didn’t take on this gig as, well, a gig. You can feel the extra effort he puts in just as he films the final sequence of Letterman descending into the icy waters of Ireland’s “Forty Foot” with such elegant framing that a relatively still shot of the back of a late night host’s head is not just elegantly shot, but also moving, and somehow profound. A Sort of Homecoming also possesses one of the greatest, most seamless sound edits you will ever hear, as the band performs their great heretofore lost song “Invisible” at a beautiful auditorium, and then cuts to the band doing the same song in an Irish tavern. The edit is so impressive, that my wife, whose musically trained ear is near peerless, could not believe that the band and patrons weren’t just miming the song from the auditorium. It was magical, I tellya. And for this Irish boy who only recently visited his roots in Ireland last year, well, this “special” (or whatever you want to call it) felt like a second homecoming for him too.
Drops of God (Apple+)
A show I completely wandered into on the basis of a half-interesting trailer, and the desire to watch something/anything. This boy may have wandered by mistake, but let me say, Drops of God was no mistake at all. Told in French, Japanese, and English, Drops of God is an ingenious mix of clashing cultures, deep-seated family issues, and a diabolical competition set up by an absentee (and now deceased) father pitting his French daughter (Fleur Geffrier, who should be in everything) and his favorite student (Tomohisa Yamashita, in what should be a star-making performance) against each other for his fortune. The catch is, all the tests are wine-based. Pairings, origins, and all sorts of minutiae are in play as daughter and student fight for the right to take possession of a cruel man’s estate and his world famous collection of vino. What makes Drops of God so good is that while the contests are ingenious, it’s the characters played by Geffrier and Yamashita who are developed far beyond the game they’ve been forced to play. Both actors work from very different places, Geffrier is full of bitterness and rage, Yamashita is stoic and exacting, but that stolid facade hides secrets and a singular hurt of his own. No fair saying how Drops of God closes out its one and only season (it’s a limited series), but let me say few endings could be more satisfying than the one the show’s creator Quac Dang Tran came up with. Oh, and did I mention the show is based on a Manga graphic novel? Yeah, I wasn’t ready for that either.
Succession (HBO):
“But there are no likable characters” goes the common lament. And, when speaking of HBO’s Succession, it’s hard to argue. Every character of import is, to some degree, deceitful, petty, wicked, and often, just plain cruel. All I can say is that, for me, I don’t need to find the characters I’m watching likable, I just need to find them interesting. And I defy anyone to argue that this unholy family of moguls and would-be moguls are not utterly fascinating. You might not ever want to spend even a plane ride sitting next to a member of the Roy family, but the safe distance of in-home viewing allows us to peer through the window of the 1% that brings all our fears and terrors about what we might believe these people to be, to light (or is it to dark?). Show creator Jesse Armstrong caught many off guard when HBO announced that Succession’s fourth season would be its last. That decision proved to be an outstanding one. Because Succession really did save the best for last. There are searing moments that nearly fry the brain, such as Shiv and Tom dissecting their marriage on a balcony with what amounts to verbal violence. Or Shiv’s final betrayal of Kendall, which is delivered with a chillingly matter-of-fact declaration that she will not be voting for him to succeed their father because, “You wouldn’t be any good at it.” And maybe no scene on television this year was quite as agonizing as Kieran Culkin’s Roman Roy asking his family “Is he in there? Can we just get him out?” when referring to his father’s casket during the funeral service. Few shows have ever stuck the landing this hard.
The Bear (FX/HULU:
So, why is Succession not my choice for best show of the year? Put simply, it’s because The Bear exists. It’s a strange thing to try to turn people on to The Bear. The synopsis of, “It’s about a guy who’s a top chef, but goes home to Chicago to take over his brother’s failing sandwich shop after said brother kills himself, and then family and restaurant drama ensues.” I mean, does that even begin to do the show justice? If season one of The Bear was one of the very best inaugural runs of any series, let it not be said that show creator Christopher Storer and crew rested on their laurels. While season one focused more intently on the return of the prodigal son Carmy (the unimpeachable Jeremy Allen White) and his feelings of guilt and grief, season two boldly expands the roles of the extended supporting cast, doing so with great effect, while not losing the thread of Carmy’s one-step-forward, two-steps-back story progression. There are entire episodes built almost completely around a supporting character. Such as the lovely “Honeydew” which takes place in Copenhagen where the sweet-natured dessert chef Marcus is sent off to learn new skills. Or “Forks” where Cousin Richie trains for front-of-the-house duties at a local upscale restaurant and finds not only his dignity, but rekindles his love of Taylor Swift, belting out T-Swifty’s “Love Story” at the top of his lungs with a joy that he clearly hasn’t known in many an age. And of course, there is “Fishes,” the season’s centerpiece episode, told in flashback with a bevy of eye-popping guest stars (who somehow don’t distract from the episode), that explains in great detail the roots of the Berzatto family’s dysfunction, and why Carmy struggles to connect with others or even understand the concept of “fun.” The table scene where Mikey (the great Jon Bernthal) tosses forks at his uncle by marriage (Bob Odenkirk at his nastiest) at a truly disastrous Christmas dinner is simultaneously nerve-racking and hysterical in equal measure. I’m not sure that anything I’ve just written really tells you why The Bear is so unusual, and to my mind, unequaled in its excellence. As I admitted upfront, words (at least mine) don’t do it justice. I suspect if you’ve seen it, you already know. And if you haven’t, well, take my recommendation. And don’t walk, run.
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