Enough navel-gazing. Once again, I'm ranking my top 25 because I don't have an editor and you can't stop me. I'm not writing up everything I watched this time, but I'll still take a minute to recognize a few of the most notable runners-up. Halt and Catch Fire closed out its run as solid as ever. Mindhunter was fascinating as meta-commentary on serial killer tropes and decent as a drama. Season three of Mr. Robot got out of Elliot's head a bit, and was better for it. The Good Place made a mini-leap with its madcap re-set at the start of its second season and then settled back in to a nice rhythm. Transparent remains good, but probably has a shelf-life at this point (Jeffrey Tambor related issues notwithstanding). Vice Principals never quite clicked for me like Eastbound and Down did, but I still kind of love it? It's Always Sunny continued its mini-renaissance with a surprising amount of poignancy. Detroiters is incredibly funny! Lady Dynamite remains incredibly funny! Bob's Burgers continues to exist, when there isn't a football game at least! And finally, Last Week Tonight is still great, but the (understandable) need to focus on all things Trump drags the show away from what it does best.
#25 - American Crime (ABC)
Always bleak but never just pure misery porn, American Crime constantly pushed the boundaries of drama over its three seasons (which probably helps explain the abysmal ratings). In doing so, the show created one of the most unsparing and meticulous portrayals of the least admirable qualities of our society. The final season was a little more sprawling and decentralized than the previous ones, but still managed to have the same cumulative impact. Also, please cast Connor Jessup in everything.
#24 - Veep (HBO)
Much like Selena's transition to post-presidential life, the sixth season of Veep was hit-or-miss. Selena's attempts to stay relevant were occasionally top-level satire, and Jonah's brief ascendance to power consistently delivered the goods. But other plot lines (ie. Catherine's pregnancy) repeated jokes that got tired a couple seasons ago. Still, I'd rather watch a show that takes an occasional swing and miss than one that only ever aims to hit singles.
#23 - Fargo (FX)
Whether it worked for you or didn't, it's clear that the third season of Fargo was more scattershot than previous installments. This diagnosis isn't necessarily fatal for the show's quality, but the wheel-spinning has to give way to a worthy payoff. In the case of Varga vs. Stussey vs. Swango vs. Burgle, I would say it was mostly worth it, if only for the names alone. Was the surprisingly muted showdown between the lawful and the criminal elements a bit one the nose? Sure it was, but I'm also willing to forgo a bit of subtlety for the sake of thematic clarity.
#22 - The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (Amazon)
During the final few weeks of 2017, I watched both this and Alias Grace concurrently, which made for an interesting contrast. While both shows construct narratives around the hardships of women in the past, that's where the similarities end. Misogyny is basically the only societal disadvantage for the eponymous Mrs. Maisel in her journey to becoming a stand-up comic, whereas Grace's story touches on the additional burdens of class struggle and immigrating to a foreign land. And yet in spite of the lesser dramatic heft, I found myself enjoying Mrs. Maisel far more. Perhaps the singular focus on male vs female experience gave it more clarity of purpose. Or maybe the performances of Rachel Brosnahan, Alex Bornstein, and others were just too good. Whatever the reason, Mrs. Maisel is enjoyable as hell and worth your time.
#21 - I Love Dick (Amazon)
Jill Soloway's follow-up to Transparent is a bit of a mess. But it more than earns its place on this list both because of a peak-level Kathryn Hahn performance, as well as one of the greatest episodes of the year, "A Short History of Weird Girls." In that half-hour, the show takes its many thematic threads (sex, desire, the female gaze, overcoming trauma), and distills them down to their essence, telling the stories of the female characters in an explicit manner while still leaving room for subtlety and emotion.
#20 - Catastrophe (Amazon)
As you would expect, Catastrophe is still wickedly funny. But what elevates the series to greatness is its commitment to depicting the arbitrariness of life through its story of one unlikely coupling. A lesser show would have had the hookup/pregnancy/relationship progression of the pilot and then progressed to a fairly stable family show after that. With a show named Catastrophe, that isn't the case. The sneakily deft plotting of the third season leads to a conclusion that is in no way pre-determined, but is simply the result of many incidental developments preceding it.
#19 - Master of None (Netflix)
Master of None's sophomore campaign attempted the same balancing act as its first season: Use one-off episodes to tell stories about under-represented sections of society while spending the rest of the time telling a romantic tale. The first part was the show at its finest, with episodes like "New York, I Love You"* and "Thanksgiving" refining and even improving upon the highlights of season one. Unfortunately, Dev's flirtation with Francesca wasn't a meaty enough skeleton to tie everything together. This wasn't for a lack of chemistry, nor was it for a lack of thematic resonance. Rather, Francesca's stringing along of Dev was so cliche-ridden that it served to make Francesca barely a character. That said, this is a relatively minor complaint about a show that remains an absolute joy.
*This is one of the few shows warm and goofy enough to make a really good episode with a supremely insufferable title
#18 - Big Mouth (Netflix)
Puberty is inherently tricky to dramatize. But we've literally all gone through it, meaning there's a certain sense of universality that the right creative team should be able to capitalize on. The people behind Big Mouth successfully relate that shared experience by both embracing the ickiness of the subject matter (cue the hormone monsters and talking genitals), and covering all the bases (the presence of a female perspective is incredibly important to making the show work). Most importantly, its vibe of not taking itself too seriously is a logical match with one's typical perspective towards the most awkward years of their life. While every trauma felt like the end of the world back then, it's easy to look back and laugh at just how ridiculous it all was. And if you watch Big Mouth, you will most certainly laugh.
#17 - One Day at a Time (Netflix)
I wouldn't have guessed that the aesthetic of a Norman Lear sitcom (that is, a slow-burn examination of the interpersonal nature of topical issues) would make a comeback this year, on a streaming service of all places. More generally, I am surprised that a multi-cam show with a laugh track could still be this vital in 2017. But One Day at a Time threads the needle almost perfectly, in large part because of how it embraces its unique nature in the modern television landscape. It also doesn't hurt that the performances of Justina Machado and company perfectly capture the necessary emotional heart of the show. By the time the family (and Schneider) come together for an important moment in the finale, you might just be surprised at how choked up you get.
#16 - Girls (HBO)
While there can't be any real regrets for a show that ran six seasons, it does feel like Girls got the short shrift, in that it never got to exist simply on its own merits. From the context-free "voice of a generation" line in the initial promos to the (somewhat fair) criticism of plot machinations in the final episodes, there existed a high level of scrutiny throughout the show's run. And while the show invited such analysis to a degree (you don't make episodes like "One Man's Trash" or "American Bitch" unless you want to push at least a few buttons), Girls was mostly a small-scale slice of life tale about a dozen or so New Yorkers. On that front, the final season was one of its best, with the anti-climax in the penultimate episode "Goodbye Tour" serving as a perfect send-off for this group of misfits.
#15 - The Deuce (HBO)
The debut season of The Deuce follows a lot of the familiar patterns of a David Simon show. The gritty realism, the sprawling cast of characters, and a wryly optimistic dash of fatalism all make it feel like the next in line for underrated greatness. I would quibble that it does at times feel like an eight-hour setup for the series as a whole (even the seemingly slow-moving Treme had a relatively straightforward dramatic structure in its first season). But this minor complaint is more than compensated for by a thematic richness and a clarity of purpose unlike almost anything else. Ultimately, I think this season of The Deuce will be seen as the first chapter in the next great story of how our society slowly moves forward, for better or worse.
#14 - The Americans (FX)
Virtually all of the acclaimed dramas of the past 15 years have ended with a two-season order from their respective networks. And while the final seasons of these shows have been great, there's been a tendency for some wheel-spinning in the penultimate season. The Americans was no different. And yet, I found it to be as compelling as ever. Yes, the various spy-related plot lines became more disjointed and confusing, but I think that actually served to drive home the point that those stories always meant to construe: These are soul-crushing jobs, and no matter one's allegiance to the cause, they will break you. That this message came together so well in the finale makes some of the imperfections of the rest of the season worth it. Fellow prestige drama Breaking Bad coasted a bit in its penultimate season before the brilliant "Gliding Over All" bridged the gap into the show's fantastic final run. In time, I think we'll see "The Soviet Division" as serving the same function for The Americans.
#13 - Review (Comedy Central)
It's a testament to the unsuspecting thematic depth of Review that the final season could have gone a number of very different ways and still been successful. That the show chose to spend its final episodes focusing on Forrest's all-consuming mania is a testament to its restraint. After all, Review isn't a show (or at least isn't as compelling of a show) without Forrest's commitment to reviewing life to the detriment of everything else. By giving us a final examination of Forrest's psychosis, the show provides a final meditation on (among other things) the nature of criticism and the impossibility of true work-life balance. And we also got Forrest pretending to be Helen Keller, lest I forget to mention how ridiculously funny Review is.
#12 - Silicon Valley (HBO)
Season four of Silicon Valley frustrated some, which is understandable. The show changed course a bit, burning through plot like never before while the supposedly moral center (Richard) became anything but. For me though, this is exactly what made this season the best one yet. For everything that's great about the show, it's satirical bent is its most vital aspect. And it's difficult to embrace that goal without a) covering as many bases as possible, and b) having Richard succumb to the merciless forces of a savage marketplace. As long as the Valley mindset is given a prominent place in our society, I am more than happy to watch the show blow things up and puts them back together ad infinitum.
#11 - Nathan For You (Comedy Central)
Nathan For You remains a perfect send-up of late capitalism. Spending an episode skirting tariff law by re-classifying smoke detectors as musical instruments says it all. But where the fourth season really stood out was its two more unconventional episodes. "The Anecdote" detailed the bizarrely intricate process of creating an interesting story that could be shared on a late-night talk show. And the two-hour (!) finale "Finding Frances" was a surprisingly poignant mediation on love, regret, and moving forward. The character of Nathan Fielder has always been able to weaponize awkwardness effectively, but I had no idea of the potential breadth of his scope.
#10 - Better Things (FX)
In theory, the semi-autobiographical premise of actors doing Hollywood things should be played out by now. Pamela Adlon counters this thought through the combination of her unique perspective (single mom of three daughters), and a distinct interpretation of in-show continuity (on a more emotional level than specifically plot-driven) to make Better Things as vital as any other show. With episodes like "Eulogy" and "White Rock," the series appears to have reached its peak in terms of movingly affecting drama.
*And to address the elephant room, I tend to share Alan Sepinwall's thoughts on Louis CK's involvement in the show. In short, this is ultimately Pamela Adlon's show, and I'm not going to let CK's wrongdoing tarnish that.
#9 - Dear White People (Netflix)
One of 2017's most tired forms of rhetoric is the "all sides matter" fallacy, often used in bad faith to promote amoral viewpoints. The lead up to this very show is as good an example of this as you'll see. And yet, when one makes the effort to earnestly examine all viewpoints within the subdivisions of a righteous struggle (in this case, the fight for black equality), it can be as thought-provoking and illuminating as any device. Dear White People manages to represent all manners of opinion from near-revolutionaries (Sam) to incrementalists (Troy) and everything in between, while not sacrificing the nuance each character brings to the story. Add in the way the show slowly peels back different layers of the story through its episodic nature, and you have yourself one of the most clever and important narratives of the year.
#8 - One Mississippi (Amazon)
One of the trickiest aspects of narrative fiction is balancing a character's traumatic past with the present-day action of the story. Too much focus on events that have already happened can turn an otherwise enticing show into a dreary, exposition-heavy bore. The second season of One Mississippi deftly avoids this by centering the plot on new relationships for all three main characters. These love stories serve as examinations of how past events have shaped Tig, Remy, and Bill, while also spurring them to move forward. Furthermore, the way these stories tie into current shared anxieties (sexual harassment, post-2016 distrust of others) gives the show even more resonance than the already-great first season.
#7 - BoJack Horseman (Netflix)
Why is the goofy horse show one of the best human dramas in existence? There's a bunch of reasons, but the best one might be that it takes the subtext of the show and makes it the text. Normally, such directness is antithetical to the artistic nature of drama. But given that the show is also a loud and proud comedy, switching back and forth between that and subtle observations of human nature would invite tonal whiplash. Plus, when the stories of Beatrice's past, Hollyhock's present, and Princess Carolyn's future come to a head, they're all the more powerful for steering directly into the sometimes depressing realities of their situations. That Bojack is able to do this and still be hilarious and ultimately life-affirming is a small miracle.
#6 - Baskets (FX)
I didn't realize it until late into the much-improved second season of Baskets, but there's a clear delineation of the characters that speaks to the heart of this show's oddball story. There's the group branded by their place in the corporate world (Christine's Quizno's magnate of a brother, Martha and her Costco-mobile, the Arby's employees complete with curly fry haircuts). And then there's the Baskets clan and other such folks, defined by their shared sense of aimlessness. It's through this dichotomy that show reveals its true artfulness*: Everyone has some sense of uncertainty of their place in the world, but for the latter group this insecurity is ever-present and further reinforced each day. And while this can lead to melancholy and depression, it also paradoxically can be the path to self-actualization. If Dale still had his community college and Chip still worked with the Russian circus and Christine still had her husband, would they be able to team up and buy the rodeo? And if they didn't, would they really be as happy? I suspect future seasons will continue to answer these questions and pose other ones, but it's clear that Baskets has more than just its peculiar premise in mind.
*There's also the visual beauty of the show, which does the most it can with a pretty plain setting by and shooting practically every other scene during the golden hour and always taking the opportunity for the wide shot
#5 - American Vandal (Netflix)
The recent surge in popularity of the true-crime documentary invokes a natural contradiction. The format works well when it's focused on stripping away melodrama and other indulgences to tell truly human stories. But the uncanny valley inherent to the boundary between reality and storytelling is uncomfortable at best and exploitative at worst. American Vandal appears at first to use its faux documentary format merely as a setup to a (quite solid) teen drama with a lot of (also quite solid) dick jokes. The stretch run of episodes elevates it to something else entirely, turning the focus behind the camera for an incisive and necessary reckoning. And yes, the irony of a fictional documentary being one of the best examinations of the true-crime phenomenon is not lost on me.
#4 - Better Call Saul (AMC)
Season three of Better Call Saul gave us two seasons for the price of one. The first half burned through story leading up to the pivotal courtroom drama of "Chicanery," one of the finest hours the show has produced. These five episodes felt much like the best that Breaking Bad had to offer, expertly mixing patient reflection with quick bursts of action and development. The second half went in a slightly different, but no less interesting direction. The stories of Jimmy, Chuck, Mike, and Nacho felt more pre-ordained, and not just because we know what will ultimately happen to most of these characters. But the depiction of these journeys was still fascinating, thanks to the show's commitment to empathy and precision. Jimmy's exhaustion from hustling every dollar he could; Chuck's further pain from his descent into mania; Nacho's quest to take power back from Hector - The end result of none of these were surprising, but were compelling nonetheless. In the age of spoiler paranoia, it's refreshing to see a story whose ending is already known show everyone that there's more to TV than simply finding out what comes next.
#3 - The Handmaid's Tale (Hulu)
The Handmaid's Tale is first and foremost a near flawlessly executed season of television. The acting is as strong and deep as you will see anywhere, particularly in the push-pull relationship between Elisabeth Moss' Offred and Yvonne Strahovski's Serena. The combination of direction, design, and score conveys the atmosphere of the story perfectly. And the episodic nature of its storytelling helps to paint a holistic (but not too holistic*) picture of the universe the show has created. But the show's greatness and its resultant indispensability come from its relevance to the times at hand. The fascist government of the show is the most obvious parallel to the goings-on of 2017, but the subjugation of women, increasingly armed police force, and the hypocritical behavior of leaders all speak to the issues facing our society. And even more important is how Offred and her allies demonstrate the path ahead through determination, commitment, and unity. The Handmaid's Tale was anything but subtle, but ultimately made the case that subtlety itself is overrated.
*I could write a whole thesis on how well The Handmaid's Tale plays its cards with respect to revealing and not revealing things in service of making the story as compelling as possible
#2 - Twin Peaks: The Return (Showtime)
“Hawk, I’m dying. You know about death, but it’s just a change. Not an end." - Margaret
Summarizing my thoughts on David Lynch and Mark Frost's masterpiece in a paragraph or two would be an impossible task. The sprawl of ideas, themes, characters, and storylines over the 18-episode revival of one of TV's most beloved misfits is worthy of a book, or at the very least a much longer article. So instead, let's focus on what I felt to be the most meaningful subject of the series: the immutability of the passage of time, the nature of evil, and the permanence of death. These themes are central to Twin Peaks not only because of the universality of the message, but also because it applies to every single aspect of the show. On a basic level, the series began with (and still rotates around) the murder of Laura Palmer. On a meta-level, the show finds sly ways of dealing with the deaths of actors from the original season as well as those who were near death during filming (see the quote above). And on a metaphysical level, the brilliant eighth episode rewinds to the advent of the atomic age to ruminate on the origin of evil itself. And all of this reflection is in service of the seemingly impossible idea of bringing a long-dead series back to life. Twin Peaks: The Return was an oftentimes difficult oddball of a series, but somehow was also one of the best things I've seen.
The top of last year's list featured an interesting pairing of shows. Both The Girlfriend Experience and Better Call Saul wove precisely constructed stories to great effect, but did so in largely opposite ways. The eponymous Girlfriend Christine was a cipher while the characters from Saul were largely as they appeared on the surface (though with great nuance). In this way, the former represents the mystery of humanity while the latter represents its reality. It's amazing enough that both of those shows were so good at depicting those aspects of the dramatic form. It's patently ridiculous that The Leftovers somehow managed to master both, oftentimes in the same episode or even scene. Simply put, there has never been a more comprehensively human story told on the small screen.
If that alone isn't enough to top this list, there's also the matter of the show's thematic resonance. The goings-on of the final season are relevant to almost everything, but in particular, the show is a masterclass in highlighting both the audacity and necessity of faith at this point in humanity. Even in an era where knowledge is more readily available than ever, there is so much that we either don't know or choose not to know. This means that to live any sort of practically functional life, we have to take some things (not just religious matters, either) on faith. Sure, real life hasn't seen a collective event as stark as the Sudden Departure, but that serves as a wonderful dramatic license to reflect back on how we handle death, grief, and uncertainty. The Leftovers is everything that television should be, and I'm so glad we got three amazing seasons of it.
