The 50 best HBO shows of all time

served up several summers’ worth of sexy, supernatural, Southern-fried decadence. Based on The Southern Vampire Mysteries novels by Charlaine Harris, True Blood is set in the fictional Louisiana town of Bon Temps during a time when vampires are encouraged to come “out of the coffin” thanks to the development of a synthetic-blood substitute marketed as Tru Blood. At the heart of the story is Sookie Stackhouse (Anna Paquin), a telepathic waitress whose half-human, half-fairy blood is irresistible to vampires, including Civil War-era vampire Bill Compton (Stephen Moyer) and Fangtasia club owner Eric Northman (Alexander Skarsgård). The love triangle between those three characters fuels many seasons of supernatural shenanigans that introduced witches, werepanthers, werewolves, fairies, ghosts, demons and other mythological beings into the mix during the show’s run. True Blood remains a fan favorite (a reboot is in development) and earned many accolades—especially for the first five seasons—including two Emmys and a Golden Globe. [Robert DeSalvo]

Following the exploits of a single company of soldiers from training all the way through to the end of World War II, still holds up as an intense, tactile, and deeply fulfilling viewing experience. It doesn’t hurt that both its cast and its filmmakers (including executive producers Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg) represent one of the deepest benches in television history, but the real gift of the series is its willingness to go long-form at a time when World War II stories were largely told on the big screen. Over the course of 10 expertly produced episodes, we grow to love the men of Easy Company, which makes their triumphs, and their losses, all the more impactful. [Matthew Jackson]

There are a host of whodunit murder docuseries these days—and HBO, hands down, has the best of them—but still manages to stick out. Chronicling Michelle McNamara, the late journalist and wife of Patton Oswalt, and her unrelenting obsession with finding and making sense of a serial killer and rapist who terrorized swaths of California in the ’70s and ’80s, the series is fascinating, heartbreaking, expertly crafted, and, like the best docs, much bigger than its on-paper end game. [Tim Lowery]

wrestled with some large themes, and the fact that it came through in the end with any sort of conclusion is, quite frankly, miraculous. The show explored religion and connection, legacy and legends, clarity and faith—and it did that through the lens of a polygamist family from a fundamentalist sect of the Mormon church. Big Love succeeded by giving audiences a grounded, fair portrait of a much-maligned lifestyle, and ultimately delivered five seasons of compelling family drama. [Jen Lennon]

It’s a credit to ’s incredible writing that it manages to make the lives of newly minted finance bros compelling (yes, a good portion of the cast is made up of women, but it’s attitude and lifestyle, not gender, that defines a finance bro). It helps, too, that Industry delivers on the drama part of “workplace drama”: There’s backstabbing, affairs, drugs, and ruthless competition. If there’s one thing Industry makes clear, it’s that the financial system is corrupt—and it’ll eat up even the most idealistic employees. [Jen Lennon]

Based upon the A Song Of Ice And Fire novels by George R.R. Martin, is a Game Of Thrones prequel series that explores the beginning of the end of House Targaryen. While the series didn’t fully find its footing during season one—blame in part several time jumps, which necessitates some characters being played by different actors and chunks of story being leapfrogged—there are some promising signs for the future, including strong performances by the likes of Matt Smith as Daemon and Emma D’Arcy as Rhaenyra Targaryen. Much like the final season of Game Of Thrones, viewers have complained that many night scenes are way too dark and are difficult to see. The creators insist this is “intentional” so that there are no “artificial” light sources, which is ironic in a show with CGI dragons flapping about. [Robert DeSalvo]

Sincerity is the secret, sacred spice powering —as it is in so many of the vulgar, absurd, but ultimately human comedies that Danny McBride has funneled through HBO over the years. Eli Gemstone (John Goodman) and his televangelist brood may be foul-mouthed, greedy, and violent in times of crisis, but they’re also surprisingly devout in their faith, and their fidelity to each other. All that, and you get a spray-tanned, bleach-toothed Walton Goggins, and Edi Patterson giving one of modern TV’s great unhinged comedy performances. God’s blessings truly are abundant. [William Hughes]

Danny McBride characters have this knack for just sticking with you. Kenny Powers, the hotshot pitcher turned has-been at the heart of , might have only worked for a single season of comedy in the hands of another star, or another set of writers. But McBride and co-creators Jody Hill and Ben Best had something else in mind, and Eastbound soon evolved into four seasons of bizarre, tragicomic brilliance that constantly picks apart a particular kind of American machismo. No wonder McBride has become one of HBO’s go-to comedy machines. [Matthew Jackson]

The first original sketch comedy show to ever air on HBO—in co-production with the CBC—remains one of the most gleefully weird Canadian imports of all time, a celebration of Monty Python absurdity, European film, and, yes, an abundance of men in dresses. Whether in faux-artsy short films, traditional sketches, or direct-to-camera monologues, Dave Foley, Scott Thompson, Bruce McCulloch, Mark McKinney, and Kevin McDonald were utterly fearless (and relentlessly hilarious), tackling religion, sexuality, and the practical mechanics of head-crushing for three seasons on HBO in the late ’80s and early ’90s, before made the (genuinely inexplicable) leap to CBS in 1993. [William Hughes]

The pilot episode of takes place during the eve of Prohibition in Atlantic City, New Jersey, and was directed by Martin Scorsese. The lavish, $18-million pilot set the tone for this immersive series about corrupt Atlantic County treasurer Enoch “Nucky” Thompson (Steve Buscemi) and his dealings with politicians, mobsters (including Al Capone) and regular folks during a time when bootlegging liquor was a risky but lucrative business. Standouts in the cast include Michael Shannon as a former Prohibition agent on the lam, Michael Pitt as Nucky’s protégé, Kelly Macdonald as Nucky’s mistress turned wife, and Michael Kenneth Williams as a powerful African-American gangster. Nucky’s story ends about the same time that Prohibition ends, so watching the series makes you feel like you were a voyeur during the span of the Roaring Twenties. Boardwalk Empire deservedly earned numerous accolades, including Emmys, Golden Globes, and SAG Awards. [Robert DeSalvo]

What starts out as a jaunty comedy about a wannabe “gentleman pirate” who’s poorly suited to a life of piracy becomes something entirely different by the end of the first season. It gradually transforms into a heart-warming and surprisingly earnest gay-pirate romance. Loosely based on the true story of Stede Bonnet, stars Rhys Darby as a wealthy landowner who leaves it all behind to pursue a life of plunder at sea. He’s hilariously bad at it, with no taste for violence and a love of finer things that don’t really belong on a ship. Everything changes, though, when he meets the legendary pirate Blackbeard, played by Taika Waititi. Waititi gives a wonderfully layered performance, intimidating when he needs to be yet clearly under Stede’s spell from the moment they meet. The diverse supporting cast is also terrific, and while Darby and Waititi are unquestionably the show’s ballast, their stories are fun to follow too. A second season is currently in production, but we don’t yet know when it will arrive. Until then, we’ll be keeping an eye out from the crow’s nest. [Cindy White]

With , Nathan Fielder took his experimental meta-comedy to the next level, playing and replaying elaborate simulated scenarios for people to gain comfort in the unknown. As the lines between Fielder and his simulations begin to dissolve, and the show goes to greater lengths to maintain the projects, things enter an entirely new realm of reality television hinging on absurdity and melodrama. It’s hard to watch at times, but it’s just as impossible to pull your eyes away. Even when The Rehearsal fails to achieve exactly what Fielder set out to do, it illuminates something deeper about the unpredictability of life, making it a constantly compelling endeavor. [Gabrielle Sanchez]

Before , Mike White had another critically acclaimed HBO series, , which he co-created with Laura Dern. Dern also stars in the series as Amy, who’s returning to work with a new spiritual outlook after spending two months at a treatment facility. Like The White Lotus, Enlightened rides the line between comedy and drama, charting Amy’s dedication to changing her life. The show was frequently praised for its positivity; it stood out among a sea of dark dramas to prove that a show didn’t need to be gritty or harrowing to be good. Sadly, Enlightened only lasted two seasons, but it’s still well worth revisiting. [Jen Lennon]

It’s a cliché at this point to note that no TV show of the 1990s has been as influential on 21st century comedy as . Hosts Bob Odenkirk and David Cross—once plucky upstarts, salvaging ideas deemed too weird for The Ben Stiller Show—are now some of the most famous men in comedy. (And drama!) Its writers and cast members have spread out throughout pop culture, dominating the world of TV, podcasts, and more. Its fans are the people making the sketch shows of today. But none of those facts is a more important fact than this one: Mr. Show is still just very fucking funny, a smart-stupid rampage through ’90s culture, as comfortable attacking political grandstanding as it was the deliberately confusing mechanics of a pre-taped call-in show. [William Hughes]

Where were you when Robert Durst admitted he “killed them all, of course?” Capturing the accused killer confessing on a hot mic was a lightning-in-a-bottle moment that will go down in documentary history, but was weird and engrossing from its inception. Durst himself reached out to director Andrew Jarecki after seeing the film loosely based on his life All Good Things, and eventually ended up giving Jarecki unprecedented access that formed a docuseries. The insight into Durst’s mind is bizarre and chilling, but the series also checks in with the loved ones of his victims and others who followed the case(s) over decades (the involvement of Jeanine Pirro is just one of many small, strange details). All told, the combination of these elements made for must-see TV, a docuseries that transcended the true crime genre and became a phenomenon in and of itself. [Mary Kate Carr]

This acclaimed anthology series focuses on new detectives and new criminal cases every season, exploring the mysteries in their professional and private lives. The seasons have varied in quality and critical reception, and the truth is the surreal first season, featuring Matthew McConaughey and Woody Harrelson tracking a shadowy serial killer, is the one to watch. It has nuanced characters, unsettling imagery, and completely draws you into its dark world. Mahershala Ali has also drawn praise for his season three performance. A fourth season of starring Jodie Foster premiered in January 2024 to critical acclaim. [Bryan Reesman]

was a strange little hybrid in more ways than one. Born on TBS and raised on HBO Max, the show slipped cleverly between genres, at times a whodunnit, a psychological thriller, a legal drama, a sci-fi cult series and full-fledged horror, while remaining at all times spectacularly funny. The main cast—Alia Shawkat, John Reynolds, John Early, and Meredith Hagner—were all immensely talented with perfect chemistry for a toxic, codependent friend group. The supporting cast was also firing on all cylinders throughout the series’ run (some of the recurring stars: Ron Livingston, Rosie Perez, Christine Taylor, Cole Escola, Susan Sarandon, and Jeff Goldblum, not to mention the iconic Clare McNulty). No series has captured millennialism in a way so outrageous and yet so apt. Rescued from relative obscurity on broadcast TV, Search Party represented the kind of wonderful weirdness HBO Max could foster. [Mary Kate Carr]

You’d be forgiven for assuming a violent, raunchy cartoon about the Joker’s ex-girlfriend would be anything more than TV junk food. But Justin Halpern, Patrick Schumacker, and Dean Lorey’s series is an unexpected masterpiece that’s as wickedly funny as it is emotionally rich. never forgets that its title character earned a Ph.D. in psychiatry before her fateful acid bath, and the show isn’t afraid to burrow deep into its characters’ psyches amid all the blood spatter and sex jokes (which, by the way, are hilarious). The show broke new ground when Harley and her BFF Poison Ivy became a couple, and the most recent season focuses on how the pair both help each other grow—and kick the asses of anyone who gets in their way. Add to all that a who’s who of voice actors, from Kaley Cuoco and Jason Alexander to Christopher Meloni and Alfred Molina, and you’ve got an animated series for the history books. [Jenna Scherer]

This singularly funny, mostly Spanish-language show from scene-stealers Julio Torres, Ana Fabrega, and Fred Armisen, about a group of lovable weirdos—those three mentioned above, as well as Bernardo Velasco and a magnetic Cassandra Ciangherott—is the kind of distinct comedy we can only hope HBO keeps backing. (If you haven’t seen , it’s basically about horror-obsessed friends who create a business in which they create DIY hauntings.) As we put it in our : “What worked last time—the comic chemistry, the cool synthy music, the color scheme and dramatic lighting, the camp and absurdity—works again this time, only with maybe a bit more punch and sharpness.” [Tim Lowery]

Richard Price and Steven Zaillian’s limited series is an indictment of America’s criminal justice system, a tantalizing crime mystery, and several nuanced character studies all rolled into one. But what wins out ends up being the latter: watching it, you can get that overwhelming feeling that there’s so, so much talent in front of the lens. An Emmy-winning Riz Ahmed made his breakout here as a Pakistani-American student serving time in Rikers while on trial for murder. But Michael K. Williams, John Turturro, Bill Camp, Jeannie Berlin, and Amara Karan make up one of the most astonishing supporting ensembles in all of TV. [Jack Smart]

The magic of lies not in its central mystery each season, but in its ability to justify Cassie’s (Kaley Cuoco) mess. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: the main character is an alcoholic woman who isn’t taken seriously by anyone around her, even when she has something important to say, causing her to drink even more but also to doggedly pursue whatever truth she’s trying to uncover. Eventually, she’s proven right and the show (or film, or book) tries its best to make us, and the supporting characters in the story, feel bad for doubting them. But the trope rarely justifies its reason for burdening the protagonist with all her problems, making her “flaws” feel more like a plot device than realistic character traits.The Flight Attendant both adheres to and demolishes this trope; Cassie is an alcoholic, her life is a mess, and no one believes her about the murder she’s wrapped up in, but none of that feels malicious or lazy. By carefully constructing Cassie’s backstory, the show makes her feel like a real person. Cuoco gives the performance of her career as the complicated protagonist, fearlessly portraying Cassie’s lowest lows and highest highs. [Jen Lennon]

Television has attempted to tackle the subject matter of sexual assault many times, but no version has felt more beautiful or more human than Michaela Coel’s Emmy-winning limited series . The show explored different kinds of boundary crossing and sexual gray areas through the eyes of its young Black characters (played by Coel, Weruche Opia, and Paapa Essiedu), who have to navigate not only those experiences but also showing up for and supporting one another through their traumas. As heavy as it sounds on paper, Coel also emphasized the humor and heart of her characters’ everyday lives, the tenderness of their relationships and the evolution of their understanding of sexuality. It’s a loving but unflinching snapshot of the messiness of modern life, told from the deeply personal perspective of one of the finest writer-performers of her generation. [Mary Kate Carr]

Small-town murder miniseries are the gift that keeps on giving—or maybe the genre reached such a peak with Brad Ingelsby’s because of an Emmy-winning Kate Winslet in the title role. Is it sacrilege to call this her best ever on-camera performance? Just watch the moment her traumatized detective realizes, with a jolt of breath, who killed poor Erin McMenamin. Something was in the water on this show’s set, because Winslet’s fellow Emmy winners Evan Peters and Julianne Nicholson also turned in career-best work. There’s also the superb Jean Smart who, come to think of it, may be the best guarantee of an HBO show’s success. [Jack Smart]

Here’s the thing about Larry David and the situations he gets into on : he’s frequently right. And that undeniable fact leads to the show’s brilliant central question: Does being right justify being an asshole? To Larry, it certainly does—though he’d likely be quick to tell you that he’s not an asshole, he’s simply right, and anything he does to prove that is excusable. As an audience, we see that two things can be true, but in Larry’s hilariously righteous mind, there’s no room for gray. Everything is black and white, right and wrong, and he’ll go to any length to prove it to you. [Jen Lennon]

“I’m Gen Z, okay? There are Millennials who are, like, 40,” Hannah Einbinder’s Ava protests during an episode late in ’ great first season, reminding everyone that there are more to Zoomers than those kids on Euphoria. The series, which pairs the 20-something Ava with Jean Smart’s Joan Rivers-esque Deborah Vance, is more than just an exploration of generational gaps in humor—it’s about the generations themselves and the respective compromises they must make in an often harsh world. The series doesn’t let anyone off the hook, but also proposes an elegant solution forward, venerating a comedy vet like Smart while uplifting younger talents like Einbinder and Megan Stalter. [Drew Gillis]

There’s never been a show quite like this, because there’s never been a musical group like Flight Of The Conchords. Jemaine Clement and Bret McKenzie play themselves (or some versions of themselves) in what amounts to a loosely scripted showcase for their two-man comedy band. Each episode follows them around New York City as they try to make a name for themselves while getting into adventures that inspire whimsical musical interludes. ran from 2007 to 2009, for a total of 22 episodes over two seasons before Clement and McKenzie got so busy with other projects they couldn’t devote enough time to this one. Some of their memorable numbers include “The Most Beautiful Girl (In the Room),” “Hiphopopotamus vs. Rhymenoceros,” and “Bowie,” which features Clement dressing up as different incarnations of the iconic pop star. The show also has some great cameos and a supporting cast that includes Kristen Schaal as the band’s most devoted (and only) fan, and Rhys Darby as their clueless manager, who hosts band meetings in his office at the New Zealand consulate. His rotating promotional travel posters are one of the show’s best ongoing visual gags. [Cindy White]

Rue Bennett tells us in the opening minutes of how harrowing her 16 years on Earth have been, and, over the ensuing 18 episodes, we have no choice but to believe her. High school shows have always been an opportunity to explore big social issues, but few have delved into addiction, sexuality, and the declining quality of American life quite as stylishly as Euphoria. At its best, Sam Levinson’s series reminds us that there is often great beauty, laughter, growth, and love to be found in our most painful moments. [Drew Gillis]

What would you do if two percent of the world’s population disappeared without explanation? Tom Perrotta teamed up with post-Lost Damon Lindelof to adapt his novel into one of HBO’s most criminally underrated series (three groundbreaking seasons and only one Emmy nod!), which uses that eerie premise to dig into pretty much all of life’s unexplained mysteries. Season one, which mirrors the book, is merely a warm-up; stay tuned for career-best performances from Justin Theroux, Amy Brenneman, Christopher Eccleston, Liv Tyler, Regina King, Kevin Carroll, and a scene-stealing Ann Dowd. And thanks to Carrie Coon, “The Book of Nora” is one of TV’s best series finales of all time. [Jack Smart]

Though it was cancelled after only one season, Misha Green’s horror saga will likely go down as one of the decade’s most trailblazing series. Like the Matt Ruff novel it’s based on, is a riff on the works of pioneering horror master (and noted bigot) H.P. Lovecraft, re-envisioned from a Black perspective. The show follows Korean War vet Atticus “Tic” Freeman and his friends and family as they face both the mundane and supernatural terrors of white America in the 1950s, revisiting buried pieces of the nation’s racist history, from the Tulsa race massacre to sundown towns. Along the way, the series is unafraid to get as weird as it dares, encompassing everything from time travel to eldritch monsters to spirit possession. Lovecraft Country also helped launch the careers of Jonathan Majors, Wunmi Mosaku, and Aunjanue Ellis, three of today’s fastest-rising stars. [Jenna Scherer]

A show about a pandemic released during a pandemic shouldn’t have worked as well as it did. At a time where other productions were offering pure escapism, ’s fictional post-pandemic apocalypse wouldn’t allow us to look away from our grief. The adaptation of Emily St. John Mandel’s bestselling novel grappled with loss on both a personal and global level–how does a person rebuild after this kind of devastation? How does a community? While those questions may have been eerily prescient, the series handled them with such deftness that it felt comforting, even revelatory. With stellar performances from Mackenzie Davis, Matilda Lawler, David Wilmot, Nabhaan Rizwan, Danielle Deadwyler, Caitlin FitzGerald, Gael Garcia Bernal and the Emmy-nominated Himesh Patel, this miniseries will be remembered as a perfect parallel example of art imitating–and perhaps improving upon–life. [Mary Kate Carr]

Giving a workplace comedy to the guy who made Office Space seems like a no-brainer, but is not just a retread of familiar ground for co-creator Mike Judge. Blessed with a magnificent ensemble and a team of writers and directors who knew exactly how to use them, Silicon Valley quickly built a formula that involved backing the Pied Piper crew into corner after corner, and then devising increasingly wild ways for them to fight their way out of it. The result is both a hilarious show with surprising longevity and a scathing commentary on the art of failing upwards. [Matthew Jackson]

We recently rounded up —and it was quite a chore as, honestly, any scene on this very funny, very influential show likely had it. A single-camera series, long before that became the standard for interesting comedies, about the making of a late-night talk show still, all these years later, packs a lot of punch, with an enviable joke-per-minute rate and even some real pathos. Co-creator Garry Shandling plays the star, a self-hating, self-obsessed host. But the MVPs are Jeffrey Tambor as his clueless sidekick and Rip Torn as his rhino of a producer. also proved a career launchpad for the likes of Bob Odenkirk, Judd Apatow, and Paul Simms. [Tim Lowery]

With , Issa Rae set out to prove that people of color are relatable while also acknowledging the realities of life as a Black woman. She proved her comedic chops with her previous YouTube series, Awkward Black Girl, and retained those sensibilities in her HBO show. Coming on the heels of Girls, which was frequently criticized for centering white women’s experiences, Insecure’s perspective was a breath of fresh air. And it’s genuinely funny, too; the show is a masterclass in melding unique lived experiences with universal humor, making it essential viewing. [Jen Lennon]

Oliver graduated from to , his own weekly news program, devoted to exploring one key issue in-depth per episode. It’s refreshing for him to dive deep into well-researched topics like voting rights, environmental racism, and opioid abuse, and his delivery is passionate, intense, and occasionally vitriolic (in a good way). The multiple Emmy winner may get over-the-top once in a blue moon, but he’s always riveting and insightful. And he goes way beyond anything the nightly news will deliver to us. [Bryan Reesman]

The key quote from this gripping five-part miniseries is this: “Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later that debt is paid.” That’s Jared Harris’ character Valery Legasov talking about the consequences of the USSR lying to its citizens about the Chernobyl nuclear disaster in 1986, but it could easily be applied to the post-truth era we’re living in right now. originally aired in 2019, so it was hard not to think about it when the global pandemic hit in 2020. Even creator Craig Mazin acknowledged that it was at the top of his mind at the time. Mazin did extensive research on the disaster itself and life in Soviet Russia, and his work shows in the period-accurate details, as well as the thoughtful way he depicts the heroism of ordinary working folks in contrast to the callous, totalitarian officials. It also gives a thorough explanation of exactly how the meltdown happened in layman’s terms that are easy to follow. So it’s Informative as well as entertaining. [Cindy White]

As Search Party was rescued by HBO from TBS, made its way to HBO Max in 2021 after one season on Comedy Central. The move to the streamer proved to be a godsend for the already excellent series, freeing it of whatever constraints cable had enacted. The Other Two can balance tones like no other comedy in recent memory, but is ultimately clever pop-culture satire that features a season two character who freelances at The A.V. Club—we can’t help but be a little partial. [Drew Gillis]

In the first episode of , a woozy Hannah Horvath (Lena Dunham), under the influence of opium tea, pleads with her parents to read her screenplay after they inform her she’ll be cut off. “I think I may be the voice of my generation,” Hannah says. “Or at least, a voice, of a generation.” Let self-importance (and self-realization) begin. Although often maligned, Girls was a deft, hilarious, and unforgiving portrait of New York millennial life. Exemplified in the season three episode “Beach House,” you didn’t return to Girls’ central female foursome because you rooted for them, or even because you liked them—you returned because they felt fully realized, warts and all. [Hattie Lindert]

Among HBO’s first crop of prestige series (The Sopranos, The Wire, Deadwood), it’s Alan Ball’s slow-burn meditation on mortality and screwed-up family dynamics that too often gets overlooked. Search us why, because there hasn’t been a show quite like it before or since. Melancholy and wryly funny in equal measure, centers on the Fishers, who must find a way to keep their funeral home (and themselves) afloat after the sudden death of the family patriarch. The series was way ahead of its time, particularly in its depiction of a long-term interracial gay relationship and its focus on telling stories of older women. Frances Conroy, Peter Krause, Michael C. Hall, and Lauren Ambrose all turn in stellar performances as TV’s most repressed family. And then there’s the epic series finale, which is arguably the greatest in small-screen history. [Jenna Scherer]

It’s hard to imagine many of the shows on this list existing had not dropped HBO in a cocktail shaker, shook it with vodka, triple sec, and cranberry juice, and sipped it from a glass in a trendy Manhattan bar. Critics are still think-piecing Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and, yes, even Samantha almost 25 years after the series’ debut, as if you needed one more metric of Sex And The City’s incomparable pop culture impact. Thank God they never deigned to make two follow-up movies, a CW prequel, or a weird reboot to cheapen the brand. [Drew Gillis]

There are so many reasons behind why is one of HBO’s—nay, all of TV’s—very best limited series. It’s got all of the sci-fi-inflected audacity of Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons’ classic graphic novel, mysteries with pull-the-rug-out-from-under-you twists, possibly the greatest and certainly most ass-kicking performance of Regina King’s career, and a giant blue dildo. But if there’s one feature that distinguishes this from other Watchmen iterations, it’s creator Damon Lindelof’s focus on the legacy of racism. By kicking things off with an unexaggerated depiction of 1921’s Black Wall Street massacre in Tulsa, Oklahoma, it’s clear this show is concerned less with alternate histories full of superheroes than with actual, damning American history. [Jack Smart]

In many ways, is the ultimate family drama. One of the final works of late Canadian filmmaker Jean-Marc Vallée, the series is anchored by formidable performances from its main cast, including Reese Witherspoon, Laura Dern, Nicole Kidman, Shailene Woodley, Zoe Kravitz, and Alexander Skarsgaard. Weaving together complex thematic strands of abuse, privilege, and motherhood, Big Little Lies did in two seasons what many family dramas fail to achieve at all: paint the village it takes to raise a child. [Hattie Lindert]

The first season of Mike White’s social satire explored the blind spots of the privileged class against the tropical backdrop of a luxury resort in Hawaii. Expanding on that theme, season two took us to Sicily and incorporated the politics of love, sex, and relationships. Both seasons weave in and out of a handful of ongoing stories involving the guests and staff over the course of a week-long stay. Season one earned an impressive 20 Emmy nominations and won 10, including Outstanding Limited Or Anthology Series, plus a pair of writing and directing statues for Mike White. We’ll have to wait and see if the latest season, which brought back Emmy winner Jennifer Coolidge, gets the same recognition by the Academy, but the series (already renewed for a third installment) hasn’t lost any momentum yet. [Cindy White]

Sue, did the president call? When we talk about a peerless actor, we’re talking about someone like Julia Louis-Dreyfus in . In addition to earning a record-breaking six consecutive Emmys as flailing Vice President Selina Meyer, she delivered the most scathing insults ever committed to celluloid (“Go, period. Fuck, period. Yourself … exclamation point!” remains a favorite), all believably the parlance of creator Armando Iannucci’s just-barely-fictionalized Washington politicians. There was such a paper-thin level of satire on Veep that its later seasons resembled the real world a little too uncomfortably. And when it comes to channeling that political buffoonery, there is no one on Louis-Dreyfus’ level—although thanks to her comedic chemistry, co-stars Tony Hale, Anna Chlumsky, Reid Scott, Timothy Simons, Matt Walsh, Kevin Dunn, and more come close. [Jack Smart]

Is anyone better at poetically spitting out profanities than Ian McShane is while playing saloon owner Al Swearengen in ? No. Of course not. Concocted by David Milch, a literal poet himself, this show is as dense and literary as its reputation alleges yet still an incredibly exciting watch. The brutal Western, like HBO’s other two big prestigious shows of the time—The Sopranos and The Wire—also beautifully digs into the ugliness of what it means to be American. We’d say it should be taught in college, but it already has been, plenty, going back to this , the year the series debuted. [Tim Lowery]

often tops lists of qualified lists: The Best Canceled-Too-Soon, The Most Underrated, The Best Brought Back from the Dead Series. But don’t let that distract you from the fact that Lisa Kudrow’s first major post-Friends project is one of the best comedies to grace our screens. The one-time One Season Wonder follows Kudrow as Valerie Cherish, a washed-up sitcom star who agrees to let a reality crew follow her as she mounts her titular comeback; we see the found footage of this show-within-a-show-within-a-show. The concept may have been a bit too meta or convoluted for the series to find an audience in 2005, but since the advent of streaming, the series has only grown more beloved, eventually getting a second season in 2014. Lisa Kudrow gives us one of the best performances ever committed to the small screen; a washed-up sitcom star, she never will be. [Drew Gillis]

Whether you watched or not, there was no escaping the show during its heyday. And with the prequel series just now coming to a close, it’s still very much a part of the pop-culture conversation. For eight seasons, showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss swept us up in George R.R. Martin’s vast and richly detailed world, offering weekly doses of political intrigue, complex characters, and shocking deaths. Even the controversies were epic. Love it or hate it, this was one of those shows that was as much fun to talk about as it was to watch, and its cultural impact is undeniable. [Cindy White]

Bill Hader and Alec Berg’s series begins with what sounds like a flimsy setup for a joke: “So this hitman decides he wants to be an actor.” It’s an entertaining premise, and Hader absolutely sells it in the title role, but it’s what does with its punchline that makes it a dark comedy masterwork. The longer the show has gone on, the deeper it’s delved into one man’s journey to cling to the last vestiges of his own soul while trapped in a violent nightmare of his own making, and you simply can’t look away. [Matthew Jackson]

No show on this list exemplifies the two sides of HBO—fearless, foul-mouthed comedy on the one hand, expansive, emotionally devastating drama on the other—better than Jesse Armstrong’s . Across four acerbic, heartbreaking seasons, the Roy family was as quick to lob a series of dick jokes across the dinner table as they were to betray each other in the boardroom; the show’s best scenes (including its brutal, final confrontation between the siblings Roy) blended schoolyard taunts with the cold mechanics of mergers and maneuvers. And all of it—the heartbreaking, hilarious performances from Jeremy Strong, Kieran Culkin, Sarah Snook, Brian Cox; the gorgeously shot images of unlimited excess; the sudden shifts between the Roys at their most pitiable, and their most loathsome—is in service of a single, brutal idea: That the masters of our universe are little more than a series of broken children, squabbling carelessly over the reins of the world as a substitute for parental love. [William Hughes]

Even after all this time (and rewatch after rewatch after rewatch), still lives up to its groundbreaking show status. It’s an incredible achievement on every level—funny and shocking and ambitious and insightful and complicated, with big things to say about the fallacy of the American dream and a whole lot more—that’s all rooted, somehow, in the simple sell of a wise guy walking into a shrink’s office. The show, too, is grounded by two of the—and we’re not being hyperbolic here—finest screen performances of all time, given by James Gandolfini (as the sentimental, self-loathing manchild Tony) and Edie Falco (as his wife Carmella, who longs, fruitlessly, for more). [Tim Lowery]