The 50 best TV comedies since 2000

For what is, on paper, a spy thriller, is noticeably … weird—that’s high praise—not to mention funny, occasionally sweet, and completely original. Michael Dorman stars as the Prime Video show’s ever-in-existential-crises covert operator, leading a fantastic cast that includes Kurtwood Smith, Michael Chernus, Kathleen Munroe, Terry O’Quinn, Debra Winger, and Chris Conrad (the brother of series creator Steven Conrad and arguably Patriot’s secret comedic weapon). If you’re a music fan who likes the good stuff, you’re in luck: “Train Song” by Vashti Bunyan soundtracks the home-video intro in season one; there’s also a cover of a Bill Fay cut by Jeff Tweedy (like the Conrads, a Chicagoan); and the folky, Bill Callahan-esque originals Dorman’s character plays throughout the show are always amusing. But, as this is a list of the best TV comedies since 2000, I’d be remiss not to stress that this criminally overshadowed show has a deadpan, absurd, brisk energy all its own, and is a truly funny—as well as beautiful—watch. [Tim Lowery]

The ideal vehicle for comedic genius Andy Daly—whose ability to match the chipper brightness of a game show host with the darkest impulses of the human heart remains unparalleled in modern comedy—Comedy Central’s  starts with a basic question, and then takes it to horrifying extremes: How do you review life? If you’re Forrest MacNeil (Daly), you do it by throwing yourself into a series of randomly submitted tasks with the total confidence of a man cheerfully unaware of the damage you’re inflicting on yourself, on others, and on the world at large. If Review only consisted of its masterpiece third episode, “Pancakes, Divorce, Pancakes” (in which Forrest reviews those three concepts, in that exact order) it might still merit inclusion on this list; as is, it’s one of the most brilliantly dark TV comedies ever created, constantly finding ways to make Forrest’s blinkered, smiling belief in his own genius ever more awful to behold. [William Hughes]

is a love letter, first and foremost, to the Indigenous community it represents. Sterlin Harjo and Taika Waititi’s is often emotionally turbulent—dealing with grief through the lens of four teens can do that. Yet, it finds incredible nuance and humor as it paints the portrait of daily life in an Oklahoma reservation. , Res Dogs perfected its ingenious voice and characters. Thanks to the writing and stellar breakout performances from Devery Jacobs, , it’s easily morphed into an impressive TV comedy of our generation. [Saloni Gajjar]

In HBO’s , New Zealand natives Jemaine Clement and Bret McKenzie play fictionalized versions of themselves trying to make it big in New York City as a two-man musical act, also called Flight Of The Conchords. The pair had built a worldwide fan base before teaming up with British filmmaker James Bobin to create the series, which incorporates many of their popular original songs, including memorable bops like “The Most Beautiful Girl (In the Room),” “Carol Brown,” and “Business Time.” Rhys Darby joins in the absurdity as bumbling band manager Murray, whose day job as a cultural attaché provides one of the show’s best running gags—a series of fake promotional posters on his office walls with slogans like, “New Zealand … Why not?” Kristen Schaal, always wonderfully weird, also pops up from time to time as the band’s most devoted, and only, fan. Ironically, the show raised the profiles of Clement and McKenzie to such heights in the excellent first two seasons that they got too busy to do a third, but thanks to their unique chemistry as a deadpan comic duo, they made some truly beautiful music together. [Cindy White]

Few cartoon shows—especially not ones that are this funny—have so accurately and lovingly depicted the feeling of being a kid and doing fun, creative things with your friends. But as fun as the—ahem— in the show are, its best humor comes from the revelation that adults are just as stupid (and just as prone to simply making everything up as they go) as kids are. But that all might be secondary to the perfect joy of H. Jon Benjamin putting in one of the most deranged vocal performances of all time (a talent he has only occasionally deployed in more recent years on). [Sam Barsanti]

has a surprisingly small cast for a workplace comedy: just three main characters, all working together in a run-down basement. But the show perfectly captures Roy’s (Chris O’Dowd) and Moss’ (Richard Ayoade) boredom as they deal with tech issues at Reynholm Industries, the large company where they work. Even their boss, Jen (Katherine Parkinson), is mostly tech-illiterate, causing Roy and Moss to mess with her on a pretty frequent basis. How could they not, when she’s gullible enough to believe that the whole internet is contained in just one small box? The live-audience, multi-cam setup takes a few episodes to get used to, but by the time Matt Berry shows up in season three as the company’s new CEO, the show has fully hit its stride, and it only gets better when Berry throws his chaotic energy into the mix. [Jen Lennon]

At this point, it’s almost absurdly reductive to think of as the other show that Seth MacFarlane co-created in the brief window between Fox canceling his favorite child and then bringing it back. The series has grown so far beyond Family Guy and almost everything else in the “edgy animated sitcom satire” genre that, somehow, the cartoon where the conservative dad has to deal with the shame of his liberal daughter and nerdy son (a knowingly hacky premise) has become one of the most comedically and structurally smart shows on TV with some of the most in any comedy. [Sam Barsanti]

transformed series creator and star into an overnight sensation for good reason. While adapting her web series into a , Rae Yes, Insecure caused anxiety as Issa made messy decisions in her love and professional life, but there’s lots to love about the show: Issa’s raps, the L.A. neighborhoods, the raunchy humor, and crucially, an authentic representation of Black women navigating life. Ultimately, the show will go down for its hyper-realistic depiction of Issa and Molly’s (Yvonne Orji) unbreakable bond. Insecure understood that nothing hurts more than a friend break-up, and turned that charged emotion into sharp comedy. [Saloni Gajjar]

is kind of like what would happen if you took Seinfeld’s “no hugging, no learning” ethos and put a distinctly British spin on it. Coupled with the Being John Malkovich-style point-of-view filming, the show is wholly unique in its presentation. Comedy duo David Mitchell and Robert Webb star as roommates Mark and Jez as they trudge their way through middle-age malaise. The series brilliantly mines the mundane for some truly ridiculous moments, like when Mark’s barely-contained rage bubbles to the surface over a Christmas turkey. By getting inside the characters’ heads and letting viewers in on their thoughts via internal monologues, Peep Show earns an air of authenticity that few other comedy shows can match. [Jen Lennon]

is low-key the most perfect comfort TV. It’s not laugh-out-loud funny, crass, or full of physical humor, yet all those components are subtly present in this evocative tale of motherhood. s poetic FX series is endearing and impactful. Based on her own experiences as a single parent to three daughters, Better Things explores broad themes while being simple and slice-of-life. It helps that the cast chemistry is off the charts, with Adlon, Celia Imrie, Mikey Madison, Hannah Alligood, and Olivia Edward selling their chaotic family energy. Nothing feels like a warmer hug than watching a Better Things episode. [Saloni Gajjar]

’s titular characters have shown up everywhere, from a cameo in Space Jam: A New Legacy to Morty-themed food trucks to Roblox games. A critically acclaimed, worldwide phenomenon co-created by Dan Harmon and Justin Roiland, the show centers on an unlikely duo: mild-mannered, anxious grandchild Morty and his heavy-drinking mad scientist grandfather Rick. Though Rick lives with his daughter Beth (Sarah Chalke) and her fairly conventional family somewhere outside of Seattle, he consistently steals Morty away for “high concept, sci-fi rigamarole,” as Morty’s dad Gerry (Chris Parnell) puts it. Multidimensional shenanigans reliably ensue—and yes, that does include encountering alternate-reality versions of themselves. [Meredith Hobbs Coons]

Gretchen () and Jimmy’s (Chris Geere) wedding meet-cute in the series premiere of sounds like a dream. And it is, except the kind with plenty of heartstopping turns. It’s a love story for the modern world: Two narcissists begin a relationship with no knowledge of how to make it work. You’re The Worst, despite its zany plotlines, remains grounded in its understanding of its protagonists. It succeeds by evolving them humanely (i.e., they keep fucking up until they don’t) such that you can’t help but root for them. In doing so, the series also deals with serious topics with aplomb and, of course, a barrage of jokes. It’s not always an easy watch, but YTW remains one of the most droll—and far too relatable—rom-coms in recent years. [Saloni Gajjar]

If you loved , it might be time to pay its progenitor a visit. What began as a segment on Channel 4’s The 11 O’Clock Show, during which comedian Sacha Baron Cohen would interview politicians and celebrities as his suburban rapper character Ali G, later became a TV show all its own, adding eccentric interviewers Borat and Brüno (also played by Baron Cohen) to the mix. With all three characters, Baron Cohen’s impish scheme has always been to expose the biases of his interview subjects through these exaggerated personalities. Though Borat has probably received the most attention in recent years, Ali G, self-proclaimed “voice of da yoof” was where it all began. [Meredith Hobbs Coons]

is a rare thing: a down-the-middle CBS series from the peak Chuck Lorre era that still holds up, not just as a comforting nostalgia trip but as a comedy. What started as a fairly obvious riff on the Friends formula—hot twenty-somethings hang out and fall in love in New York City—evolved into something far more eccentric. Sure, , and the series’ ending may have permanently blemished its legacy. But episodes like “Spoiler Alert” and “The Front Porch” still delight over a decade later. [Drew Gillis]

Jared Keeso’s is an easy show to describe—drunken antics ensue in a small Canadian town filled with “hicks, skids, Christians, and hockey players”—but a hard show to describe well. It really has to be seen, or at least heard, to be appreciated, as the rapid-fire rhythms of the show’s dialogue, which slip adroitly from the mouths of a whole cast of perfectly played rural oddballs, anchored by the core ensemble of Keeso, Nathan Dales, Michelle Mylett, and K. Trevor Wilson, take on a sort of hypnotic comedy cadence. Gifted with a warm heart (and surprisingly good taste in music), the real brilliance of Letterkenny is the intelligence it gifts to characters who, in lesser hands, would be nothing but countrified stereotypes: Few things on TV are as fun, or as funny, as watching Wayne, Daryl, Katy, and Squirrely Dan kill the day knocking back Puppers at the produce stand, pontificating on hyper-elaborate puns or bizarre conspiracy theories with lightning-fast wit and perfect comedic timing. [William Hughes]

emerged as a surprise hit after its 2014 premiere. No one believed would release a female-led comedy that is equal parts funny, romantic, and suspenseful—with a love triangle for the ages to boot. Jane The Virgin is a total package, even if it’s far too soapy sometimes, but hey, that’s the appeal. Jennie Snyder Urman’s ode to telenovelas results in five seasons toggling between being over-the-top and grounded. Every time a ridiculous mystery unravels (Who is Sin Rostro or why does Michael have amnesia), it’s balanced by Jane’s (Gina Rodriguez) efforts as a mother or her romance with Rafael (Justin Baldoni). JTV featured phenomenal character development (Petra Solano, FTW), impeccable romantic gestures, and the funniest voiceover narration of all time. And there’s still a gaping void in the TV landscape since its end. [Saloni Gajjar]

It’s safe to say no exists in the vein of . Ana Fabrega and Julio Torres’ quirky series is nothing like you’d expect. It adeptly delivers oddball, surreal humor, and aesthetics as it encapsulates how fear can turn into a goldmine for punchlines. The Spanish-language comedy centers on four friends who launch a unique business: Fabricating chills and thrills for their clients. Los Espookys morphs this already fascinating concept to examine horror tropes. Each of the four protagonists is perfectly distinctive, weird, and lovable. , but what a glorious run while it lasted. [Saloni Gajjar]

Sanding down the edges of and , Danny McBride’s megachurch satire finds a tighter balance of light and dark. Superbly acted and emotionally resonant, defies genre, shifting tones and delivering thrills, suspense, and warmth as often as laughs. It boasts the best ensemble on TV—even ignoring McBride and John Goodman. Edi Patterson, Tim Baltz, and Tony Cavalero are doing the lord’s work, creating the strongest and funniest comedic characters on TV. But we’d be struck down if we ignored the effortlessly charismatic Walton Goggins, whose Baby Billy alone makes the show worthy of inclusion. [Matt Schimkowitz]

In , Abbi (Abbi Jacobson) and Ilana (Ilana Glazer) won’t let anything or anyone stop them from living their best lives—not their dead-end jobs, not their useless roommates and their weird boyfriends, and certainly not the expiration dates on Bed, Bath, and Beyond coupons. Adapted from Jacobson and Glazer’s web series of the same name, the Comedy Central version ran for five seasons before concluding in 2019. Even in a crowded TV comedy landscape, Broad City stuck out for its commitment to letting its characters always be fully themselves, even when the audience was probably cringing from Abbi and Ilana’s perpetual oversharing. [Jen Lennon]

The fact that made life in a place as dangerous and anxiety-provoking a ’90s-era Northern Ireland seem so goddamn funny (sorry, ) is a testament to the sheer brilliance and amount of heart creator Lisa McGee—who grew up in Derry herself—was able to bring to this show. Over the course of its run, which wrapped up in a stellar third season last year, our girls (and one boy) managed to get themselves into many, many more -inducing situations than we could ever list here, but some favorites include (kind of) , almost , and accidentally laced scones at a wake. It’s also one of the best portrayals of teenage girlhood out there right now. [Emma Keates]

The beauty of is in its evolution. It started as a workplace comedy; it ended as a full-on revolution. The show brilliantly adapted to conversations that were happening in the real world around immigration, workers’ rights, and diversity, somehow folding all of that into a consistently funny package. And yeah, there was a will-they-won’t-they romance at the center of it, because of course there was, but it never detracted from the important work the show was doing. [Jen Lennon]

is the quintessential “gone too soon” series. The original run consisted of just 13 episodes during the summer of 2005. Call it manifestation: in 2014, the series had finally built up enough momentum via home video and word of mouth that it, well, came back. While it’s the first season that’s often held up as a classic, the second is a more-than-worthwhile extension of Valerie Cherish’s journey (and fares far better than ). Still, the series’ highest pinnacle may be an end credits gag: Valerie singing “I Will Survive” and being told to make it angrier, so she screams her way through the entire second verse. [Drew Gillis]

had a trajectory we’d like to dub slow-release famous. The Canadian sitcom was highly underrated for its first three seasons, slowly picking up steam before . The show basically took over the world thanks to its much-needed feel-good narrative. It featured exemplary performances (from vets like Eugene Levy and Catherine O’Hara to rookies like Dan Levy and ), giddy romances, and above all, unforgettable comedy. It’s hard not to laugh out loud at Alexis’ wild stories, David’s expressions, Moira’s verbiage, and Johnny’s reactions. Schitt’s Creek developed each protagonist with care, making it easy to connect with a filthy rich family who ended up having hearts of gold. [Saloni Gajjar]

Adam Reed’s adult animated series , now entering its 14th and final season on FX, centers on spy guy Sterling Malory Archer (H. John Benjamin), your classic comedic archetype: the overconfident idiot. He has shown up a full fool, irritating and exasperating his colleagues and kin through mission after mission (even through a three-month, three seasons-long coma) since the show debuted in 2009. As William Hughes has written, it’s , voiced by a quality cast, including SNL star Chris Parnell, Aisha Tyler, Judy Greer, and the late Jessica Walter (as Sterling’s mother/boss, Malory) that has kept crowds cackling after all these years. [Meredith Hobbs Coons]

There’s a literary quality to ; not just because of protagonist Hannah Horvath’s writerly goals, or the situation and title’s vague resemblance to Little Women. Girls deals with small slights that lead to outsized emotion and huge betrayals that you stuff down. Over six seasons, Hannah and Co. learn that they may not be besties with their college friends forever, and that maybe they shouldn’t be. The fracturing relationships are remarkably honest, in turns heartbreaking and hilarious. This tension is perhaps best captured in season six’s “Hostage Situation” when Allison Williams’ Marnie discovers her husband Desi (Ebon Moss-Bachrach) has been addicted to painkillers since their engagement. What follows is both a surreal horror movie, a wacky sitcom, and a poignant ode to female friendship—Girls at its best. [Drew Gillis]

premiered when I was in the fall of my freshman year of college and given that it’s about a group of students in the fall of their freshman years, I went in suspicious that it’d be off or inauthentic in some way. But from the get-go, Judd Apatow’s follow-up to Freaks And Geeks, which he executive produced, hit the true-to-life beats that made that TV project such a marvelous, relatable watch. It helped that this show’s protagonist, Steven Karp (a great Jay Baruchel), looked and acted like an 18-year-old tipping his toes into university life. And while the series doesn’t go as emotionally deep as Freaks (it feels, by design and perhaps because of its setting, lighter), it is a very fun and funny series that has a similar viewpoint, with sparkling scripts by the likes of Girls’ Jenni Konner, co-star Seth Rogen, and The Siumpsons’ Brent Forrester, as well as delightful pop-ins from Amy Poehler and Kevin Rankin (playing RAs), Jason Segel (portraying a crazed, older, long-distance boyfriend in, for my money, his best performance), and many others. [Tim Lowery]

There may be no show that captures the mid-late ’00s twee moment quite like —a statement that is absolutely meant as a compliment. The story of Ned the pie maker (Lee Pace), who has the ability to bring people back from the dead, but only in exchange for another life, is presented as both a macabre storybook and a case-of-the-week murder mystery. Musical numbers, wordplay, and a distinct visual style come together to create something absurd that we’ve never quite seen again. [Drew Gillis]

The magic of is not that it predicted that nerd culture would take over the world, but that it was doing a celebration (and loving teardown) of nerd culture before any of that became cool. A Johnny Quest parody that turned into a superhero parody that also had a penchant for saying some powerful things about family, The Venture Bros. rewarded fandom in all its forms, provided you were also willing to let you or your fandom be the butt of the joke from time to time—whether that means watching the show do a cutting satire of an obscure comic book thing you like or recognizing that it’s going to explicitly deny you some fan-service simply because it’s funnier to do it that way. [Sam Barsanti]

We’ve already extolled the virtues of Matt Berry in The IT Crowd, but let’s just put this on front street: he’s never had a better showcase for his than . Based on the Taika Waititi and Jemaine Clement film of the same name, the mockumentary-style show follows a hapless crew of vampires as they try, and fail, to blend in with regular human society in Staten Island. The show absolutely would not work without its brilliant cast, though, which includes Natasia Demetriou, Kayvan Novak, and Berry as traditional vampires, Mark Proksch as a day-walking energy vampire, and Harvey Guillén as a familiar. What We Do In The Shadows fully leans into its ridiculous premise, and it’s never afraid to get weird. Just three episodes into season one, Laszlo (Berry) proudly showed off his carefully tended vulva topiaries in the backyard. Somehow, it’s only gotten stranger, and better, as the seasons progress. [Jen Lennon]

In an era dominated by streaming, we have to give Quinta Brunson credit for keeping the network sitcom flame burning. ABC’s , which she created and stars in, was the only scripted network comedy to receive any major Emmy nominations this year (it got eight, including outstanding comedy series). Abbott applies the faux-documentary format pioneered by shows like The Office and Parks & Recreation to an inner-city school setting, commenting on the deficiencies of our public education system while celebrating the dedication of the teachers and staff—embodied by a solid cast that includes Sheryl Lee Ralph, Tyler James Williams, Janelle James, Lisa Ann Walter, Chris Perfetti, and William Stanford Davis—doing the best they can for their students every day. It’s also consistently hilarious. After two tight seasons, the show’s still got plenty of creative juice left in it, but with production on hold due to the WGA and SAG-AFTRA strikes, it may be a while before we get a third. We’re confident it’ll be worth the wait. [Cindy White]

“What happens when you take a family in the Witness Protection Program, move them to New York City, and give them their own reality show?” Jon Glaser’s genius—I said what I said—Adult Swim comedy , obviously. With a setup that should be, at most, the length of a sketch—that is, a trio wearing ski masks with disguised voices being followed around by a TV crew—somehow had enough legs to stretch over three very funny seasons and a one-off finale. Glaser’s “Jon” is a dick for the ages. He’s fame-hungry, boorish, loud, clueless, selfish, shallow, and incredibly annoying (even how he, say, walks in khakis is irksome) and proves the perfect center for this truly silly show, where anything from a “grinder high” to a souped-up nacho bar to other non-food-related ridiculousness is fair game. [Tim Lowery]

It has been said so often since it took off in the early aughts, but Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant’s series really was a game changer, essentially shepherding in a new era for TV comedies with its mockumentary, single-camera format. also—even 22 years after its debut (how did that happen?) and many, many imitators and international adaptations—still has a comedic sensibility and rhythm that feels unique, especially with its joke building. What’s more, it had some real empathy (flipping the script and even making its “boss from hell” David Brent someone you pull for), tough-to-watch cringe, an absorbing will-they-won’t-they romance, some choice quotes (“trust, encouragement, reward, loyalty … satisfaction”), and something meaningful to say. And it did it all over the course of 12 episodes and a Christmas special. [Tim Lowery]

One of the most original shows of the century, went from cult sensation to since its Comedy Central run began in 2014. Host Nathan Fielder’s one-of-a-kind prank show took participants’ manners hostage, daring them to agree to Fielder’s riotous business ideas as Fielder’s unflappable deadpan stumbled upon unique truths about modern life, introducing us to the and along the way. But its finale, a two-hour documentary about a Bill Gates impersonator reconnecting with a lost love, revealed the emotional depths at the heart of Fielder’s vision. [Matt Schimkowitz]

thrives on being cringe. It’s actually unbearable how accurately Hulu’s coming-of-age comedy captures the trauma of puberty. The stakes feel relatable to an adult viewer because series creators Anna Konkle and Maya Erskine play 13-year-olds. This ingenious idea paves the way for candidness and physical comedy. Pen15 is refreshingly bold in its approach, using farce to tell gut-wrenching stories of female teendom, friendships, and why it sucks to grow the hell up. It is, without a doubt, the only comedy of its kind. , it’s also a pivotal teen comedy of the streaming era. [Saloni Gajjar]

A stealth course in moral philosophy disguised as an often very silly sitcom about four people still figuring themselves out in the afterlife sounds like a bizarre concept, but pulls it off with effortless charm. What other show could seamlessly combine the wisdom of Aristotle and Kant with recurring motifs of cocktail shrampies, hot mailmen, and molotov cocktails as the solution to every problem? A big part of the show’s success is its talented cast, led by Kristen Bell as “Arizona dirtbag” Eleanor and Ted Danson as otherworldly architect Michael. The two of them get a lot of the focus early on in the series, but once the supporting players—including William Jackson Harper (Chidi), Jameela Jamil (Tahani), D’Arcy Carden (Janet), and Manny Jacinto (Jason)—really get cooking, it becomes a true ensemble series without a single weak link. It’s also smartly written and full of unexpected twists and turns (which we won’t spoil here) that keep the momentum up all the way to the emotional conclusion at the end of the fourth season, one of of all time. [Cindy White]

The Belcher family from is unabashedly weird, and that’s what makes them so likable. What other parents would cheer on their son at a table-setting competition like it was the Super Bowl? Who else would stage a truly horrifying haunted house just to scare their daughter, because that’s what she wants more than anything? Bob (H. Jon Benjamin) and Linda (John Roberts) deserve a lot of credit as the Belcher parents, but Tina (Dan Mintz), Gene (Eugene Mirman), and Louise (Kristen Schaal) are wonderful as the siblings, too. Throughout the series, there’s a pervading sense that this is what a family is supposed to be: supportive and loving to an almost absurd degree. [Jen Lennon]

Two decades into its run, has transcended its “from the creator of Seinfeld” beginnings. During that time, Larry David transformed himself into America’s foremost archetype for ornery iconoclasts raging against minor changes or inconveniences. As influential formally as comedically, the improvised performance helped popularize the art form and spawned a slew of imitators—. Not to mention: the show is pretty, pretty, pretty funny to boot, hosting legendary performances from Susie Essman and the late Bob Einstein. Curb is a hallmark of modern television, standing comfortably next to David’s other show. [Matt Schimkowitz]

For a mockumentary about a pair of high school students trying to figure out who defaced several cars in the school parking lot by spraypainting dicks on them, has a surprisingly empathetic core. The show goes out of its way to humanize Dylan Maxwell (Jimmy Tatro), the main suspect in the investigation, even when basically everyone around him admits that the suspicion is warranted: It’s exactly the type of thing he would do, even though he vigorously denies actually doing it. The resolution is as cathartic as it is heartbreaking; it’s funny, it’s sad, it’s enraging. It’s high school in a nutshell. American Vandal’s season two mystery never quite captures the same magic as season one, but the emotional core remains intact. [Jen Lennon]

Television’s longest-running live-action sitcom is also one of its most unrelentingly strange, as one of the most basic and lazy premises in all of TV writing—five idiots run a bar—has steadily evolved into a glorious celebration of chaos, ambition, and sheer, dumb, raw humanity. The Gang (series creators Glenn Howerton, Rob McElhenney, and Charlie Day, plus the invaluable Kaitlin Olson and Danny DeVito) are the human race at its worst—something frequently demonstrated as has been forced, over nearly two decades on the air, to account for, and grapple with, its earlier indulgences in comedy rooted in racism and transphobia. But these five characters (and the deranged version of Philadelphia that surrounds them, slowly infected by the derangement seeping out of Paddy’s Pub) are also five of the most sharply drawn on all of TV; satirical visions of our ugliest aspects that are capable of delivering the darkest, funniest joke imaginable one moment, and breaking our hearts the next. [William Hughes]

After four seasons and 41 episodes, never really let you close enough to figure it out. After settling into a groove in season two, the series—somewhat controversially—zagged in season three, sending its characters to Europe and mixing in four, standalone episodes without the main cast. While a left turn, the only thing we could expect from Atlanta was the unexpected. The surreal tone and anthology-style storytelling always prioritized themes and ideas over a conventional narrative, and humor that made you say, “Hey, that’s funny” if not exactly laugh out loud. Case in point: a celebrity basketball game in season one features Justin Bieber, who, in universe, is Black. The scene asks you to question Bieber’s public persona and relationship with R&B and hiphop, but declines to actually give you an answer. The ambiguity and confusion is often the joke. [Drew Gillis]

You’ll be hard-pressed, even a decade after it ended, to find a show with a greater joke-per-minute rate than . While that may not be everyone’s jam, it has left the show in a great position for rewatches, plural. An episode you’ve watched five times can still reveal new laughs, and the other famous jokes are so well structured and performed that they still thrill even when you’ve committed them totally to memory. The writing on 30 Rock is often rightfully highlighted—which makes sense, given Tina Fey’s background and Liz Lemon’s profession—but the main cast shouldn’t be overlooked. Take Alec Baldwin’s Emmy-winning scene in which he attempts to therapize Tracy Morgan by playing his parents, childhood neighbors, and Tracy himself; it’s nothing short of a sitcom firing on all cylinders. [Drew Gillis]

For my money, is the best TV comedy of the 2000s. Let me explain. Adapting it from Ricky Gervais’ hit U.K. series was already a tall order. NBC’s show took a few episodes to find its groove, and it wasn’t always perfect, but damn if—and it’s one that . For starters, it’s never tiring to revisit top-notch performance as Michael Scott, the world’s best boss. Equal parts uncomfortable and heartfelt, The Office had the lowest stakes; some (like ) would even call them ordinary. However, the precise writing, exemplary cast chemistry, and dedication to details made . Now in its resurgence era thanks to streaming, everyone can rightfully enjoy the magic of season four’s “” and “” over and over. [Saloni Gajjar]

is one of the best shows of the 21st century. It’s also—easily—one of the funniest. While the comedic value of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s masterpiece occasionally gets overlooked for it’s transcendent performances, tight scripting, and emotional salience (four years later and the sting of “it’ll pass” certainly hasn’t), the show’s frequent moments of levity are essential to creating the 12-episode gut punch we know and love. There are so many jokes that hold up even on an umpteenth rewatch, but some of our favorites are Claire’s terrible haircut, the in season one, “,” and of course, everything Fleabag has ever said . [Emma Keates]

When you think of the “adorkable” , it’s easy to remember Nick and Jess’ sexy-as-hell first kiss (one of TV’s finest, even), everyone playing True American in the loft, Schmidt and Cece’s beautiful wedding, “Gave me cookie, got you cookie,” and Winston’s undying love for his cat. Liz Meriweather’s comedy truly revels in the sillier, funnier plots and dialogues as much as it does in the cast chemistry. Over seven seasons, the show perfected the hangout sitcom formula by developing eccentric characters and their interpersonal dynamics. It’s simply a witty good time, featuring one of the greatest comedic performances via . And despite the goofy vibes, New Girl remained heartwarming to the very end. [Saloni Gajjar]

It seems unlikely that any comedy music writer will ever be able to match Rachel Bloom in both quality and sheer output, except maybe for Weird Al Yankovic. Still, while we all love Weird Al, he could never write “.” Underneath its goofy theatricality, presents a deeply moving portrait of one woman’s journey through life, love, and an eventual BPD diagnosis (presented, of course, through ). Still, the show—a subversion of its own title—never failed to deliver big laughs through infinitely catchy earworms like “,” “,” “,” and yes, even the upsettingly relatable “.” In the end, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend gave audiences—and its protagonist—permission to follow the song in their heart … no matter how messy or discordant it may be. [Emma Keates]

Created by Greg Daniels and Michael Schur as a follow-up to The Office, has a similar faux-documentary style and an opposite premise—a workplace comedy led by a highly competent boss instead of a totally inept one. Fiercely dedicated to her friends, her co-workers, her hometown of Pawnee, and an idealized concept of American government (usually in that order), Leslie Knope is the best of us, and no one could have played her better than Amy Pohler. But Leslie is just one among many memorable characters. Daniels and Schur cleverly gave her the perfect foil in Ron Swanson, played by the incomparable Nick Offerman, who constantly dares to steal the spotlight from her and regularly succeeds. And let’s not forget mismatched soul mates April (Aubrey Plaza) and Andy (Chris Pratt), who became the unlikely heart of the show. Though it took some time to hit its stride, once Parks And Rec got going (around the time Rob Lowe and Adam Scott joined the cast) it gave us some of the best situational comedy in the history of television. [Cindy White]

If there’s one thing that proved, once and for all, it’s that cursing is not only funny—it’s an art form. Julia Louis-Dreyfus stars as Selena Meyer, the ineffectual vice president of the United States, as she and her staff desperately try to hang on to the small amount of power they actually have. It’s there that Veep finds the source of its comedy, in the eminently relatable fear of being irrelevant. In keeping with its political setting, the show is extremely dialogue-heavy, a difficult task for both comedy performers and writers. Sometimes, that means a joke goes over your head the first time, but it also means that there’s so much more to discover every time you rewatch the show. And trust us: somehow, Louis-Dreyfus’ constant refrain of “Did the president call?” never gets old. [Jen Lennon]

There’s nothing quite like . The adult animated psychological tragicomedy transcended this specific genre to Thankfully, it’s presented in the form of anthropomorphic animals, or else BoJack would get too dark to consume. Raphael Bob-Waksberg’s series is full of moving melancholia and precise character analysis. Still, it never forgets to be uproariously funny. It’s impressive how BoJack juggles emotionally volatile stories with cleverly crafted running gags. The show’s perspective on Hollywood and the perils of fame will hold up consistently. Plus, the show features stellar voice acting across the board. See: Season five’s ” for unexpected tears. [Saloni Gajjar]

is what happens when you don’t aim for the lowest common denominator and trust people to be themselves and do what they’re the best at—both in terms of the making of the show and the various arcs the characters on the show go through. By not trying to appeal to everybody, Community could appeal much more powerfully to the people who were drawn to its meta gags, pop culture references, and a cast of characters who both embrace and push back against well-worn sitcom archetypes. It is, perhaps more than anything else ever, a TV show for people who love TV, and if that seems a little tired or obvious now, it’s only because every TV comedy now wishes it could do what Community did (depending on how you feel about one or two or three seasons). [Sam Barsanti]

is irrevocably laugh-out-loud funny. For being a twisted story about a dysfunctional family, the jokes quota per minute is unbelievably high. And that’s key if we’re proudly calling it the best TV comedy of the 2000s, which it very much is. Yes, Netflix tried hard to ruin its legacy by bringing it back for two terrible seasons. But nothing beats the utter genius of AD seasons one to three. Almost immediately, Mitchell Hurwitz’s sitcom kicks into gear with impeccable writing, narration, performance, and direction. The show holds up even after 20 years, with memes of Michael Bluth saying “Her” or Lucille’s unawareness of a banana price consistently being shared. Arrested Development’s contributions to the wacky single-camera sitcoms that came after it, like 30 Rock, are also unmissable. It’s got the type of humor that endures, whether it’s your first or 20th time watching it. If that’s not the mark of a successful comedy, what is? [Saloni Gajjar]