The 30 best TV shows of 2023

The second season of Marvel’s didn’t have half the impact of the first—which is a shame since, occasional meanderings and bizarre McDonald’s promotions aside, it’s a genuinely great season of TV. Owen Wilson, Sophia DiMartino, and newcomer Ke Huy Quan all gave great performances as the show attempted to make sense of the aftermath of its first run, while incoming directors Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead dialed in perfectly to its ’70s bureaucracy aesthetics. But it’s who pulled it all together—literally, in the case of a gorgeous, mythical that eclipsed some of the season’s smaller issues to bring a satisfying conclusion to one of Marvel’s best characters. [William Hughes]

Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World is a pretty perfect cult film based on a perfect graphic novel. So did it need an animated revival after all this time? Well, Scott Pilgrim Takes Off squashes doubts about its existence by the end of episode one, which presents a massive twist to the well-known story. The show isn’t from the perspective of Scott Pilgrim (Michael Cera) fighting Ramona Flowers’ (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) many exes. Instead, Ramona uses his disappearance and the search for him to connect with her former partners, get closure, and finally figure out who she is. It yields an entertaining, cathartic, and unexpected perspective on a world we thought we already knew. It helps that the entire cast from the film is back for the show, with Mae Whitman’s voice performance a particular knockout. And best of all, Science Saru Studios’ animation is vivid and stunning. [Saloni Gajjar]

Ever since Betty Gilpin stormed into the ring as the furious, determined Debbie Eagan on Netflix’s , I’ve been itching to see her take on another lead role. And I can’t imagine a better showcase for her singular talents than , a gleefully off-the-rails show that I, frankly, couldn’t have imagined at all. She stars in Tara Hernandez and Damon Lindelof’s genre-annihilating miniseries as Sister Simone, an ass-kicking nun who embarks on a globe-spanning quest to take down an all-powerful AI. She’s joined by her ex (Jake McDorman), a bumbling would-be cowboy who runs an underground resistance that makes toxic masculinity look downright tender. Oh, and did I mention Simone is literally married to Jesus (Andy McQueen)—as in, regularly boning him? It’s not hyperbolic to say that Mrs. Davis is one of the most consistently surprising shows to come out in quite a while. Though it seems at first as if the writers are throwing random shit at the wall and seeing what sticks, it all comes together beautifully, culminating in an existentially profound ending. It’s a moving, hilarious, intelligent meditation on faith and the meaning of life that’s also turned out to be incredibly prescient about the rise of artificial intelligence. And the eye of the storm is Gilpin’s compelling central performance, bright enough to light up a city block. [Jenna Scherer]

Alice Oseman sure knows how to write and adapt a teen rom-com. Based on her graphic novel, her Netflix series remains an effervescent, enchanting TV show in its second season. is a perfect escape with its sweet romance between Nick (Kit Connor) and Charlie (Joe Locke), Tao (William Gao) and Elle (Yasmin Finney), and Tara (Corinna Brown) and Darcy (Kizzy Edgell). Through their connections, Heartstopper delicately explores various queer love stories without ever getting preachy, nicely capturing how teenage love feels: tender, butterflies-in-the-stomach, and hopeful. But the show also deals with serious issues without getting bogged down by the drama. It’s the type of show everyone—not just a YA audience—should be devouring. [Saloni Gajjar]

Before anyone rolls their eyes at this: go watch . Don Mancini’s slasher series is an unanticipated treat. It’s gory, thrilling, and funny as hell. Of course, the credit mostly goes to the tiny titular monster. Brad Dourif is back as the red-haired killer doll who still gives no fucks as he goes about killing people. Chucky sets his sights on the White House, slowly chopping people up who reside or work there. Mancini finds a way to make underlying scathing political commentary while being hella ridiculous. Chucky is a show that knows how to have fun by being self-aware, and the four episodes aired this year don’t disappoint in that regard. Plus, Jennifer Tilly remains a franchise standout. It’s unmissable stuff, whether or not you’re a fan of horror or the Child’s Play movies. [Saloni Gajjar]

Streaming services often promise experimentation in their infancy, hoping to reel in talent with the guarentee of creative freedom. To that end, Peacock, a late-to-the-game streaming service, opened its feathers to Jason Woliner’s decade-long documentary project about the elastic and expanding conspiracy theories concocted by a self-published spy novelist about his ex-wife. is a confounding, riotously funny meta-comedy in an age bursting with them. Woliner’s conceit, part-The Act Of Killing, part-Borat, sees Goldman recreate and investigate the vast, global sex trafficking network he invented. Woliner indulges Goldman’s whims, assumptions, and beliefs, documenting this strange man’s journey toward a truth he cannot accept. Both a depressing portrait of our conspiracy-obsessed society and a very funny exploration of our true-crime boomtime, Paul T. Goldman defies easy categorization but somehow satisfies all of them. [Matt Schimkowitz]

In an age when the Black experience is at the center of the national conversation, leave it to Sorry To Bother You visionary Boots Riley to blow it wide open. As in the greatest genre pieces, uses its central conceit as a potent metaphor for the ways in which American society both fears and fetishizes Black bodies. Set in an alternate reality where random citizens have superpowers and late-stage capitalism is even more dire, the series centers on Cootie (Jharrel Jerome), a 13-foot-tall Black teen who has spent his whole life sheltered from the outside world by his aunt and uncle. When he finally ventures out onto the streets of Oakland, he’s a wide-eyed innocent who’s overwhelmed by his radically expanded world. He finds a supportive group of friends (Kara Young, Brett Gray, and Allius Barnes) and a love interest, Flora (Olivia Washington), with superpowers of her own. But white society finds ways to exploit him for its own gain, and a billionaire vigilante (a darkly hilarious Walter Goggins) wastes no time in branding Cootie as his archnemesis. I’m A Virgo pulls off the incredible trick of conjuring a story that’s as trippy and fun as it is deadly serious; witness a scene in which community activist Jones (Young) literally immerses a group of protesters in her speech about how the American system exploits the working classes for the benefit of the super-rich. Prime Video has yet to renew the series, which tragically never found an audience despite universal critical acclaim; but even if we never get a second season, the first installment is a perfectly rounded meditation on what it means to take up space in a deeply racist culture. [Jenna Scherer]

For seven years, Jared Keeso and Jacob Tierney have been making some of the funniest TV on television, filling Canadian airwaves (and Hulu) with their vulgar, lyrical Letterkenny. Spin-off series is, if anything, an even more focused dose of those things that make its parent series great: a vulgar (and rapid-fire) mouth, a huge heart, and a shockingly engaging performance from Keeso as the title character, in this case a dedicated minor league hockey player who doesn’t love to win so much as he “hates losing.” You don’t have to like sports to love Shoresy; you do have to love hanging out with some of the most quick-witted, foul-mouthed, lovable assholes on TV. [William Hughes]

It’s impossible to understand why isn’t getting the mainstream attention and awards consideration as some of its counterparts. , with Zahn McClarnon delivering a career-best performance. The gorgeously shot series, based on Tony Hillerman’s Leaphorn & Chee novels, returns with an astute understanding of the genre. It’s a turbulent psychological thriller, a fascinating character study of its four leads (played by McClarnon, Jessica Matten, Kiowa Gordon, and Deanna Allison), and a worthy depiction of the Southwest reservation the drama is set in. Dark Winds season two features a fast-paced mystery, with cults, a mystical undertone, an unkillable assassin, and the like. But it also boasts plenty of grounded, human elements. [Saloni Gajjar]

passed with flying colors as soon as it premiered. Yes, it harkens back to mockumentaries like The Office and Parks And Recreation, but ABC’s sitcom found its comedic strengths and voice way faster than both NBC hits. No wonder its second season, half of which aired in 2023, flows as smoothly as it does. Abbott’s writers and performers pull no punches. There’s a constant stream of one-liners and facial expressions to the camera. In this year’s episodes alone, the show progresses on Janine (Brunson) and Gregory’s (Tyler James Williams) romance and allows Janelle James to give one of the greatest sitcom performances of late. And Abbott has only scratched the surface of its potential. [Saloni Gajjar]

Maybe it was because of all of the changes that have happened at HBO (and how decisions like canceling compelling, expensive looking dramas such as felt almost inevitable), but I was more excited about the renewal of 100 Foot Wave than any other return announcement this year. On a pure aesthetic level, the docuseries from Chris Smith (American Movie) is pretty unmatched, with a hypnotic score from Philip Glass melding perfectly with the thrilling footage of big-wave surfers doing their thing. But the show has managed to create something deeper than stunning cinematography of physical feats, crafting moving story arcs of these athletes and their (at times insane and obsessive) quests that viewers of all stripes can attach to. [Tim Lowery]

Fourteen seasons in—and with three finale episodes left after this list publishes— has no business being as fleet and vital as it currently is. The show’s latest (and final) season mixed up old dynamics by putting Aisha Tyler’s Lana Kane in charge, and adding Natalie Dew’s superspy Zara into the mix as a younger rival for Sterling Archer’s title as “World’s Deadliest Secret Agent.” But as improbable as Archer’s long run of success might be, it’s also not all that complicated: This is still maybe the single best comedy voice cast working in TV animation, delivering solid gags at a lightning pace. Where will we go to hear Judy Greer cackle while setting everything around her on fire now? [William Hughes]

It’s become a trope, at this point, that live-action anime adaptations rarely work. The tone is usually the culprit: Death Note tried to get us to sympathize with an inherently unlikeable character. Cowboy Bebop threw noir out the window and went for a more comedy-focused interpretation. And, in each case, it’s not the changes to the text of the source material that stings. It’s the inherent misunderstanding of the original series’ fundamental themes that really gets under the skin. It probably helped, then, that creator Eiichiro Oda was involved with Netflix’s live-action adaptation. He knows, just like we do, that the series needs to be silly. That protagonist Monkey D. Luffy (Iñaki Godoy) needs to be annoying. That, despite both of those things, we root for Luffy because of how easily he cuts through oppressive bullshit—usually by saying something along the lines of, “Hey, that’s oppressive bullshit,” and then punching the oppressor in the face. The live-action series is full of cheesy dialogue, cringey performances, and CGI stretched to the very limit of its capabilities, but it needs those things to balance out Luffy’s near-deranged optimism. His outlook wouldn’t make sense in a more grounded world and the live-action series recognizes that. It doesn’t try to make the setting or the story any less ridiculous. If anything, it leans even further into silliness than its source material. But the adaptation works because it embraces earnestness in equal measure. One Piece pulled off something that, before now, seemed impossible: a faithful live-action manga/anime adaptation that captures the spirit of its source material without falling into the trap of trying to make it more realistic. It’s realistic enough already—because Luffy’s relentless positivity could only exist in a world as weird as One Piece. [Jen Lennon]

There are a lot of different love stories in , but the brief friendship breakup and reconciliation between Sam (Bridget Everett) and Joel (Jeff Hiller) was one of the year’s most resonant, poignant arcs. Many of us have had the experience of maybe leaning on a friend a little too much as they try to move on with their life and the acute pain that can bring. Opening yourself up and stepping out of a comfortable loneliness is not always an easy process, and Somebody Somewhere never suggests otherwise. But the show does believe it’s an essential one, and Sam is learning that, too. [Drew Gillis]

Who would’ve thought that, in 2023, Party Down would miraculously arrive on our screens again and that it would retain its humor to become one of the best comedies of the year? Probably not even the cast and crew of PD themselves. Yet here we are, and we are absolutely having fun. but made a triumphant return on Starz in February. With the co-creators and (most of) the cast on board, Party Down reemerged with six delightfully acerbic, wacky, and star-studded episodes. Years have passed, but the writing doesn’t miss much of a beat, which is hard to do in a TV landscape overstuffed with reboots and revivals. Our heroes/caterers are still struggling to make it big in Hollywood, yet their journeys, relationships, and banter are still oddly relatable. If we’re lucky, season three is the start of Party Down’s well-deserved mainstream era. [Saloni Gajjar]

Bravo’s sprawling cooking franchise hit the big 2-0 this season and it cranked up every burner in celebration. Not only was Top Chef: World All Stars its first season entirely filmed abroad—Padma, Tom, Gail and the cheftestants were based out of jolly old London for 12 episodes, with the two-part finale taking place in Paris—but it was also the first pulling cooks from its wide foreign archives. The cast was a best-of-the-best blend of previous contestants—including several champions—from both the show’s OG and international editions, from crowd favorites like Kentucky’s Sara Bradley and Mexico’s Gabriel Rodriguez to eventual victor Buddha Lo. In stretching the season’s scope far past the States, the producers served up a moving tribute to the sheer impact of the long-running culinary competition, not only on reality television but on the food world entirely. Where else could we watch Michelin-starred chefs endearingly fangirl like Swifties over other Michelin-starred chefs? Or cooking done at such a high level that even our trusted judging trio routinely struggled to choose the creme of the crop? If this had to be Padma’s swan song—the longtime host announced she was leaving the Emmy-winning reality series after 17 years—she could pack her knives and go proudly. [Christina Izzo]

I don’t think any new series piqued the interests of A.V. Club staffers quite like did in 2023. The pedigree was almost too on point, as it was created by and costarred Nathan Fielder and Benny Safdie, with none other than Emma Stone as another (pretty inarguably the) lead. And then there was that title: What could this curse be? And what would the people who made projects as ambitious and weird as The Rehearsal and as singularly heart-pumping as Good Time do with this curse? Four episodes in (as of publishing this piece), I’m still not completely sure. The series certainly has things to say about gentrification and virtue signaling and social media and good (and not so good) intentions and blind spots and privilege, but it’s not strictly a generational satire. It’s certainly funny (speaking of that its ending, with Fielder’s Asher letting loose ridiculous gibberish during a corporate comedy class, made me laugh harder than anything else this year), but it’s too awkward, with an undercurrent of doom, to be a strict comedy. The show is … a lot, and we’ll see how it plays out over the next few weeks. But anything that’s this creative and odd, with a truly phenomenal turn from Stone, has earned its spot here. [Tim Lowery]

In the third and final season of his comedy-docuseries, filmmaker John Wilson continues to explain—and not quite explain—how to do things. He’ll begin with a concept, then spectacularly stray from it, going from, say, birding to surveillance to Titanic tourism then onto conspiracy and guilt from having staged content for his show. “Maybe birding is the wrong hobby if everyone thinks you’re dishonest,” he ponders. And all the while, his voiceover is juxtaposed with hilarious visuals, like a man in a subway station nibbling his dog’s ear when he talks about romantic intimacy in the public-bathrooms episode. Transfixing, truly original stuff. [Meredith Hobbs Coons]

By focusing on Guillermo (Harvey Guillén) and The Guide (Kristen Schaal), season five offers a fresh perspective on Staten Island’s most oblivious vampires. By now, we know the group intimately; we’ve seen them fight, fuck, and fight while fucking, but we’ve never had such a detailed exploration of what it’s like to be on the outside of that group looking in. While Guillermo has always resented his place as a familiar and longed to be a vampire, season five fully explored the emotional toll that has taken on him. His journey is mirrored in the Guide’s arc, in which she struggles to become part of the core group. It’s a touching exploration of loneliness and figuring out where you belong, told through two perspectives. And it forces the vampires to do some serious self-reflection, too, which they wouldn’t have even been capable of back in season one. In Laszlo’s (Matt Berry) literal search for answers about what’s happening to Guillermo, and Nadja (Natasia Demetriou) and Nandor (Kayvan Novak) trying to understand how their actions have impacted others, the show charts a course forward—one that, luckily, still involves things like Laszlo kicking Guillermo off a balcony while calling him a shithead as he struggles to fly. [Jen Lennon]

Now three seasons in, Tim Robinson’s sketch-comedy show continues to capture characters that go way too hard for reasons we can only sort of understand. As Tim Meadows (playing a wedding guest) rages that three seconds really isn’t enough time to stage something silly for a photo, and as a ponytailed pedestrian (Will Forte) fumes that maybe we don’t want to walk around a car that’s blocking the sidewalk—and yes, our hair could get stuck if we choose to crawl under the car instead—it’s clear that, with its unique comedic cadence and extreme conclusions, remains a unique must watch. [Meredith Hobbs Coons]

The Safdie brothers’ dirtbag sheen fit like a glove. This decade-in-the-making docuseries about the sinister industry that disrupted American dinners one too many times followed two of New Jersey’s finest, director Jonah Lipman-Stern and telemarketing legend Pat Pespas. Meeting in the mid-2000s in an apocalyptic, anything-goes call center in the middle of the Garden State, Lipman-Stern and Pespas’ journey to the center of scammer hell is a testament to community activism, perseverance, and a McDonald’s with a strong WiFi signal. Telemarketers examine all sides of the predatory industry, which strong-arms older people, immigrants, and the financially unstable into buying worthless police stickers, Bravely descending into this nest of vipers with a punk ethos and a decaying video aesthetic, Telemarketers uses its street-level vantage to create a moving, funny, and intimate portrait of the guys on the other end of the line. [Matt Schimkowitz]

Philomena Cunk is a woman unafraid to ask the hard questions—questions like “Have any cave paintings ever been adapted into films?” or “Was the invention of writing a significant development, or more of a flash in the pan, like rap metal?” Played by comedian Diane Morgan in an extended fit of deadpan genius, Cunk is the central draw of Netflix import Cunk On Earth, part send-up of stultifying history docs, part renegade academic prank show. (To be fair, most of the authors and professors who unknowingly sit down with Philomena for in-character interviews come off pretty well, attempting to patiently explain to her concepts like … well, everything, honestly.) One of the funniest shows of 2023 is thus an unrelenting tumult of tossed-off historical in-jokes, bizarre and brain-melting questions, and oddball allusions to Belgian techno anthem “Pump Up The Jam”—all of it nailed perfectly in place by Morgan’s command of this beautiful, deranged character. [William Hughes]

With Millie Bobby Brown learning she was a feminist via a psychic, extra-marital affairs between a pop star and an actor who plays Sponge Bob, and the bottomless well that is George Santos, it felt like there were a lot of times life in 2023 felt like a bit from . The satire in this show is so sharp, and so reflective of our own absurd reality, that you have to laugh to keep from crying. The bleak depths these characters are willing to go to get ahead in a business they know is ruining them elevate many episodes to tragedy. For proof, see Brooke (Helene Yorke) exposing Ben Platt to COVID so she could look like a good person, Carey (Drew Tarver) completely torching his personal life in a futile attempt to win an Oscar in the next year, or Pat (Molly Shannon) not even being able to grab a moment of peace in a simulated Applebee’s. The third and last season of The Other Two asked us to stare into the pop culture abyss again and again, and what we saw was pretty damn funny. [Drew Gillis]

has left a pretty big void in its aftermath. FX’s moving, unapologetic comedy was always an intrinsic love letter to the Indigenous community, with representation both on and off screen to portray it. Sterlin Harjo’s series was equal parts profound and hilarious to the very end. , delivering 10 stunning episodes as it bid goodbye. Reservation Dogs wrapped up in 2023 along with some huge prestige shows like Succession, The Crown, and Barry. And while RD felt smaller in scale in comparison, damn if it didn’t have the biggest heart. A sublime coming-of-age show about four teen outsiders in Oklahoma, it tackled hyper-specific storylines but still felt——relevant and universal with its focus on community, home, and ancestral roots. [Saloni Gajjar]

It’s not like subverts standard murder mystery tropes or is reinventing them in a huge way. Instead, Peacock drama actually is so effective because of its appeal to old-school Agatha Christie and . The show fittingly pays homage to that specific era of storytelling but finds clever new dimensions with its writing, locations, set design, and cast. Sometimes it’s a joy to watch a TV show that’s simply entertaining and knows its worth. And perhaps Poker Face would’ve fallen apart without a charming investigator like Charlie Cale to shoulder the suspense of each case and episode—or without a talent like Natasha Lyonne to deliver the lead performance. Thankfully, she brings her A game as she deftly navigates her way by verbally (and sometimes physically) sparring with the likes of Benjamin Bratt, Judith Light, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Hong Chau, and Lil Rel Howery. [Saloni Gajjar]

is an all-consuming TV viewing experience in the best sense. The Netflix show immediately demands attention—and it’s not only because of a thrilling, fast-paced road rage incident that opens the premiere (or Hoobastank’s “The Reason” that closes it—sorry not sorry). Beef hits hard right away because of how Ali Wong and Steven Yeun bring nuance to their anger and vulnerability to their mania. Series creator and co-writer Lee Sung Jin’s script is affecting, suspenseful, and tragic. Yes, there are twists and cliffhangers to sustain Beef’s plot, but that’s not the real victory. It stems from how he acutely uses Danny (Yeun) and Amy’s (Wong) mutual seething to examine their disparate yet kindred Asian American identities, cultures, and challenges. It’s executed in a way rarely seen for members of the diaspora, making Beef easily one of the best new additions of the year. [Saloni Gajjar]

When we talk about video-game adaptations, the conversation is often framed as if there is one right way to do it—one that, until this year, hadn’t yet been accomplished. But that line of thinking paints video games as a monolith. The conversation becomes “How do we adapt a video game?” instead of “How do we adapt this specific video game?”, and that tendency to engage with the category rather than the individual games is why so many of those adaptations haven’t been very good. But HBO’s pulled off a neat trick: It focused on adapting the story rather than trying to evoke the experience of playing the game. In the same way that the game leverages its mechanics to tell a genuinely affecting tale, the series uses the television format to maximize its impact. That manifests mostly in giving the narrative time to breathe; for a show about a fungal disease outbreak that turns people into zombie-like creatures, the pace is remarkably unhurried. As Joel (Pedro Pascal) and Ellie (Bella Ramsey) make their way from Boston to Salt Lake City, the narrative meanders with them. That’s how you get episodes like “,” a semi-standalone piece about the almost petulant endurance of love in even the most dire of circumstances. It wouldn’t work if you tried to insert that story in the middle of an otherwise action-adventure video game, but it makes sense for TV—and it makes thematic sense with both works. You use the tools at your disposal—whether those are a game controller or a writers’ room—to craft the experience you want the end user to have. In this case, both the game and the show are primarily concerned with telling a great story that leaves you absolutely gutted, and they both excel by telling that story in two entirely different ways. [Jen Lennon]

Since premiering in 2018, has always punched above its weight. Both a parody of the last decade of televised violence inspired The Sopranos and Breaking Bad and a ruthless Hollywood satire in the vein of The Player, Bill Hader’s brutal, irreverent, challenging, and deeply funny hitman comedy never rested on its laurels. In its final season, Hader and co-creator Alec Berg continued to surprise audiences with their hallucinatory crime saga and unflinching humanity. Often delivering the funniest and most violent set-pieces of the year, Barry’s final season did both, with episode after episode of technically refined filmmaking and some of the most original comedy on television. Barry’s a full-course meal, and it never allows its 30-minute runtime, comedic lead, or difficult plot twists to stand in the way of Barry ruining another life. It’ll never get the credit it deserves, but Barry, in no small part thanks to its last run, really does belong in the conversation of the best shows of the century. [Matt Schimkowitz]

How The A.V. Club calculates this best-shows-of-the-year list is pretty simple: Staffers submit their top-ten ballots, with their tenth pick getting one point, their ninth two points, and so on. The only reason I’m flagging this is to point out that missed becoming the best TV show of 2023 (a ) by two points. Which, considering that this year’s winner will undoubtedly go down as one of the greatest shows ever, really just underlines how special this FX series is. In its second season, the Chicago-set dramedy finds its characters on different voyages of discovery: Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach) for his purpose (a search that comes to a head in ), Carmy (Jeremy Allen White) for a relationship, Sydney (Ayo Edebiri) for inspiration and validation, Marcus (Lionel Boyce) for pastry perfection, Tina (Liza Colón-Zayas) for career ambition, and Sugar (Abby Elliott) for motherhood. And in weaving these journeys, the show takes some huge narrative swings: that aforementioned Richie-centric ep, that beautiful one following Marcus in Denmark, and, of course, “Fishes,” a nearly movie-length flashback episode with so many cameos that in any less capable hands they would be distracting. The restaurant metaphors have been done to death in describing why this show works, but that doesn’t make them any less true: Every ingredient here feels grounded and earned yet exciting, mixing together for a meal you can’t shake. [Tim Lowery]