“Underground”
Ok, so no way can this show end where its second season leaves off (really, a slave narrative that stops just before Harpers Ferry?) Expensive though it is, surely someone will pick up Misha Green and Joe Pokaski‘s “Underground” after WGN‘s restructuring spelled cancellation. Not because it’s an Important Story left dangling (it has never been an eat-your-vegetables education in the history of US slavery) but because it’s a deliciously moreish melodrama, featuring an ensemble of brilliant actors (season 2 standouts include Aisha Hinds and Bokeem Woodbine, with Aldis Hodge and Amirah Vann bringing the same fire they brought in season 1). And this season it’s grown in scope, confidence, experimentalism and relevance: episode 6 is a one-woman play from Hinds’ Harriet Tubman that even has her face into camera to talk about the duty of resistance against those who would oppress in the name of “making [the country] great again.” It’s not subtle, but nor should it be: “Underground” is myth-making of the most addictive kind, reclaiming shameful history so it’s not about abolition from the outside in, but demolition from the inside out.
“Girls”
Lena Dunham and Jenni Konner’s HBO comedy, already about as seminal a depiction of millennial life as we’ll ever get, didn’t quite go out on an all-time-high (the preceding season had been so stellar that it would have been hard for this to top it). But it was still an utterly fitting, and oddly idiosyncratic conclusion for Hannah & co. As has often been the case, the most stand-alone, unusual installments were the best, most notably the Riz Ahmed-featured openinh, the two-hander with a skeezy Franzen-ish novelist (an outstanding Matthew Rhys), or the unexpectedly epilogue-y finale (an episode that felt mildly underwhelming on airing, but has grown in stature in the months since). But it also continued to do brilliantly what it always did well: document the lives of its infuriating, self-involved, oddly lovable leads, marking the tiny ways in which they’ve matured across their twenties (the gambit with Shosh proved a great one), and ensuring that it’ll live as one of the great comedies of the last decade or so.
“American Gods”
This Starz adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s beloved fantasy novel, from “Hannibal” creator Bryan Fuller and “Alien: Covenant” scribe Michael Green, has been one of the more divisive shows of the year to date. To some, it’s an incomprehensible, pretentious mess that makes little to no sense, to others, one of the most striking and rich shows in ages. While we can understand some of the criticisms — it’s perhaps more violent than it needs to be, it definitely helps to have read the book first and it’s yet to overcome the innate passivity of its protagonist — we’re firmly in the latter camp. Stylish, weird and visually spectacular, the story of how ex-con Shadow (Ricky Whittle) becomes embroiled in a brewing conflict between ancient gods and new ones has found its fascinating own rhythms, where its tangents are as much the point as the larger narrative (and in many cases, as with its use of Emily Browning’s Laura, improves on the source material). And it’s fast becoming a truly American show, examining the unique melting pot of the nation in a way that no TV series has really done before. Flawed, then, but fascinating.
“Catastrophe”
Sharon Horgan and Rob Delaney‘s Channel 4 sitcom is now in its 3rd season and feels like it could go on forever — which is quite a feat for a show with a not-exactly-groundbreaking, odd-couple, dysfunctional relationship premise. But then, this is not your momma’s sitcom: seldom have we ever had a comedy so invested in real stakes and real consequences for its hapless characters: the humor is caustic enough to burn, but these people cannot simply reset like Road Runner and Wile E Coyote. And this season really grows a beard in terms of drama, as the singular mix of funny and so-not-funny-it’s-somehow-very-funny reaches an apotheosis with subplots about death, illness, emasculation, professional inadequacy and alcoholism, which find the humor burrowing deeper into discomfort and pathos than ever before. It has always been about deeply flawed and kind of terrible people (not just the central couple, but acerbically awful friends and family, played by Ashley Jenner, Mark Bonham and the late Carrie Fisher as well), but the real daring of this very funny show is that it gets deadly, soberly serious, and then dares to laugh anyway.
“The Leftovers”
The premise for “The Leftovers” was almost too good, and expectations weighed heavy on the shoulders of Damon Lindelof, especially coming off the contentious finale of “Lost.” But not only did Lindelof and his creative team meet the ambitious challenge of the series, by the time it finished its run this spring, “The Leftovers” was deservedly being called one of the best shows of all time. The canniest move was the decision to shake up everything we know about the series each season and the third and final one was their boldest and most emotionally resonant. Leaning hard into its weirdest, wildest storytelling to date and flat-out refusing to answer the question at the core of the show — why 2% of the world’s population disappeared — once “The Leftovers” sifted through its more ambitious turns and twists, it concluded with one of the most elegant series finales ever. Strumming a lovely chord, the two-hander episode featured terrific work from Carrie Coon and Justin Theroux, threaded together the ongoing themes of grief, love, and healing while leaving just enough Lindelof-ian mystery lingering in the air like perfume. “The Leftovers” joins “Rectify” as one of the shows that, much like “The Wire,” is destined to be revered as one of television’s finest achievements.
