One Day At a Time had a really good third season this year. It might have been a little more of the same, but when a show is this fresh, and this sweet, and this funny, that's hardly a bad thing. Watching this show was a really nice experience, because it's rare now to have a multi-camera sitcom that's this exciting, and hopefully we'll get to see more shows like this as streaming services grow and develop their repertoires of original content. It's a real shame that Netflix cancelled it, but hopefully it'll reinvigorate this kind of show, because it's so nice to have a series like this
I love Killing Eve, and even if the second season was not its strongest, the dynamic between Eve and Villanelle was as electric and exciting as ever, the plot was snappily paced and thrillingly unpredictable, and the humour was as beautifully off-kilter as ever. I think this season is stronger in its individual episodes and moments than as a whole, especially the fifth episode, which proved that just having these characters onscreen together is a blast, and the finale, which was as shocking and exciting as I think this show has ever been. Hopefully the third season is a bit more consistent, but its nice to see that the best things about this show can still be strong without ever feeling stretched out
Anyone who's spent more than ten minutes here will know that I absolutely adore the original film, so if I was sceptical going into What We Do in the Shadows, then I really needn't have worried. The spirit of the film is all over this show, which is as quirky, silly and delightfully funny as you'd expect, and proves that this idea is just as great split into ten episodes. Each one is its own brilliant little joke, from taking the Baron of the Vampires out clubbing, to that absolutely genius trial episode. The cast was perfect, the writing was ace, and features one of the best TV characters of the year in Colin Robinson
Netflix cranks out an absolute shedload of shows every year, and its easy for some to get lost in the pop-cultural blur, and I think the biggest victim of this was probably Sex Education. Kind of crazy to believe that this show even came out this year, actually, because it feels like it came out ages ago, but its just so awesome to have a show like this. I love the aesthetic and the sense of humour, and how the show talks about sex with such honesty and sensitivity and positivity, but the real highlight is the cast. All of the characters are so likeable and so delightful and so much fun to spend time with. As a show, this one just felt so fresh and different and exciting, and I'm so excited to see what the second season is going to deliver
My final honourable mention is the show that I think has gone under the radar the most this year, a show called Pure. It's a real shame that this slipped through the cracks, because its such an interesting show. Its basically a comedy drama about a woman who is consumed by graphic sexual thoughts, and flees to London to start afresh. If that sounds crass or in bad taste, it really isn't, instead approaching such a specific and bold subject matter in a way that's sensitive and honest and really intelligent. Charly Clive gives a barnstorming performance as the protagonist Marnie, and the supporting cast, including Joe Cole, Niamh Algar and Anthony Welsh are absolutely ace as well. It's bold and different and really something special, and is probably my number 11 on this list. It's a real shame that it was so overlooked, so definitely check it out if you missed it
10. Derry Girls
Lisa McGee's comedy drama was undoubtedly one of the best shows of 2018, a real out of nowhere gem that felt like a real landmark in modern Irish comedy and just onscreen storytelling in general. Season 2 is everything that the first season was but somehow even better, funnier and sharper and with a series of storylines that give the show so much room to explore some really interesting and deeply poignant ideas. I love how this show uses its political and historical context as a backdrop for its storytelling, letting its coming of age story play out in the foreground and showing how life goes on in times of conflict. It's really exciting to see a piece of media that deals with the Troubles without ever feeling defined by that, providing a perspective that feels fresh and exciting and optimistic. Every episode felt significant here, and the way each of them approach the Derry of the time cement this show as an important piece of national storytelling that helps to define how a divided country sees itself onscreen. It's a show that addresses politics but never gets bogged down by it, and that lightness of touch is delightfully offset by the reliably ace sense of humour that the show has. It's as sharp as ever, with a seriously impressive amount of jokes per minute that are as funny as they are plentiful. The fourth episode in particular, set at both a wedding and a wake has to be the highlight, so packed with jokes and so snappily paced and so absolutely delightful. Derry Girls remains one of the most exciting comedies of the last few years, and seeing where they go from here in the third season is going to be really exciting
9. Stranger Things
Bigger obviously doesn't always mean better, but man if Stranger Things' third season doesn't make a compelling argument to the contrary. This is the season that saw Stranger Things finally balloon into a full on, large scale blockbuster, and if that means sacrificing some of the consistency of the second season, well then the show happily compensates with increased levels of scale and substance. If season one was Carpenter and season two was Cameron, then the third season eases into a much gorier version of Spielberg, embracing its Summer setting with flashier visuals, a greater emphasis on spectacle and a juxtaposition of all-American culture with something darker, nastier and more pleasingly violent. And violent is a keyword for this season, undoubtedly Stranger Things' gooiest run, but an added degree of gore is a good look for this show, especially when its complimented by so much emotional intensity and sly political commentary. The highlight, as it always is, is the subplot that follows Steve and Dustin, this time accompanied by Erica (surprisingly awesome) and Robin (an ace new addition), as they navigate a mysterious subterranean Russian facility. Sadly, the stuff above ground isn't as consistently engaging, but makes up for that with an ecstatically creepy story about a town wide infection that features an unbelievable turn by Dacre Montgomery, and a meaty, soulful arc for Hopper, who, discourse be damned, I really dug this season. The finale ratcheted up the heartache to deepen the rapidly increasing spectacle, and literally adding more meat to the threat of the Mind Flayer was an awesomely scary move for the show's conflict. It's also hands down the show's funniest run of episodes yet, fully leaning in to the silliness of the story and the charm of the cast. This was yet another home run for Stranger Things, which is steadily proving to be the appointment viewing of the digital age, and still just a damn good show in its own right
8. The End of the Fucking World
One problem that a lot of shows face in their second seasons is answering the question; "where do we go from here?". The first season of The End of the Fucking World was great, but the ending was one that seemed nearly impossible to follow. Season two takes a different approach, starting from an entirely new perspective, introducing a new character to examine the idea of unintended consequences. Instead of immediately continuing the first season's plot, season two instead looks at the implications of the story. What happened in the first season didn't happen in a vacuum, and by gradually working its way back to more familiar territory, the show is able to make its big surprises feel genuinely shocking and resonant. It brings a lot of the story back on track from the first season, in a way that's neat without feeling safe. A lot of this second season is spent picking up the pieces of the first, looking at trauma and pain, and how to deal with them in healthy, productive ways. It's as dark and as daring as ever, with moments of genuine shock, but the real thrill is how these pitch black ideas are handled with such sensitivity. It's not a show that's shocking for the sake of it, not superficially edgy as much as it is genuinely interested in the healing process, in stepping back and choosing love. It sacrifices some of the first season's gleeful nihilism but that's actually a good thing, letting the tone of the show evolve and mature. The dark humour still provides excellent relief, but this season is at its best when it's bone deep and unflinching, reopening old wounds in the hope of learning from them, culminating in an ending that's as open and tough to follow as the first. I didn't actually think that this show needed a second season, but its willingness to address the pain at the centre of the story felt like a natural progression
7. Years and Years
Years and Years was almost too good. This was the show that felt the most 2019 this year, the one that suggested that the world we live in right now is almost science fiction, and charted the next two decades to meditate on what could come next. This was contemporary dystopia, drawing from things that are happening in the world right now in a way that felt so honest and so relevant and just so needed. Across six episodes, the show stayed focused on one family as the world changed around the, packing in so many huge ideas about politics and technology along the way. It's not cheerful but it is relevant (one episode that follows immigrants attempting to get into the UK is one of the most important hours of television that aired in 2019), and having a family at the centre of it lends it a lot of natural warmth, even if their situation is never 100% secure. So much happened in Years and Years and all of it felt eerily plausible, but it does what good sci-fi always does and holds a mirror up to society, urging us to take notice and realise that this isn't what could be, but is what's happening right now. Through nuclear warfare and financial collapses and artificial intelligence and cybernetic enhancements and Chumbawamba dance parties and immortality and political meddling and black market surgery and grief and immigration, Years and Years predicts the path that we're looking to go down, but always retains a sense of hope along the way. Emma Thompson is the first among equals as a Trump-esque politician whose frighteningly pertinent rise to power signals this show's razor sharp cultural relevance. Years and Years felt like event TV, science fiction that is explicitly about now, that directly deals with the world we've created for ourselves and suggests that, one way or another, we'll find a way to survive
6. Bojack Horseman
It feels a little odd counting Bojack on this list, because only the first half of the last season aired in 2019, but it's a testament to how good this show is that it's still putting out some of its best stuff this late in the game. I watched most of this season in one sitting over the course of a long bus journey, which kind of felt right in a way; I was able to fully focus on the gradual, gorgeous redemption arc that Bojack had ahead of him. Season five was the show's heaviest yet, charting Bojack's fall from grace until he's at total rock bottom, but I think having the sixth season be his gradual recovery, addressing his problems and seeking permanent, healthy solutions to them was a natural and satisfying continuation. This is a season about self-love and forgiveness, about making amends and relieveing yourself of toxic self-hate. It's as poignant as the show has ever been, and the decision to have the first few episodes focus specifically on individual characters means that the show has time to breath, to say everything it needs to say before its conclusion. The second episode is as unashamedly emotional as the show has ever been, while the fourth episode is a masterclass in visual comedy that proves that even outside of the weighty emotional stuff, Bojack is absolutely one of the funniest shows around right now. The seventh episode is the highlight though, a genuinely satisfying journey of forgiveness that makes for one of the show's most cathartic episodes yet. I love the way this episode, and season in general, focus on recovery, on getting better and improving, and if Bojack is a show known for its deep, deep cynicism, then this season proves that it's all the more human for it. This was another step on this journey that was as innovative as it was utterly hypnotising
5. Russian Doll
Right from the start, Russian Doll is working with a cracking premise: basically Groundhog Day, but utterly nihilistic and incredibly grim. The real joy of this show, though, was watching how it moved forward from that, how it evolved into something that, while staying dark, got progressively more hopeful, philosophical and, incredibly, incredibly funny. Natasha Lyonne is amazing here, and her personality is utterly infused into the DNA of this show. It's a series that isn't as interested in questions and answers so much as processes and resolutions; the exact way the loop works and why she's experiencing it, and how she can make amends with that and come to terms with it and what it means for her general situation. It's a simple idea that splits into these absolutely fascinating threads that multiply and weave together as the show goes on, until it's like a kaleidoscope of loops and deaths and potential encounters that fit together like a crazy, beautiful mosaic. It's a show that's able to continue to surprise and intrigue without feeling like it's overusing its premise, with one reveal in the last episode completely transforming everything that's been introduced in the series up to that point. It's approaching huge ideas in a small way, flirting with larger questions about the workings of the universe while primarily focusing on figuring out what the hell is going on during this one night that keeps happening and happening and happening. It's intoxicatingly strange TV, full of black humour and acid but with an ultimately soft centre
4. Chernobyl
3. Unbelievable
And speaking of shows that approach tough subjects with honesty and gravity, Unbelievable. Detailing the efforts to catch a serial rapist over the course of three years, Unbelievable is a show that approaches an all-too misrepresented subject matter with honesty, gravity and sensitivity. It uses its premise to explore the shortcomings of the justice system, especially when it comes to rape. And like Chernobyl, it excels in how it rejects bleakness in favour of something more constructive, in this case the importance of hope and action. In doing this, it understands how difficult these things can be to maintain; exploring how productive action can all too often impeded by any number of factors, but especially honing in on how difficult it is to keep faith, to keep the sense of hope that change will come. It also contains three of the best performances on TV in recent memory. Merritt Weaver and Toni Collette excel as one of the best detective double acts ever, perfectly contrasting and complimenting each other as they exude quiet determination in spite of their own issues. But it's Kaitlyn Dever who really shines here, bringing absolutely everything to her portrayal of a victim of rape, and it's in her story that the quiet, desperate humanity of the series surfaces and solidifies this show as being entirely relevant and needed. Unbelievable tells a story that needs to be told and urges audiences to listen. It forgoes the sort of misery-sploitation that this kind of story has at its worst, instead telling this story in a way that's honest, and empathetic, and ultimately, deeply moving. I'd argue it's the most important show of the year, saying something that needs to be said in the way it needs to be said, and I really hope it's remembered for doing that
2. The Virtues
Every episode of The Virtues felt like being kicked in the mouth, hard. Shane Meadows is already the master of kitchen-sink grit, but this feels like his graduation to another level of poignancy entirely. Essentially telling the story of Stephen Graham's Joseph on the rocky road to recovery, this was a series that was tough, and brutal, and scathingly honest. I'll be as vague as possible here, because to spoil this would be to ruin an experience that's honestly unlike anything else on TV this year, gut-wrenching, nerve-wracking and absolutely heartbreaking, but rendered with so much soul, approaching deep-rooted pain with quiet love. This is a show that carefully reopens old wounds in the hope of finding some sort of healing, of finding love in the pain and figuring out where to go from there. It's a tough series to watch and an even tougher one to talk about, but Meadows' incredibly sensitive approach to unfathomable pain is truly something wonderful. Stephen Graham is the best he's ever been in one of the absolute best performances of the year, full of pain, and rage, and longing. It's a show that's very minimal, favouring an almost documentary approach so that it can fully capture everything that it needs to, rejecting stylistic flourishes because to use them would be to spoil something so achingly, chaotically human. The Virtues is yet another reminder that Shane Meadows is a master storyteller, understanding the vital building blocks of the human condition and how to bring them to the screen in the rawest, most painfully beautiful way
1. Fleabag
Fleabag's first season was a perfectly imagined, incredibly funny punch to the face (these metaphors are getting worryingly violent), one that felt utterly singular, like it said everything it needed to say in six episodes. And it did.... but it didn't have the Hot Priest. In fairness, there's a lot that the second season of Fleabag adds to the already wonderful first one, from Fiona Shaw's piercing therapist to Kristen Scott Thomas' insightful entrepreneur, as well a greater amount of tightness and confidence in the structure and tone, but the best new thing in Fleabag's followup season is Andrew Scott. The Priest shakes up Fleabag's world and totally revolutionises this season, sparking a discussion in the story about faith and identity that adds to the already wonderful meditation on self-improvement of the show's first outing. And yet, across six episodes, the show once again proved how exciting it is when something refuses to pin itself down and be one specific thing, broadening out the idea of a love story. Because, as Fleabag says in the opening minutes of the first episode, that's what this is, a love story; partially between a woman and a priest, mostly between a woman and her sister, but crucially, between a woman and herself. If the first season was an examination of a woman navigating her way through her messy, painful, existence, then this is much more optimistic, asking piercing questions about love, life, faith and identity, and kind of figuring out how to answer them on the fly. It as was hilarious as a sheepish Scottish man trying to thank a priest at a family dinner, as cringe inducing as a shattered statue, and as deeply moving as a painful farewell at a bus stop. It was bold, confident and exciting storytelling brought to life by the messianic presence that is Phoebe Waller-Bridge. It's not often that the biggest, most exciting piece of television is the follow up to a fairly self-contained three year old BBC comedy, but if this show proves anything, it's that the most profound things are often the strangest, most chaotic and inappropriately funny ones. "It'll pass", a character says in a crucial moment in the show's finale, and yet I don't think that's true for this show, because it feels like monumental, era defining television. All hail Phoebe Waller Bridge, and all hail Fleabag, my absolute favourite show of 2019
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