Top 10 Pilot Episodes

 First impressions are hard. Take the first episode of a show for instance. You want it to be good enough to convince you that the show is worth watching but not so good that it seems like the show can't live up to its opener. You want to be introduced to the world and the characters while also being assured that there's space for them to grow and develop past the first season. It's amazing how easy this is to get wrong, but a great pilot is something truly special, and an art unto itself. There's no real criteria for what makes a great first episode outside of their ability to sell a show and give the viewer an idea of what they're in for from a single installment. Narrowing it down to ten episodes that I think do this well was tough, but here's a list of the ten pilots that drew me in from the start and made me hungry for more. Obviously, this is all my opinion and entirely relative to shows I've seen. If something isn't on this list, it could be because I haven't seen the show, or because it just didn't impress me as much as the stuff that made the cut. I should also say that this list is judging these episodes in isolation, and doesn't reflect how I feel about the shows as a whole. Also because we're only talking about first episodes here, it's safe to say there aren't going to be many spoilers on this list. With that out of the way, let's get into it

10. The Beginning (Samurai Jack)

I was in two minds about how to count Samurai Jack's first episode for this list because, in the middle of the series' run, the first three episode were rereleased as a standalone TV movie, but in the end I decided to just take the first chapter on its own. It says a lot about how great of a storyteller Gennedy Tartakovsky is that in 22 short minutes he perfectly establishes a huge threat that goes on to loom over the whole show and cover the entire backstory of the only hero who can conquer it. Jack's origin is compacted into a montage that is comprehensive and economic without feeling like a series of flashcards conveying the most basic pieces of information. This was always a show more focused on the journey, establishing a problem early on and spending five seasons trying to solve it, so condensing everything before Jack's arrival in the future into a single sequence actually ends up being an incredible decision from a storytelling perspective

We learn so much about Jack through seeing his training and education. Samurai Jack is a show that always prioritised visual storytelling over an abundance of dialogue so being able to set so much up with a few choice images is a testament to how well the show is able to convey its plot. It's an episode that provides both a catalyst to the series' conflict and an introduction to its truly singular style, and it perfectly sets up the massive journey to come

9. It's Summer and We're Running Out of Ice (Watchmen)

From the first scene depicting the actual Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921, it was clear that Watchmen was a show with a lot to say. Damon Lindelof's take on Alan Moore's masterful graphic novel was never a straight adaptation, and sought to find an original way to use the story to examine contemporary America from the start. The show immediately sets up in universe events like the White Night while also making it clear that Watchmen is a show that is keen to dissect the venomous ills that have infected America for centuries. Through doing this it sets up a believable, real conflict, using vigilantes to dissect ideas of justice and the law and ask who is fit to uphold it

Aesthetically it's a fascinating beast, too. The show remixes classic motifs and images from the graphic novel while also splicing in ideas from pop culture, in particular using 1955's Oklahoma! to set up a particularly crucial plot beat. It's an engrossing introduction that sets up a clear, coherent plot before promising that the show to come will do everything in its power to complicate it and warp it into something really special. It drew scorn from a certain portion of the fanbase who complained that it was "too political", but that just goes to show that they weren't paying attention. The comic was always an explicit social comment, and with It's Summer and We're Running Out of Ice, the show immediately lets the audience know that it's about to follow suit

8. Episode 1 (Fleabag)

I think one thing that makes a great pilot is the ability to get in and get out, establishing everything about the show in a relatively short period of time. Fleabag's first episode moves with all the speed and chaos of a whirlwind, introducing the main character and Phoebe Waller-Bridge's style of to-camera addresses to establish Fleabag's perspective perfectly. There's a really natural flow through which the show introduces all of the central players, and even some less central side characters, hilariously dubbed Bus Rodent and Arsehole Guy. The show is pacey from the start, and promises to keep that up throughout its run. When Fleabag looks down the barrel of the camera after a hectic half hour, she's letting you know that, whatever mess she finds herself in next, you're along for the ride

It's also bitingly funny and perfectly introduces the show's trademark blend of caustic quips and genuine heartbreak. When it lets you go at the end after a frenetic and relentless 30 minutes, it ensures that your interest is piqued and you're thirsty for more. Fleabag had been heavily praised for so many things but I don't think enough attention is given to how perfect of an introduction we get to the titular character. You know who she is within the first ten minutes, and after twenty more you're rooting for her while simultaneously cringing at every decision she makes. You want her to succeed, and nailing such a specific, chaotic tone in the first episode is exactly what makes Fleabag such a special piece of television

7. Offred (The Handmaid's Tale)

Speculative fiction can be tricky, but right from the start The Handmaid's Tale excelled at immersing its audience in a world that, for all of its differences, contained some fundamental similarities to the contemporary landscape it was released in. From its opening minutes, it's clear that this is something really special. It's a hard story to tell but from the first episode, it ensures that you're aware of how the show is going to approach such difficult, contentious subject matter. Offred is an honest, direct hour of television that warns the audience that the road ahead isn't going to be easy, but urges them to keep going because this story matters. The episode introduces Gilead as a sort of nightmarish fusion of real world terror, full of misogyny, homophobia, sectarianism and sexual violence. It's by no means easy viewing, but it's a perfect articulation of the worst pains that society has to offer

Crucially, the episode ends with an act of private, defiant hope. Offred is a character you become attached to straight away, and Elizabeth Moss excels at making you believe in this character and ensures that you feel her plight every step of the way. The Handmaid's Tale's first episode is a breathless, brutal piece of television that demands that you stick with it, and it's so impressive that the writers managed to nail a tone this tricky as quickly as they did. I have my qualms with where the series goes after the first season but I can't deny that the pilot is extraordinary and essential, putting so many modern furies and anxieties onscreen with elegance and honesty

6. Pilot (Community)

Community's main cast isn't big (seven key players for the first part of season one), but they're all huge personalities with so much going on, and introducing all of them in one go while also summing up where they're starting from and how they'll come to change was never going to be easy. For that reason alone, Community's pilot is a work of genius, giving the viewer the best introduction to this group of characters whose relationships become progressively intricate and entrenched in the show's twisty meta-humour. The episode brings you in during a key moment that all of them are going through; as different as the Greendale seven are, they've all made the same decision to enroll in community college and have all found themselves together, ready to embark on all sorts of antics

There are so many character moments in this episode that go on to feel so on brand for these characters. The first scene where the study group is together is such a perfect communication of who they all are as we meet them, perfectly setting them up for six seasons of change and development. It also immediately introduces the two biggest themes of Community: that connecting and engaging with people different to you is massively beneficial and also the idea that people aren't defined by their past and it's never too late to change. The fact that the show got all of this in from the first chapter is nothing short of stunning, and the fact that it's hilarious is the cherry on top

5. Boardwalk Empire (Boardwalk Empire)

Something I noticed when putting this list together is that so many great pilots come from period pieces. Seriously, four of the next five episodes are set in the past, and I think part of what makes them so great is how much harder they have to work to establish their setting and make the viewer believe that they're there. When this is done well, it's a really special thing, and Boardwalk Empire seamlessly submerges you into the sea of indulgence and amorality that is 1920s Atlantic City. Of course it probably doesn't hurt that the episode is directed by Martin Scorsese, but that's only part of what makes Boardwalk Empire such a great introduction to.... well, Boardwalk Empire

We meet Nucky Thompson in the middle of a deal, which is how we'll come to see him again and again. The way Nucky bends not just the truth but every one of his personal values to get what he wants is so crucial to his character, and by meeting him as he's doing this, we're instantly aware that this is his bread and butter, his natural way of operating. This meeting is also significant because it marks the moment his path crosses with Margaret Schroeder, and because their relationship is so central to the show, kicking it off early is key to making Boardwalk work right from the start. The pilot also introduces the viewer to the way the show flirts with history; the moment we meet Al Capone is the exact point that the show lays out its MO. When the episode wraps up, it really feels like the start of something huge, the moment that this well-oiled operation is suddenly on the verge of breaking down completely

4. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes (Mad Men)

Mad Men is such a slow-burning pressure cooker of a show that, looking back on its pilot, ends in a totally different place than it began. Maybe that's obvious, because the show is about the gradual change of one era into another and Don Draper's steady decline in the process, but watching Smoke Gets in Your Eyes again, it almost feels like a trick being played on the audience. It perfectly reconstructs 1960 New York and promises you that you're watching a period piece about a successful but empty man. That's mostly true, but the genius of this episode lies in the fact that it's just the first step on a descending staircase through changing fashions and attitudes, and it's clear from minute one that there's something really powerful to be found on every subsequent step

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that Smoke Gets in Your Eyes is such a perfect evocation of one specific moment in time that it's easy to forget that everything you see is fluid and on the brink of change. Don Draper's world isn't permanent- a fact he doesn't realise- and by setting the tone early on in such a perfect, controlled way, the show is establishing a clear point for the beginning of Don's downfall. But the real brilliance of the episode is its ending. After seeing Don Draper as a cool, confident man about town, we meet his family, and the show's real conflict begins. 14 years later, Smoke Gets in Your Eyes is still a blistering 50 minutes of television

3. The Sopranos (The Sopranos)

The Sopranos sets itself apart from the bulk of mob dramas in two ways. The first is its sense of humour, openly laughing at the absurdity of these characters from the first episode, but the second and most important thing the show does is look at Tony through the lens of his anxiety and the therapy he attends as a result. One of the first things we know about him is that he's recently suffered a serious panic attack, and in doing that, the show immediately establishes the intimacy with which we're going to view him. Tony's complexity and vulnerability are key to his character, and from his first session with Dr. Melfi, it's clear that he's not some cold, stoic stereotype. We see his rocky relationship with his mother and the volatility of Junior and Christopher, and the show is quick to frame these characters not just as people in Tony's life but as potential triggers to his constant internal panic. Within an hour, the show already feels distinct and fully formed, effortlessly introducing all of its key concepts

It's just the perfect way to kick off such a big, dynamic show like this. As the audience, we have the ability to see Tony on a level that nobody else in his life- including himself- can. The pilot sets it up so well, placing us in a similar position to Melfi where we're left to observe him and glean meaning from his interactions with the people in his life. It was never a straightforward mafia show and David Chase makes that clear from minute one. It's also the episode that introduced the world to Steve Van Zandt's Silvio Dante, and it's fair to say that we as a species will always be in the show's debt because of that

2. Method and Madness (The Knick)

 If you haven't seen Jack Amiel, Michael Begler and Steven Soderbergh's beautiful, criminally underrated The Knick, then you're really missing out. The show perfectly captures the turbulence of the medical world as well as issues of race in America in a way that feels eerily applicable to the present day. Method and Madness is a great intro, not just to the uneasy world of The Knick but to the drug-fueled hellscape that is the inside of John Thackery's head. Watching him stumble from opium den to operating theatre serves as a note perfect introduction to such a difficult character, and his desperate response to withdrawl at the episode's end is a fascinating way for the show to approach the life of an addict

But the heart of this episode, and indeed the show as a whole, is André Holland's Algernon Edwards. The Knick's portrayal of the horrifying prejudice Edwards faces in his field is instantly hard-hitting, and the show wastes no time in getting into the issues that plague America, not just in 1900, but in 2014 and still in 2021. It's another period show with a perfect introduction, and makes its setting a mirror to the present better than possibly any other show on this list, the pilot above it included. If you need a reason to check out The Knick before its upcoming third season (helmed by Barry Jenkins no less), then look no further than Method and Madness, a wonderful, hard-hitting intro to an utterly singular show

1. The Vanishing of Will Byers (Stranger Things)

Because it's such a phenomenon, it's easy to forget just how small-scale Stranger Things' initial mystery is. Before every season felt like a cultural event and people were throwing around Barb memes like they were going out of fashion, The Vanishing of Will Byers transported its audience to a chilly Autumn evening in 1983, where the sleepy town of Hawkins, Indiana was about to be forever changed by both a disappearance and a new arrival. It'd be slightly disrespectful to how great the rest of Stranger Things debut season is to suggest that this episode would work better as an hour long thriller about a missing child and the effect on a small town, but in retrospect, the show aces this aspect of its story so well that if Eleven, the Upside Down and the rest of the supernatural thrills were never introduced, the show would still have a deeply effective central mystery

The supernatural stuff is incredibly done but what makes this first episode work is how well it nails each of its introductions. It's not interested in only using its first episode as a catalyst to cosmic-horror hijinks, and takes the time to set the scene in a way that feels so honest and true. The opening D and D game and the first appearance of Jim Hopper are moments that resonate way beyond any horror-tinged mystery the show will go on to lay down. It's a key ingredient that's missing from so many supernatural shows and even from later seasons of Stranger Things: a genuine connection with its time and place. It's often been described as a show of nostalgic delights but the Duffer brothers believe in their setting so much that it stops becoming purely aesthetical and begins to feel alive and changed by the events of the story. Without this, the most crucial piece of its foundation, the show would never have worked quite as well as it does

And then there's the mystery. The Vanishing of Will Byers excels at making you care, at urging you to keep watching to find out what happens. Because the setting is so believable and the characters are so likeable, you want to spend more time piecing together whatever's going to come next. It has the crucial ingredient that a pilot needs: the ability to instill curiosity in the viewer with the promise of a larger payoff. Taken as a whole, three-season package, I don't necessarily think Stranger Things is the best show on this list, but in terms of its first chapter, it's hard for me to think of a better way to start a show than The Vanishing of Will Byers

Top 20 Films of 2020

 2020 was an awful, tough year for so many reasons. Cinematically, it's bound to be remembered as a low point, the year when Bond was benched, Dune was done in and Black Widow was ensnared in a web of ever-shifting release dates. And then there's the others- Ghostbusters, Last Night in Soho, The Green Knight, F9, Candyman- it's been a dark 12 months at the multiplex. And yet it's important to remember what did get released in 2020, the films that provided an invaluable salve at a time they couldn't be needed more. Yes it will go down as a year of delays and shut screens, but 2020 delivered so much quality cinema, so many genuine gems of sound and vision that the usual annual top 10 has had to be doubled. Ultimately, I think it'll be defined as a year where, against all odds, cinema still found a way to triumph

As always, there's oversights, this year more than ever. In particular, I couldn't catch Never Rarely Sometimes Always, First Cow, The Vast of Night, Onward, Possessor, Wolfwalkers, Another Round, Sound of Metal, Kajillionaire or American Utopia in time for this list. And then there's Promising Young Woman, Palm Springs, Minari and Nomadland, films that have yet to be released in Ireland. Speaking of which, I've stuck to my principals when it comes to release dates, so apologies to Uncut Gems, Parasite, The Lighthouse and Portrait of a Lady on Fire, but they're last year's greatest. Also a shoutout to the blistering, truly excellent Sorry We Missed You, which did get a release in many countries in 2020 and I saw last year, but actually came out in Ireland in November 2019. All of these are great films that are worth your time, so seek them out when you can and support cinema if you can. For now, here's my celebration of the films that saved 2020

20. His House

In spite of- or maybe because of- how dark 2020 was, it's been an incredible year for horror. Remi Weeks' debut was electrifying on arrival, a horrifying and empathetic portrait of the refugee experience. The film is full of small-scale but frustratingly relevant observations that belie deep, visceral terror. It's inventive and elegant, mining scares from everyday moments of dread, a creeping feeling of displacement, and the lingering horrors of national trauma. His House is a ghost story in the truest sense, as much about what remains as it is about loss, brought to life by Sope Dirisu and Wunmi Mosaku. The film finds universal terror in specific details, and as a result, is scary in a way that feels eerily relevant in 2020

19. Weathering With You

If it's not quite on the level of his 2016 masterpiece Your Name, then Weathering With You is still proof that Makoto Shinkai and his team are still singular talents in animation right now. The film looks stunning but has the substance to match, capturing climate anxieties and teenage disillusion perfectly before weaving them into a story that's so optimistic that it almost feels out of place in 2020. It's a film that excels at articulating the big and the small; the same amount of passion is put into painting the huge, sky-shaking miracles as it is into the little routines of the everyday. This doesn't create contrast as much as a sort of dueling beauty of the massive and intimate forces that shape the world and the people in it

18. The Trial of the Chicago 7

Although it occasionally suffers from an overuse of Sorkinisms and showy direction, The Trial of the Chicago 7 was an awards heavyweight done right, shot with sincerity and brought to the screen with polish. The script is as sharp as any Sorkin offering but what really made Trial sting was how it mirrored the past and the present to find some sort of order amid the injustice. The riot sequences were electrifying and heartbreakingly true, but the highlights came in the courtroom sequences, where the heavyweight cast are bringing their A-games, clashing and strategising and exploding at each other. It's stagey but thrillingly so, with genuinely hard-hitting moments of commentary. Special mention too to Sacha Baron-Cohen in arguably his best performance to date, going full tilt and raging against the machine in one of the performances of the year

17. The Invisible Man

One of the delights of the first half of the year was the surprising rebirth of the Dark Universe. After The Mummy came to us DOA, Leigh Whannell came in with this about-turn, a genuinely thrilling, shocking and exciting one-and-done horror. It was such a smart, fresh take on trauma and abuse in a way that's rarely seen in the mainstream, refusing to ever romanticise the central relationship or portray it as anything other than toxic. Elizabeth Moss was possibly at her best too, keeping Cecelia as a complex, difficult character who is as empathetic as she is frustratingly human. The scares are full-blooded but the film works most in the small moments, drawing the audience in and forcing them to recognise what they're seeing. It feels like such a smart reninvention, cementing Jason Blum as the closest thing we have to a modern Roger Corman

16. The Half of It

2020 felt like a crucial year for cinema in so many ways, and The Half of It felt central to so much of the dialogue. It contributed to conversations about both distribution and onscreen representation while also feeling like an smart, fresh addition to the canon of modern teen cinema. It uses an age-old plot (Cyrano de Bergerac) to provide a vision of where the industry could be headed. In a year where Tenet an I'm Thinking of Ending Things employed intricate storytelling techniques in an effort to create something new, The Half of It demonstrated how effective simple stories can be when they're executed with intelligence and emotion, and was all the better for it

15. Mangrove

Steve McQueen's Small Axe was arguably the cinematic event of 2020, five incredible standalone TV movies that further prove that he's one of the essential storytellers of our time. Mangrove, the first of the quintet, is such a hard-hitting courtroom drama that really hones in on police brutality and systemic racism in a year where they've never been more relevant. Crucially, it was a film that transcended its time and place: these issues extend out of 1971 Notting Hill and become universal and honest. It was tough in the way that feels unique to McQueen but there's a jaded optimism that blends with the film's sense of genuine danger. It's the total opposite of escapism but by facing difficult truths head-on, it becomes honest and essential and deeply moving

14. Les Misérables

Unrelated to the Victor Hugo doorstopper and the Tom Hooper musical smash, Ladj Ly's incendiary debut felt like the most 2020 film of 2020, one that's impact is bound to be felt more in the years to come. It echoed the spirit of La Haine but still managed to feel so unique, bridging the frustrations and anger of an entire city and the forces at work within it while still acting as a propulsive, exciting thriller in its own right. What made it so effective was how it addressed the systems at work in its story. They're inherently broken, and totally unfit to protect the most vulnerable members of society. It was an epic, and a film that will undoubtedly get better the further we get from it

13. Calm With Horses

In a surprisingly strong year for Irish cinema (see also: Dating Amber), Calm With Horses was top of the pile. It was stylish, stark and striking, a violent, brutal tale of love and loyalty that, for all of its proudly-displayed influences, still feels new and raw. It's a heady blend of tones, bleak realism carefully mixing with something softer and dreamier, a secret ingredient that keeps the film from ever feeling obvious or played out. At times it feels like director Nick Rowland is trying to escape his own subject matter, edging the plot towards a tender portrait of a wounded father looking for some sort of redemption before the film yanks him and Cosmo Jarvis' enforcer back into the shadows of the underworld. The result is one of the most exciting pieces of Irish cinema of the last ten years

12. The Devil All the Time

Antonio Campos' latest has proven to be one of the years most divisive films, and it's not hard to see why. It's a hard film to love, so harsh and restrained and often frustratingly bleak. It urges the viewer to give up, to stop digging, and yet amid the sticky Southern heat and moral decay lies a quiet, disturbing beauty. It's the story of an America that's simultaneously buzzing with life and consumed by death, a chaotic primordial soup of crime and violence that births one of the year's best ensembles. MVP has to be Robert Pattison, spinning a web of sordid sin while spitting the lord's words through a thrillingly overcooked Southern drawl. It's a cruel film, but openly so, and those willing to engage with its dark charms will be greatly rewarded

11. Da 5 Bloods

All things being equal, Da 5 Bloods is the film of the year. Nevermind that it misses the top 10- that's just personal preference- because no film articulated the year's anguish and frustration better than Spike Lee's war epic. Upon its arrival in June, it was an angry, mournful elegy for a country that's been fighting the same conflicts for decades, projecting deep-seeded rage in lush, colourful bliss that packed a poignant sting. It took on another meaning two months later when Chadwick Boseman passed away at just 43 years old. Suddenly, the film revealed another layer of itself. And while it's not his final film, the image of his Stormin' Norman bathed in the reverential sun of the Vietnamese jungle was as striking as it was deeply, deeply heartfelt, immortalising him in cinema as a galvanising screen presence gone too soon

10. First Love

It was a tricky year for blockbusters. Birds of Prey was huge amounts of fun and Tenet brought the thrills but by and large, 2020 was a year where the box-office heavyweights were almost entirely benched. In their absence, Takshi Miike's First Love blazed in off the 2019 festival circuit to bring action, comedy and insane scrapes the likes of which Hollywood could only dream of. If it lacks the scale of a Fast and Furious or a Marvel, then it doubles the sheer energy and chaos and adds animated interludes, (nearly) naked ghosts and exploding dogs. It's hard to think of another film from this year that's as fun as First Love, which somehow keeps up Miike's 100+ film streak of fantastic, batshit crazy films

For all of the scrapes, scraps and setpieces, it's still Miike's romantic comedy, and it's in its softer moments where the film really comes alive. The characters are immediately lovable and the charm is off the charts, resulting in a furious thriller that is as good-natured as it is absolutely insane. It flew under the radar when it was released on Valentine's Day without much fanfare, but if it's thrills you're seeking, it's a hit of pure adrenaline, with added sugar and some dark laughs for good measure

9. Babyteeth

Babyteeth has a deceptively morbid premise. If, after a year like 2020, you weren't quite up to watching a film about a sixteen year-old girl dying of cancer, that's completely understandable, but Babyteeth approaches its difficult subject matter confidently and calmly, leading to a film about death that's weirdly life-affirming. It's dryly quirky and darkly hilarious, but neither of these things come at the expense of the film's emotion. Instead, they aid director Shannon Murphy as she lines up the film's sucker punch, lending the bizarre world of suburban Australia enough colour to combat the encroaching tragedy. It's a countdown towards the inevitable that, much like Eliza Scanlen's disaffected heroine Milla, refuses to let morbid circumstances get in the way of what's important

Babyteeth is a film about death that's not really interested in the end, instead analysing how such a dark, difficult situation warps and changes everyone involved in it. Babyteeth is at its best when Murphy shows the audience Milla from the perspectives of the people around her, from her worried parents to her troubled older boyfriend. Crucially, all of these characters are framed with love. The film likes all of its players, and ensures that you do too, and the result is smart, poignant and hugely engaging

8. Lovers Rock

Lovers Rock is a monument to human connection and the black experience in a year that couldn't have needed it more. The best of the Small Axe films sees Steve McQueen construct a safe space for a group of West London partygoers in 1980 before letting them have at it for a transcendent 68 minutes. It's light on plot but rich with feeling and detail. It's a film that revels in specificity, painstakingly recreating the sights and sounds and smells of its time and place and encourages the viewer to immerse themselves in this world McQueen has built. Maybe it's not as hard-hitting as the rest of the series but that never feels like a problem: the film is a heady, euphoric concoction that's at its best when it just lets its characters be

It's a beautiful piece of cinema that always feels vital. The rush and excitement of a night out where anything can happen and everything can change permeates this film. It buzzes from the opening minutes where the party is meticulously prepared, and explodes into something immensely powerful when an entire room of people break into an a capella rendition of Janet Kay's Silly Games. It's a celebration of community, of coming together to celebrate just because they can. By the end, you're left slightly bereft, wishing that it could have lasted just that little bit longer, which is perhaps the best thing a film can do

7. Dick Johnson is Dead

Dick Johnson is Dead opens with a man playing with his grandkids. When he's done, he gets up and begins to go home, only to get crushed and killed by a falling air vent. And then he gets up, revealing that the whole thing was a set up. He dies a few times over the course of the film, a gloriously off-kilter documentary from his daughter Kristen that captures a man she's gradually losing to dementia onscreen. It's weirdly fun for something that directly engages with death and loss, but what makes it work is how it leaves everything out in the open. It's a film dealing with huge existential absolutes, but by depicting death and heaven and even Johnson's own funeral as quirky shorts, it conjures up surprising amounts of warmth and comfort in an entirely transparent way. Kristen Johnson doesn't just want you to know why she's doing this; she wants to show you how, too

The best thing in it though is Dick Johnson, the best character in a 2020 movie. It's almost hard to believe this man is real, so unquenchable is his lust for life and penchant for mischief. He's easy to love and makes good company for 89 minutes, and when the film tips into morbidity with a glorious eleventh-hour bait-and-switch that slides into tearjerker territory, he yanks the audience back into the his weird world with an incredible reveal and a wonderful prank. It's one of the strangest, funniest and most moving movies of the year. 

6. Soul

Pete Docter's Pixar outings have steadily been edging further and further into weighty existential territory. If Monsters Inc. tackled parental responsibility, Up dissected the grieving process, and Inside Out visualised the inner-workings of the brain, then Soul takes it up a notch to question our very reason for existing. Narratively the film feels very on-brand for Pixar, like a remix of their unmistakable story beats and images put together to create something new. What feels fresh is the conclusion the film reaches. It's a slightly harder truth achieved in a more abstract way, but something about that feels exciting. It's visually stunning in the bizarre world of the Great Before but the heart of the film lies in the warmth and detail that New York is rendered in

It's a film with a passionately argued case for the small joys of life. It frames the huge cosmic ideas of its story as utilitarian and unremarkable compared to the beautiful things we see everyday but often miss. Ultimately it works out a little smaller stakes-wise when compared to most of Pixar's catalogue, and viewers craving the studio's trademark emotional gutpunch won't find it here, but that's not what Soul is going for. Instead, it's a film that triggers thought and reflection, urging the audience to walk away with a refreshed appreciation for the things that make them who they are. And 25 years deep into telling these beautifully crafted stories, that feels like the right place for Pixar to be

5. Mank 

When Mank released at the start of December, it arrived at quite possibly the optimal time. If the film release schedule had gone as planned, it would have come after a fairly standard year at the movies, with the usual franchise fare and festival big hitters, and Denis Villeneuve's Dune being released just two weeks later. Obviously, none of that happened, but that gave Mank an eerily perfect context. After all, it's a film about Hollywood at a precarious time, looking backwards and forward at the same time to arrive at a truth it already knew from the start: the movies are a machine, entirely fueled by the green stuff

If that sounds cynical, then it's not giving credit to the love with which Fincher renders Tinseltown. Written by his late father and gloriously brought to life by a team of true artists, Mank's vision of a Hollywood on the cusp is a delight, a space to inhabit for 131 wonderfully transportative minutes. Gary Oldman's at his boozy best but it's Amanda Seyfried who steals the show as a light among the bitter cynicism who ultimately winds up as another cog in the machine. It's funny, it's poignant and it even allows itself moments of dogged optimism. Mank is one of the real feats of the year, a deep dive into the dark heart of entertainment, where everything is politics. To borrow from the Hollywood Review's take on Citizen Kane, Mr. Genius has come through again

4. True History of the Kelly Gang

January 2020 saw the release of Sam Mendes' immense 1917, an engaging, engrossing war poem about a collective loss of innocence. It was a great showcase for lead George McKay, whose greatest work to date snuck out onto VOD a few months later with this snarling, viciously warped take on history. True History of the Kelly Gang is a powerful fusion of tones and moods. It takes actual figures and events, frames them in the earthy, naturalistic cinema of 70s Herzog, combines that with bloodsplattered Ozsploitation and then sets the whole thing to a skull-scorching punk soundtrack and proceeds to laugh as it gleefully destroys the very notion of a conventional biopic

That may sound like a lot- and it is- but True History succeeds by telling its story so confidently. From the start, it assures viewers that it knows what it's doing, so when it lapses into experimentation, it ensures that you're dragged along for the ride. It's a demented explosion of bad taste and cinematic tradition that thrums with this otherworldly, dangerous energy that Justin Kurzel wrestles to the screen with surprising elegance for something so chaotic. It takes colonial powers to task and has a damn fun time doing it. It's big yet focused, exercising great discipline while doling out huge amounts of madness. It's a film that doesn't settle for the accepted version of the story, instead ripping any sanitised version of history open to ensure that it's left to interpretation. Is this what really happened? Who knows, and who cares. True History of the Kelly Gang certainly doesn't, and is all the better for it

3. Rocks

Rocks is an absolute miracle of a film. It's a monument to sisterhood, a love letter to the power of friendship and a celebration of collaborative filmmaking. It captures a specific time and place, preserving this moment in late 2010s London on film forever, leaving it behind for future generations. Its story- about a 15 year old girl and her brother are left to fend for themselves on the streets of London after being abandoned by their mother- sounds grim, but in execution, that couldn't be further from the truth. Instead, the film uses a kind of weaponised positivity, refusing to give into the harsh circumstances at the centre of the story and suggesting that even everything if else goes wrong, love will always come through in the end

It's a refreshing take on a coming of age story too. At a time when it's become fashionable for stuffy thinkpieces to blame young people for struggling with problems they didn't ask to bear, Rocks directly rejects this way of thinking and holds its heroine up as strong, capable and optimistic. She never feels sorry for herself and the film never defines her by her situation, and as such Rocks begins to feel like such a tonic, an antidote to encroaching pessimism that urges the audience to have faith in the next generation. It already feels like a classic, a breath of fresh air in British cinema that seeks to counter increasingly insurmountable social issues with huge amounts of hope and it is truly special

2. Bacurau

I feel like I've talked about Bacurau a lot this year. To be fair, there's a lot to talk about, but forgive me if I repeat myself. Kleber Mendonça Filho's film is so full and complete and alive, covering so much ground in 132 minutes that it's amazing that a) it exists at all and b) that it's such an elegant piece of genre storytelling. It's a full-blooded action film that builds on Mendonça Filho's knack for creating self-contained, dynamic worlds while also providing a scathing commentary on Western entitlement. Along the way it flirts with science-fiction and horror and makes the whole thing feel like a spaghetti Western. And if that wasn't enough, Bacurau is filled with pathos and heart, drawing so much eerie dissonance from the feeling of being an outsider in your own home

The way all of these ideas and tones are conducted is nothing short of masterful. The first half makes use of this gorgeous, menacing slow-burn before hitting the audience with this hard shift in tone and perspective and then cranking it up to eleven in the climax with hardcore gore and venomous social commentary. In a year where the future of cinema seemed to be constantly up for debate, Bacurau felt like a hybrid of everything that film can do at its best. It was a remix of the past that signaled what could come next. It was exciting, both in its high-octane, trippy thrills and its hare-brained fusion of well established styles in cult cinema with more tradional arthouse sensibilites. It felt like such a passionate reminder of why filmmaking matters, and for that, it stands out as something truly magnificent

1. Saint Maud 

Religion and horror has always made for a good combination. Saint Maud is a religious horror in the most literal way, where the terror in the story doesn't come from supernatural forces or some sort of demon, but from the deeply distressing acts committed in the name of God. The genius of Maud, however, comes from how it uses perspective. We see everything through Mofyd Clarke's nervy eyes, but crucially, the film never frames her as clearly good or evil. Instead, Rose Glass uses this to tell a story about faith, about how it tricks us into doing the wrong thing, about how anything can become a sign or a challenge, and about how acting on blind devotion can lead to both tragedy and salvation. There's so many individual moments of genius packed into 84 brisk minutes. Glass is an economic master of horror who often gets the best scares from sharp, deliberate jolts rather than a sense of lingering dread

Along the way, the film reveals itself as something darkly beautiful. It's so layered and nuanced and full of love. Seeing that love be misplaced and misinterpreted and used to justify all sorts of evils is this film's wicked genius; the masterstroke that generates huge amounts of terror and tragedy. The performances stun, not least Mofyd Clarke in one of the most striking star-making turns I've ever seen. Saint Maud is a masterpiece of horror, not just in 2020 but of the 21st century in general. It is stunning, and it leaves me so incredibly excited to see what Rose Glass does next

Top 20 TV Shows of 2020

2020 was an awful year for so many reasons, but surprisingly, one medium that's had a great 12 months was TV. It was a year where people were relying on their televisions for solace and comfort. Maybe that came in the form of a murder-mystery documentary about big cats, or twelve hours of Jude Law being tortured in real time. Maybe your lockdown was made brighter by Schitt's Creek and its surprise Emmy-sweep. Maybe you cursed the way Supernatural ended, or obsessed over Normal People, or became one of those weird people who thinks that Twin Peaks: The Return is a movie. Maybe you thought that Better Call Saul overtook Breaking Bad in terms of quality and are confused why more people aren't watching it. Maybe you squeed any time Baby Yoda did literally anything. Maybe you wondered when chess became so cool and seriously considered taking it up after The Queen's Gambit. Maybe you review bombed season two of The Boys because you've got no patience. And maybe you just held on for 2021 when Disney+ would ensure nearly weekly Marvel content. The point is, TV proved to be a serious salve this year, providing not just entertainment but a means of connection for so many people. So much so that, in the end, my annual top 10 had to be doubled. I watched so much television this year, new and old, and it was an invaluable escape throughout the hell that was 2020. The following are the twenty(ish) new shows that gave me joy and peace this year. Please enjoy

I didn't see everything, though, so here's a list of shows that I wanted to catch in 2020 but couldn't:

The Last Dance

Little Fires Everywhere

I May Destroy You

Ted Lasso

I'll Be Gone in the Dark

Quiz

Mrs America

I Hate Suzie

Ozark

Bridgerton

Kingdom

And then there's Pen15 and Schitt's Creek, two shows that I know would crack the list for sure... if I'd seen the latest seasons. I know they're ace and intend to get up to date at some point, but for now, here are 20 shows I've loved in 2020

20. The Umbrella Academy

After a disappointing first outing, Netflix's super-sibling-saga came back with a vengeance in its second year. It was a soft-reboot of sorts that saw the Hargreeves family flung across seven different periods in the early 60s before converging days before JFK's assassination. Yes, really. It was addictively wild and genuinely fun, the kind of high-concept, gloriously off-kilter hijinks that the first season just missed out on delivering. The Umbrella Academy's second season felt pacey and urgent, setting its end in sight from episode one and urging viewers to just enjoy the ride. What makes it work so well is the cast. The ensemble isn't just great here, they're paramount to making the often aggressively bizarre plot beats flow seamlessly. Particular shoutouts to Kate Walsh as the venomous Handler, Elliot Page as the infinitely sympathetic Vanya and Aidan Gallagher's very stressed out Number Five. It was breathless, chaotic television that finally found its footing, and if it can deliver on its typically batshit cliffhanger ending, then we're in for another timeline-disrupting rollercoaster of television

19. Three Busy Debras/ Aunty Donna's Big Ol' House of Fun

That's right folks, at number 19, we've got a tie. Both of these shows are great for the same reason and deliver largely the same ultra-surreal laughs, so it makes sense to put them in the same slot. Three Busy Debras is the kind of intensely weird, easily bingeable comedy that Adult Swim's become known for, adapted from a play by the three on-point leads. It was an irresistible dive into the suburban dreamscape of Lemoncurd that played like an unholy fusion of Blue Velvet and The Eric Andre Show where the jokes often feel like they're coming from another plane of reality. Naturally it's an acquired taste, but between the surprisingly sharp ATM episode, the horrifying sleepover and the endlessly memeable Cartwheel Club, it was six 11 minute bursts of pure, unflinchingly weird hilarity

And if you like Three Busy Debras, chances are you'll fall for Aunty Donna, too. The Youtube comedy troupe take their antics to Netflix with aplomb. The skits themselves range in quality but there's so many of them and they're all performed with such verve and energy that the misses feel minimal. Gags like Blair Buoyant the Clairvoyant and the sudden conversion of the trio's house into a bar are typical of the energetic stretching of one joke into a five-minute barrage of silliness that more often than not continues to occur throughout the episode. Again, the results won't be for everyone, but few gags were as refreshingly stupid this year as the man who definitely doesn't want to drink your piss 

18. After Life

For every moment in After Life where Ricky Gervais gives in to some of his more tiresome indulgences, there's notes of genuine heart and humour that save it from being another extension of his stand-up persona. Released back in April, it was another dive into the softer side of Gervais that we really don't see enough of. What really worked about the second round of the Netflix sad-com is how the show made use of its ensemble. Supporting characters like Paul Kaye's laddish psychiatrist or Joe Wilkinson's postman Pat lend the show's humour more depth and scope. We also saw more of Kerry Goldliman's recently departed Lisa and spent more time with Tony's ailing father Ray, both of whom are crucial to cushioning the show's razor-sharp cynicism. The show also excelled in its tragic moments, treating them with candour and respect. After Life is set to wrap up in 2021 with its third season. Here's hoping he sticks the landing

17. Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist

As far as debuts went, Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist was one of 2020's best. It was sugar-sweet and aggressively optimistic at a time where they were hard virtues to come by. Austin Winberg's sublime musical comedy proved to be an effective antidote to 2020 with hefty doses of humour, heart and showstopping musical numbers in what was a surprisingly nuanced take on grief and tragedy. The cast are stunning- not least an ace turn from Alex Newell- but first among equals is Jane Levy. Her Zoey is one of the year's best characters, instantly likeable, always relatable and frustratingly human. The show finds a happy, effective formula early on before turning it on its head in the latter half. Winberg explores every corner of Zoey's powers, with high points including the sudden reversal of her musical telepathy that leaves her singing her own thoughts out loud, or a deeply touching number entirely performed by deaf actors. Tuning in each week was an invaluable salve during the first lockdown, and a passionately argument for the kind of gradually unfolding storytelling experience impossible to find through binging

16. Devs

Nothing about Devs is easy. The plot unfolds slowly and cryptically, the performances are deliberately muted and the concepts at work are never fully explained. And yet, sci-fi wunderkind Alex Garland rewards patience, using his episodic format to let the story unfold into something unnerving, unexpected and deeply moving. It's an experience, a show that explores concepts of free will vs. determinism while simultaneously using them to propel nail-biting setpieces. Lyndon and Katie's confrontation on the dam is a real marvel, using the audience's knowledge of what's inevitably going to happen against them and injecting heavy doses of feeling into a show that, in different hands, could have come off as coldly mechanical. It's a show concerned with huge philosophical absolutes but always remembers why those concepts matter at all: because they're about people. People who go through the universe helping each other and hurting each other and wondering what it all means. Devs was the kind of viewing experience that was unattainable anywhere else in 2020, exploring in eight short episodes what many series don't achieve over eight seasons

15. Dead to Me

Dead to Me stumbled onto Netflix in 2019 like Big Little Lies' fun, sarcastic cousin. It wasn't a perfect show by any means but it struck gold in its two leads and ended on a cliffhanger so expertly pitched that a follow-up was all but inevitable. Fortunately, the second season is funnier, darker and more twistedly unpredictable than the first. Mastermind Liz Feldman ups the stakes for Judy and Jen, throwing all sorts of messy, challenging reveals into their already deeply-warped path. Following on from season one's absolute bombshell of an ending, the show is able to approach loss from a more complicated angle. At times it almost feels like a ghost story but Feldman always wrangles the show back to Earth with unexpected tenderness and the best quips on TV. Christina Applegate and Linda Cardellini are as perfect as ever, but the show hugely benefits from the arrival of Natalie Morales' Michelle. She softens the tone while also making the plot so much more complicated, and by giving Dead to Me these massive, real-feeling stakes, Feldman is able to navigate the tricky concepts of grief and guilt in a way that's both enjoyably pulpy and hugely empathetic. That's not an easy thing to do, which is part of what makes the prospect of the show's upcoming ultimate season that much more exciting. If you haven't watched Dead to Me yet, pour yourself a glass of orange wine and dig in

14. Sex Education 

At the risk of turning this into some sort of gross euphemism, Sex Education's first season was well-meaning, occasionally clumsy and hugely enjoyable. It didn't always seem to know where it was going but it was confident enough to get there anyway. As Otis learns in a hilariously X-rated opening montage, practice makes perfect, and that's something the show's second season demonstrates across eight delightful, funny and heartfelt episodes. There's a much bigger scope this time around, and the show is able to focus on all of its characters so smoothly and completely. The world of the show feels so dynamic and alive, no one feels short-changed, and the ensemble is so diverse that the show can explore so many issues with intimacy and honesty without it ever feeling like a Very Special Episode. The show's discussion on sexual assault in particular is so nuanced and vital: serious props to series creator Laurie Nunn and her team for bringing Aimee's story to the screen with such sensitivity. It just feels like a privilege to spend eight episodes in the world of these characters, and the result is the rare teen series that can appeal to nearly any demographic. Why? Because for all of its when/where-are-we aesthetic shenanigans, Sex Education understands its cast better than most shows on TV. And that's worth celebrating

13. What We Do in the Shadows

They say lightning never strikes the same place twice. Whoever they are, they've obviously never watched FX's glorious What We Do in the Shadows. The film was an unlikely smash, but the prospect of a series seemed like such a risk. Lo and behold, the first season was a riot, extending the film's legacy in a way that was consistently hilarious and delightful. Even still, the idea of a second season still felt like a gamble. What else could they do with the Staten Island quintet? Well for starters, there's Guillermo's ongoing struggle with his vampire hunting destiny, a genuinely fantastic plot that undercuts all the laughs. The gags are still killer though, with the highlights this season including an undead Hayley Joel Osmond, a coven of semen-stealing witches, regular human bartender Jackie Daytona, and the wonderful misunderstanding that is the Superb Owl Party. The show knows exactly what it's working with this time around, and it could have a claim to being the funniest show on TV right now, so purely hilarious and infinitely quotable are the series' jokes. It's consistently hilarious, which in a year that desperately needed laughs, was very welcome indeed

12. The Haunting of Bly Manor

The Haunting of Bly Manor had a lot to live up to. The spiritual sequel to The Haunting of Hill House that's also following Mike Flanagan's ace take on Stephen King with Doctor Sleep, Bly wasn't without its detractors. And okay, it's not Hill House, which stunned with a nuanced, gorgeously realised take on collective grief. But here's the thing: it was never trying to be. Flanagan's take on The Turn of the Screw is quiet and eerie; not scary as much as it is deeply sad. The characters are instantly lovable- shoutout to Owen and his ace food puns- but they also tie perfectly into Bly's take on trauma and the scars that form over time. It's proof that Flanagan has found real magic in his ensemble, from returning players Victoria Pedretti, Oliver Jackson-Cohen, Henry Thomas and Kate Sigel to on-point newcomers Rahul Kohli and T'nia Miller. Every episode feels like another piece of the puzzle, with standouts including self-contained ghost story The Altar of the Dead and time-bending heartbreaker The Romance of of Certain Old Clothes. And although its central framing device doesn't always work, the destination it arrives at is as sincere and heartfelt as Flanagan has ever been: a beautiful, fitting end to an equally stunning season of television

11. The Good Place

It says a lot about how genuinely fantastic The Good Place is that, despite the fact that only four episodes aired in 2020- way back in January no less- it's still one of the year's standout shows 12 months later. The Good Place was always a show that was unafraid to experiment, to shed any previous conceptual commitments and start again from scratch, and as such, it was always going to face serious challenges when coming up with an ending. Fortunately, the series' swansong is as good as it's ever been, four standout chapters that feature high emotional stakes, heady existential conceits and oh-so many laughs. There's huge guest-turns from the likes of Timothy Olyphant and Lisa Kudrow and belting performances from the whole main cast, but special mention as always to the effortlessly charming Ted Danson. What really worked about the finale though was how specific it was. It wasn't a definite end point in all of these character's lives, but a crucial climactic moment that lets each of them decide the ending they want. It's wonderful stuff as always, the perfect end to one of TV's finest comedies

10. Gangs of London

2019 left an Iron Throne-sized hole in the TV canon, and conversation naturally turned to what show- if any- could follow. And while Westworld tries and fails to be HBO's ace in the hole, the natural successor to GOT comes from a slightly more surprising place: Sky Atlantic's Gangs of London. And no, that's not just because Catelyn Stark is in it. Gangs of London has constantly shifting politics, uneasy familial bonds and capital-v violence beautifully brought to the screen by martial arts mastermind Gareth Evans. It's epic television, the story of a city on the brink as the forces that govern it go to war. In a year where blockbuster entertainment was hard to come by, Gangs delivered, especially in its stunning fifth episode that followed a white-knuckle siege on a Welsh safehouse. But what made it work was its throughline, the central mystery around recently murdered patriarch Finn Wallace, expertly played by Colm Meaney. As the show makes sense of what he's left behind, it gradually begins to count down to destruction, threatening a total meltdown that would bring London's underworld to its knees. It's a showcase for all involved, not least leading man Sope Dirisu as the conflicted, tortured undercover cop. It brought a whole universe together with elegance and verve, cementing itself as the most exciting (and brutal) show of the year

9. The Queen's Gambit

It would have been easy for The Queen's Gambit to be another prestige miniseries that attracts critical love and awards attention, but no one actually watched. Thankfully, that wasn't the case at all, and the show turned out to be both highly engaging and a surprising talking point. Its success shouldn't have been a shock- the cast are excellent, the writing is sharp and the whole show just looks gorgeous- but on paper, a miniseries about chess doesn't exactly scream "your next binge". And yet, The Queen's Gambit stunned from the start, a classy, exciting show about obsession, addiction and loss all told through the prism of chess. Anya Taylor-Joy continues the hot streak she's been riding for the past few years as troubled prodigy Beth Harmon, whose rise and fall is charted across seven breathless, engaging episodes. Along the way is a portrait of a young woman fighting through a life fraught with disadvantages who never once lets that define her. The show navigates its themes the same way Beth navigates her life- through chess- and by imbuing every match with huge amounts of meaning and massive dramatic stakes, it ensures that newcomers and grandmasters alike are left on the edge of their seat

8. The Mandalorian

*Both seasons of The Mandalorian were released in Ireland in 2020, so both seasons are being counted on this list*

If you're a long time reader, you'll know my frustration with the most recent installments in the Star Wars universe. After the wonderful The Last Jedi, Solo was frustratingly dull and The Rise of Skywalker came out creatively numb, so one of the joys of 2020 has been watching The Mandalorian and finally getting excited about Star Wars again. The first season was a strong start that explored previously unseen corners of the galaxy, but it's in the show's second year where it really turns up the heat. From its aesthetic- a spaghetti western/ Lone Wolf and Cub fusion- to the largely self-contained episodes that slowly reveal a larger story, there's a lot that Jon Favreau has nailed in The Mandalorian. Even the second season's gradual introduction of familiar faces and places feels relatively smooth, especially impressive in a series that can never quite master fanservice. But the essential ingredient to making it work is the relationship between Mando and the Child, whose name we finally found out this season. It's genuinely tender, and lends huge amounts of heart to the big-budget sci-fi action that the show delivers in every episode. The Mandalorian has done what was progressively beginning to seem impossible: it made Star Wars cool again. And that, my friends, is the way

7. Lovecraft Country

 

It's been a tricky year for America. From George Floyd and the Black Lives Matter protests in the Summer to the most contentious election in living memory in November, it's been a difficult twelve months, so Lovecraft Country couldn't have come at a better time. A righteously angry horror series that explores the terrors of America's past while also navigating the titular author's problematic politics, Misha Green's show is interested in using genre to explore highly relevant social issues from the start. It mirrors its horror (haunted houses, demons and secret societies) with real world terror (racism, classism and sexism), and through doing that, Green is demanding that history doesn't repeat itself more than it already has. The scares are sublime, creatively icky and stuffed with meaning, and the show draws on history and lore that urges the viewer to keep educating themselves beyond what they see onscreen. Lovecraft Country is intelligent and thrilling and filled with some of the year's best characters and Green ensures that everyone gets their due and feels important. Particularly she hones in on the women in Atticus Freeman's life. Episodes like Strange Case and I Am aren't just great episodes of television; they're pieces of genre storytelling that explore issues faced by women of colour at the time and in the present. In a year where the American identity was fraught with chaos and uncertainty, Lovecraft Country snapped things back into brilliant, bloody focus

6. Primal 

Western animation has been on the up and up for the last decade now. Shows like Gravity Falls and Steven Universe have pushed the envelope for animated storytelling on TV, but the medium has also been embraced by showrunners looking to tell stories that are slightly more adult in their content. Primal is, simply put, the best animated show currently airing right now. Created by Samurai Jack's Gennedy Tartakovsky, the show follows a caveman and a dinosaur united in tragedy and only able to rely on each other as they traverse a perilous prehistoric landscape. The show looks gorgeous, fully making use of its medium to spin yarns that just aren't possible in live action. The aesthetic lies somewhere between a heavy-metal album cover and the worst trip you've ever had, but what makes Primal so great is its surprisingly huge amounts of empathy. The way Spear and Fang navigate their respective losses is rendered with such sensitivity and nuance that goes a long way in forming the show's backbone. As the show goes on, episodes like A Cold Death and The Coven of the Damned demonstrate that while the world is full of suffering, sharing their pain makes people/dinosaurs/mammoths/witches stronger, and it's this demonstration of collective grief that makes Primal so engrossing. It's fantastic, the same mix of eye-popping visual storytelling and genuine emotional stakes that made Samurai Jack a classic

5. The Boys

2020 was the first year in a decade without an installment in the MCU. In the meantime, the Snyder cult finally got their wish and countless articles were written pondering the hole the general absence of comic book films left in the pop-culture landscape. And in this breathing space, we got the second season of Amazon Prime's insane, riotous The Boys. The show was good in its first year but that was just a warm up for what Eric Kripke and his team have dreamed up for Butcher, Hughie, Starlight et al. in this utterly batshit second outing, The show balances an intelligent take on the abuse of power, the rise of the alt-right and the power of the media with the crass insanity of superhero porn, disembowled whales and a very horny bulldog. It's trashy, pulpy and fun but the way it explores its ideas is genuinely shocking and relevant. The montage at the start of the seventh episode demonstrates how alt-right movements gain traction over social media and manipulate the weak, and the very idea of Aya Cash's Stormfront is terrifyingly appropriate for 2020. And although the weekly release drew scorn from some fans, it actually really worked in the show's favour, giving the insane world of the show time to expand and develop. And the payoff was more than worth it: one beatdown in the finale is deeply, deeply satisfying. The Boys was undoubtedly the show for a year without Marvel, gleefully, ruthlessly poking fun at our obsession with superheroes and our worst social urges in one fell swoop. In a word? Diabolical

4. Ghosts

If you've been paying attention to British TV comedy in the last few years, you'll know that the trend at the minute is the sadcom: Fleabag, After Life, Uncle and a wealth of other shows that ground their comedy with moments of frank heartbreak. And that's great- all of these shows are ace, and balance their contrasting tones wonderfully- but there's something to be said about the purity of humble, unassuming silliness. Ghosts doesn't have anything the say about the human condition or the society we live in. There's no social commentary or deeper themes, and despite its post-watershed airtime, the comedy is fairly general and accessible for all audiences.

 And yet, Ghosts is one of the best things on TV. Why? Because it's funny. Written by and starring the troupe behind Horrible Histories and Yonderland, Ghosts demonstrates how much this ensemble have honed their comedy over the last eleven years. They've adapted their style for an adult audience wonderfully, especially in the second season. The show is hilarious, benefitting from a varied cast of characters that allow it to explore so many different kinds of comedy. Newcomers to the troupe like Charlotte Richie and Lolly Adefope assimilate so well to the team's hyper-specific brand of humour, and the result is one of the funniest casts on TV. It's such a warm show too. Every character is likeable, from lovelorn poet Thomas Thorne to ridiculously charming caveman Robin, and the way the show is gradually teasing out its characters backstories this season is great, too. The show has won itself and ardent, dedicated fanbase, and it's not hard to see why. In a dark year, its blend of kindness and silliness was greatly appreciated

And the Christmas special? Truly wonderful

3. Normal People

Normal People was unlike anything else on TV in 2020. For one, it's hard to think of another show this year that attracted this level of obsession, to the point where even Connell's trademark chain had its own ferociously devoted fanbase. Part of the phenomenon of the show was undeniably in the timing, delivering intimacy and human connection right at the start of the lockdown. As such, the show's gorgeously observed moments of love and empathy really resonated. Connell and Marianne's love story was irresistible, painfully real and frustratingly imperfect but also so full of genuine warmth. It attracted huge amounts of attention for its sex scenes, and rightfully so: it portrays the characters' intimacy beautifully while also examining how they're using sex as a form of communication. It's in these moments that they give each other permission to engage with the parts of themselves they keep hidden from the rest of the world, and it's here where we as an audience see them as they really are

It's a beautiful love story that also expresses so much more along the way. The eighth episode feels like it's ripped right out of Luca Guadagnino's playbook, while episode ten is a frank, hard-hitting take on male mental health that's never felt more relevant. The show is always empathetic to its characters even when nobody else- including themselves- can understand them. Connell's spiral into isolated depression and Marianne's unhealthy choices in her relationships are treated delicately, which is exactly what allows directors Lenny Abrahamson and Hettie MacDonald, as well as writers Sally Rooney, Alice Birch and Mark O'Rowe, to open their inner worlds and put the most specific, powerful human emotions onscreen. Normal People is a beautiful whirlwind of a show that flies by in a heartbeat and leaves hugely profound observations on love and loss in its wake

2. Bojack Horseman

After beginning with a first season that nobody really knew what to do with, Bojack Horseman grew into one of the funniest, smartest and most brutal shows on TV. It approached depression and addiction with honesty, tore into the dark side of the entertainment industry and delivered some note perfect animal puns over the course of six seasons, but its final trick was its most impressive: it had a perfect ending. The second half of season six was very much Bojack's downward spiral, as his past caught up with his and flung him to the darkest territory that the show has ever tackled. As Bojack's life unraveled, the show forced us to see him as he really is, leaving every one of his sins out in the open. Naturally, it was an uncomfortable, suffocating watch, but it still found time to give Princess Carolyn her happy ending and deliver one of the best depictions of the writing process ever put to screen. It was classic Bojack: emotional and intelligent and brimming with life

But what made the last batch of episodes so monumentally great was how respectful they felt. Not necessarily to the characters, but to the show's carefully constructed tone. The show was never going to have a happy ending- that would be too easy- but too bleak of a finish would have betrayed the uneasy hope the show had built in Bojack over 69 episodes. The finale is uncertain but optimistic, very much keeping true to the tone the show had perfected over its run. It was beautiful, heartbreaking stuff that somehow still managed to be one of the funniest shows on TV. Will we ever see the likes of Bojack again? Maybe not, but it was nice while it lasted

1. Better Call Saul

It seems like such a long time ago, but back in 2015, Better Call Saul was this unlikely little spin-off that crept out of the legacy of one of the greatest shows of all time and came out pretty good in its own right. Five years later, Vince Gilligan's masterful extension of Breaking Bad is a) quite possibly the best show on TV right now and b) maybe even better than its drug-cooking older brother. This was the year the four-season slow burn paid off, where the eternally shifting dynamic between Jimmy and Kim clashed with the bloody, nightmarish underworld and exploded into something beautiful. Every time it looked like Gilligan had played his ace, he immediately followed up with something even better. Wexler vs. Goodman, Bagman and Bad Choice Road are three of the greatest hours of television in recent memory, but the genius of Saul lies in how it takes these standout chapters and makes them work in such glorious harmony. They're parts of a whole, but so much more as well: individual landmarks along a larger road to ruin

As always, the blend of humour and tragedy is perfect. One minute you're giggling at Jimmy's escalating pranks on the delightfully dickish Howard, the next you're deeply distressed by Kim's confrontation of the fearsome Lalo Salamanca. The show is a masterclass in tone, but the longer it goes on, the better Gilligan seems to become at layering the world of Jimmy McGill with pathos and meaning. Jimmy's relationship with Kim has become so central to the heart of the show, and Gilligan dangles our uncertainity of her fate over us, daring us to keep watching to find out what happens. Rhea Seehorn is incredible, giving the audience a perspective on a side of Jimmy that he doesn't even know he has. Gilligan puts their relationship to the test in this season but always teases more chaos to come. Everything in this season comes to a head in the last moment, a jaw-dropping ten second-long gesture that promises that, whatever happens next, it's not going to be good

Every episode cemented the legacy of both the show and its creator. Breaking Bad was already the quintessential modern American myth but Saul surpasses it with a depth of feeling that Walter White's cold sociopathy never allowed for. We love Jimmy enough to hate him every time he makes a wrong turn, and the show is actually more thrilling because we know where most of the cast end up. There's nothing on TV like Better Call Saul right now, a perfect add-on to a masterpiece that's a marvel in its own right. It's truly spectacular, and my favourite show of 2020