My Problem With Wandavision

So the first of Marvel's TV outings has come and gone and it was... fine. It's funny, for as much as I've talked about the MCU on here, I've never really addressed how I feel about it as a whole entity. Honestly, I think it's okay. It's got some tremendous heights, and some pretty frustrating lows, and the longer it goes on, the more my issues with it are becoming magnified. At the same time, that's creating a greater level of investment in the MCU entries I do love- Guardians of the Galaxy 2 is an eternal comfort film of mine- and I think these two sentiments have collided with each other and evened out to create a total balance of adequacy. Post-Endgame, I've been waiting for something of a confirmation. After such a complete chapter of highs and lows that set records and hit unparalled levels of spectacle, I've found myself in need of a sign that Kevin Feige and his team are genuine storytellers and aren't just creating products in an assembly line so you'll hand over your hard earned green and keep the machine churning. So it's safe to say I had fairly high hopes for the lineup of shows that would start phase 4

So when Wandavision began, I was really, really happy with it. I should say up top that, despite the title of this post, I actually think Wandavision is a good show overall. The first six or so episodes are great, using the sitcom aesthetic to build a genuinely engaging mystery, and tease something larger with aplomb. I also really enjoyed the weekly release and the drip feed of information, and I'm especially happy to see that in this age of streaming and instant access. The show has some real surprises and uses them well, and I think it's only fair that I go ahead and say that what you're about to read is full of spoilers. If you haven't seen Wandavision, I'd definitely recommend it for an uneven but overall fairly enjoyable romp through a world of magic, mystery and laugh tracks. I give it 7/10 distraught witches

So what exactly is my problem? Well, bizarrely, my biggest issue with this installment of the MCU is exactly that: it's a standard installment of the franchise. And that wouldn't be an issue- I generally think their formula works really well- if the show hadn't put so much effort into convincing the audience that it was something different. Right from the start, the sitcom thing feels genuine. It's not just a gimmick that the show is using, it's an integral part of Wandavision's story. And the show does gradually indicate that it's only trying this style on for size and will outgrow it eventually but it also succeeds at making us invest in it, in using references and techniques unique to each of the sitcoms it's homaging. It's fun, charming and massively engaging

That's done so well that even as the show eases its way back into the real world and the scientists on the other side of the Hex, it doesn't feel jarring. It moves relatively naturally, until episode 7, where Agatha is revealed as the villain and the show really starts to sour. Suddenly, everything that made it interesting has a definite and concrete explanation, and most of the intrigue has gone out of the show before it's even reached its finale. The penultimate episode feels like an insult, a handheld tour through the selective backstory of Wanda Maximoff with some half-baked explanation of the sitcom gimmick thrown in for good measure. It's so jarring that what is made out to be such a key character trait is integrated this late into the characters' larger story, and it really lets the air out of Wandavision when it should be lining up its finishing blow

And just in case it seemed like the sitcom homages of the first episode were organic and effective, the show outwardly tells the audience that it was all just a cheap trick. Agatha's line about playing pretend feels like such an insult, a moment where the MCU imitated some big shift in how they tell their stories before delivering the big, neat climax they always do. And that wouldn't be a problem if Wanadavision was honest about what it was going to be but the show tries to have it both ways. I mean this is a show that people were celebrating for its surrealism and all-out approach to its subject matter, and while I can't say I ever thought it was some experimental masterpiece, it did sustain this intriguing remix of superhero stories long enough for me to think it was genuinely interested in trying something different

And speaking of superhero remixes, how about that fake brother? Look, I'm not sure I'm invested enough in either universe to say that the casting of Evan Peters had me champing at the bit for the X-Men to join the MCU, but at the very least I was expecting something better than this. Imagine wasting such a knowing bit of casting, one that deliberately, joyfully fuels a thousand fan theories before culminating in what is essentially a dick joke. I didn't need Wandavision to confirm any theories or even address the multiverse, but that kind of deliberately invoked disappointment really does sting. It's not the first time Marvel's done this kind of practical joke, but because of the nature of the medium and the knowing way they teased at a seemingly limitless array of answers, it doesn't work half as well as the Mandarin reveal in Iron Man 3. Instead, it feels a lot like the sudden shedding of the show's aesthetic, trying something new on for size before ditching it to serve the tried and true formula

Again, I didn't need Wandavision to be the show that changed the universe. It didn't have to confirm any theories or even connect to anything we'd seen before or would see in one of Marvel's 56 planned projects. It just had to assure me that Marvel was moving on from what they got so right in the Infinity saga, that everything post-Endgame would feel like the start of something new instead of a re-treading of old ground and a repeat of past frustrations. It doesn't hurt so much because they failed at the end, but because they succeeded immediately, getting it right before dropping the ball in a way that just feels so insulting. I know it sounds like I hated the show but I really loved those first six chapters, and they really hit the mark in terms of what I needed the show to be. But that home stretch just became a slog to watch, progressively running out of steam before slowing to a stop, finally reaching a neat and safe conclusion that tries so hard to be inoffensive and marketable that it ends up going the other way entirely. I'm going to watch the other shows for sure, but I can't say that Wandavision felt like the best start for the MCU's conquest of the small screen

Why I Don't Hate Season 8 of Game of Thrones

Game of Thrones is one of the most significant pieces of media of the last decade. It marked new possibilities as far as scale and production values were concerned and continued to provide the watercooler experience that streaming was increasingly denying audiences right up until the end of its run. I think the most important thing Game of Thrones did towards the end was open up a conversation about fan expectations. When David Benioff and D.B. Weiss started to go off-book after season 4, the show notably began to decline in terms of what people were getting out of it. Season 5 was fine but often felt like a slog with the overlong Dorne plot and tiresome use of rape as plot progression, but by season 6, it seemed like the showrunners had much more of a handle on things. Episodes like The Door and The Broken Man were able to draw so much emotion out of big character moments, and the one-two-punch of The Battle of the Bastards and The Winds of Winter felt unparalleled in terms of anything Thrones had done before. And then the last two seasons happened.

Season 7 wasn't bad, but it was short, and often felt like it was compressing ten episodes worth of information into its fairly restricting seven chapters. But let's talk about the elephant in the room: season 8. You've probably read the title by now and I should say up top that I don't think season 8 is perfect. This isn't me telling you how wrong you are or blaming fans for having expectations; I just think so much has been written about where this season went wrong that honestly I think it's time to celebrate what it nailed. The eight season started a really interesting discussion about potential vs. payoff that I think is really fascinating, and along the way it delivered some of the most contentious story beats the show ever saw. But for all of the genuine, absolutely valid issues people have with GOT 8, I have a hard time hating it. In fact, I actually quite like it for the most part. Let's get into why.

I guess I should lay some groundwork, and take this opportunity to say that this post features heavy, frequent spoilers. Just in case you don't know anything about the show or its ending, now's your chance to make like Theon at the end of Stormborn and jump ship. With that out of the way, let's dive in. Season 8 is the culmination of a show who's writers literally came up with half of the story themselves after faithfully adapting the books for four seasons. That's always going to run the risk of being messy, and the detractors of the final season raise some good points. The show butchers the arcs of several characters, from Jaime's nonsensical decision to go back to Cersei to Daenerys going full Mad Queen at the last minute. Winter feels like a slight anticlimax and Cersei is totally undone as a threatening antagonist. Those are the genuine misteps the show makes, and I think they all come down to the shorter length. There just isn't room in six episodes to fit in all of the plot beats the show needs to have a perfect ending. And yet, for six episodes, they could have done a hell of a lot worse.

If you look at most of the problems in this season, they're mainly in the second half. It feels compressed and awkward, especially unfortunate for a show that took its time in establishing a larger world and the forces at play within it. And although the threat of Winter felt cut short, those first three episodes are damn strong taken on their own. Winterfell is a solid reintroduction, the show's final piecemover episode that really doesn't do a bad job at getting these characters where they need to be, even if it does retcon the Greyjoy plot. But the two episodes that follow it are, for me, the season's crown jewel, and genuinely rank among some of the best stuff Game of Thrones has done. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is masterful, reminding you how much you care about the characters while giving each of them a moment to breath before they face death. It's a glorious hour of television that, regardless of what comes after it, does a great job of building anticipation and reminding you why you cared in the first place. It's light on action but if you've made it this far there's absolutely going to be something for you here.

And then there's The Long Night. Dark lighting aside, it's actually a really strong battle episode. Yeah, some of the decisions feel slightly random (Arya killing the Night King in particular could have been set up better), but it still feels like the huge midseason confrontation the show needed. Watching this episode again, the action itself is thrilling and well put together, making great use of location, especially when the characters are dodging and ducking around the halls of Winterfell. Far from hollow spectacle, the action rings true because it respects the connection you've built with these characters over seven seasons. Is it a slightly neat conclusion to such a huge threat? Maybe, but it's such an effective way of bridging together everything that made the show engaging that, despite the fact that it's admittedly too dark, it still has its moments of genuine satisfaction that outweigh every strange decision

And although the two episodes after it drop the ball, they're far from awful. The Last of the Starks has some lovely character moments and a genuinely effective ending, while The Bells compensates for its lapses in logic with great action and effective (if slightly unearned) shocks. The Bells is by far the weakest episode of the season but I still think it delivers some of the best acting the show has seen, and some massive scrapes that channel what Thrones does at its best. The Last Watch especially made me appreciate the level of work that went into every moment of this season, and even at its worst, I can't bring myself to hate it, because so much of that effort paid off

Even the ending feels right. I don't agree with every decision- especially not Bran winning the Throne- but it feels right for a show that was built on denying people what they wanted. It lacked the level of lethality of previous seasons but GOT has always been unpredictable and unflinching in how it subverted expectations. Dany's demise- unlike her sudden descent into evil- feels earned and set-up well within the episode it happens in. The show keeps the focus on the politics of Westeros right up until the last minute, and if it doesn't always work, it's hard to say any of it feels wrong. It's just crazy how quick people were to dismiss it when it's mildly disappointing at worst. At its best, it still feels on brand for Thrones, and those last few character moments leave so much to stew on. It really feels like the story will continue beyond the show, from Jon's journey to the North to the new Small Council having their awkward first meeting. For a show so big, it always knew when to skew smaller

So yeah, I don't hate the eighth season of Game of Thrones. It's not perfect, and I have my problems with it, but so much has been made of what this installment did wrong that I think that its virtues have gotten lost in the blur. It just seemed like such a kneejerk reaction where the disappointment people felt towards certain decisions clouded their opinion on the show as a whole, including everything before the last season. Ultimately, I think that time will be kind Game of Thrones, especially as people revisit the show in years to come and accept the ending as part of the journey. Will I always defend this last season so passionately? Ask me again in 10 years

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 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

Top 10 Episodes of 2020

 I'm going to be doing a list of my favourite shows of the year in a little while, but before that, I thought I'd give a quick shoutout to the best individual episodes that aired in 2020. It's been such a strong year for TV, and there's been so many standout hours and half hours. This is going to be slightly more informal than some of my other posts: I'm just a guy, standing in front of whoever's reading this, asking you to enjoy this list of favourite episodes. I think it goes without saying that this is all my opinion, and that I haven't seen everything, so if I leave something out or you don't agree with one of my picks.... well now you know. With that out of the way, here are some of my honourable mentions:

Episode 5 (Devs)

Between You and Me (Dead to Me)

Middle Game (The Queen's Gambit)

Horrority House (Big Mouth)

The Thomas Thorne Affair (Ghosts)

Episode 3101 (Kidding)

The Stakeout (Inside No. 9)

Episode 7 (Sex Education)

Episode 10 (Normal People)

Warning: from here on out, there's spoilers about

10. On the Run (What We Do in the Shadows)

Confronted by a face from his past, Laszlo is forced to flee to Pennsylvania, where he assumes a new identity and takes over a bar. There, he's Jackie Daytona, a regular human bartender and a pillar of the local community. This episode is everything I love about What We Do in the Shadows. It's a simple gag taken as far as possible, getting sillier and sillier before ending on an ace final joke. Matt Berry's always been one of the consistently funny things on the show and he's at his best here, relishing every minute of Laszlso's cunning deception. I'm just in constant awe of how funny this show is. Especially in this season, the grasp on the characters is so strong, and putting them in situations like this is a testament to how well they work. Giving Berry an episode to himself to just stretch his tendrils and deliver some classic Laszlo antics was a great decision, and Jackie Daytona is one of the show's greatest creations. It was the funniest episode of the year for me, one that revealed a simple truth: with a toothpick and a pair of jeans, anyone can turn invisible

9. Zoey's Extraordinary Glitch (Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist)

Because it's working with such a solid high concept, it didn't take long for Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist to get into a (ahem) groove. Every episode up to this saw Zoey hear someone's thoughts, try to fix them, fail, and then figure out what was really going on before a heartwarming final musical number. It works really well, and the show quickly eased into a musical-scrape-of-the week formula that it was comfortable with. But screw comfortable, because the eighth episode reversed it entirely to showstopping, heartbreaking effect. With stress mounting and bad news imminent, Zoey's powers short out and leave her singing her own inner feelings out loud. For an episode that delves into some weighty topics, it's a surprisingly fun time, and most of that comes from Jane Levy's wonderful performance. Even though the episode signals the darkness to come, she revels in the huge, intricate musical numbers. It's a reminder that, although the concept is well established at this point, the board's not set just yet. Life is full of surprises, and TV is too

8. Are You From Pinner? (Killing Eve)

2020 was the year I stopped caring about Killing Eve. I'm not happy to admit that, because that first season was near perfect, and the second had its moments, too. But the third season's fifth episode was an unexpected gem, on-par with anything the season one gave us. Did we need to see Villanelle's family? Probably not, but by taking her out of the narrative for a bit, the show reminds us why she was such a great character to begin with. Its slow pace was crucial: it gave the show time to breath, and to enjoy its quirkier moments. Jodie Comer is great as ever, bringing disarming amounts of warmth to Villanelle that the show rarely gets to deliver outside of her relationship with Eve. Shoutout to her family too. They're all great characters, and by switching up the cast, the show finds something new in the plot, something that had been missing up to this point. Is it a shame that the show loses that mojo in the next episode? Yes. Is it disappointing that it was the only great installment this year? Also yes, but what an episode it was. Sometimes a change of pace is just what the uh, killer ordered

7. Episode 5 (Gangs of London)

If Gangs of London's greatest strength is the scalp-scorching action sequences, then its fifth episode absolutely plays into that. I actually think it might be the best action film of the year, and the closest we've gotten to The Raid 3 this side of The Night Comes For Us. It's a tense, roaring bit of chaos from the start, as Welsh thug Darren desperately tries to survive an onslaught of Danish mercenaries. Like the best of Gareth Evans' work, the storytelling is economic and fits perfectly around the action sequences. Every scrap tells a story in this episode, and it serves as the turning point in the huge, intricate narrative that makes Gangs such an engrossing watch. Everything before it felt like a warm up, and everything that follows feels like its aftermath. What's most impressive about it is that it manages to create a breathless, immersive rollercoaster ride that doesn't even feature any of the show's main characters. And when the dust settles, the episode feels like a dark reminder that, to quote Westworld, these violent delights have violent ends

6. Coven of the Damned (Primal)

 So much of Primal is about trauma. In a wordless story, the characters are left to communicate through their pain; they express it themselves but also recognise it in others, and it's in this common ground where the show delivers its greatest moments. At this point, we know that Spear and Fang have an unbreakable bond forged in loss. It's what keeps them going in a cruel, uncaring world where everything is out to kill them. But when confronted with a group of witches and left utterly defeated, hope comes from the most unexpected place. I love this episode for a few reasons, like how it conveys so much emotion just through its visuals. That's a Tartakovsky trademark going all the way back to Samurai Jack, but he's really honed it in Primal. Every episode is a stunning piece of animation but what makes this one work is that it expands the world of the story past Fang and Spear. A Cold Death is another episode that reminds the viewer that nothing is black and white and empathy can always be found, but what makes Coven so great is its perspective. Lula the witch sees herself in the two main characters in the same way they saw themselves in each other, and that's why she saves them. In a violent, uncaring world, all we've got is each other, and that's at the heart of Coven of the Damned, and what makes it stand out from the rest of Primal's incredible first season

5. The Altar of the Dead (The Haunting of Bly Manor)

One thing I love about Mike Flanagan is how the changes he makes in adapting a text always feels thematically true. From the start, there had always been something about Hannah Grose that felt kind of.... off. Cue the fifth episode, a heartbreaking, non-linear and almost self-contained ghost story that was surprising in all the best ways. It was an episode that served the show's ideas rather than the plot and was stronger for it. Here, a ghost is an expression of grief, an act of love and an articulation of terror, and the episode evokes all three simultaneously. It's an immensely moving hour of television that uses the medium's strengths to its advantage, playing a little more abstract to tease out some heavy existential poetry. It's properly scary, wildly intelligent and deeply sad: everything great about Flanagan condensed into a perfect hour of horror storytelling. It's truly wonderful, and the jewel in the crown of Bly Manor

4. Whenever You're Ready (The Good Place)

How do you end a show that's already taken on Hell, time loops, infinite voids and the existential nightmare of being in Florida? If you had asked me how I thought the last episode of The Good Place would end, I'm not sure I would have known how to answer. It's a show that regularly reinvented its whole premise and kept things fresh every time. Instead of providing a definite, conclusive end to the story, The Good Place let every character go out on their own terms, giving each of them their own perfect ending. For Jason and Chidi, that was reaching fulfillment, while Tahani and Michael embarked on new adventures. As for Eleanor? She made her exit in a way that perfectly encapsulates what the show was about in the first place and finds peace by helping the people that matter most. It was a real victory lap for The Good Place, putting a bow on one of the century's greatest pieces of comedy. It was the end we wanted and the one we needed

3. Strange Case (Lovecraft Country)

I considered so many episodes of Lovecraft Country for this list (see also: Sundown, I Am, Meet Me in Daegu, Holy Ghost and Jig-a-Bobo), but eventually I settled on Strange Case, one of the most thought-provoking episodes of TV I've seen in ages. Basically, Ruby is given the ability to turn into a white woman at will. What follows is a sharp, fiendishly intelligent and wickedly entertaining commentary on privilege. Her power starts as a gift but ultimately becomes something more: a responsibility. She starts using it for good, righting wrongs in a way that the world prevented her from doing previously. If Lovecraft Country's horror was drawn from the hideous, sinful racism of America's past, then Strange Case (and most of the show in general) is about reclaiming it and using it to forge a better future. The episode also features some cracking body horror, surreal and gory and full of meaning. The show just knows how to translate its ideas visually in the most impactful way possible. In a year where America was more chaotic and divided than ever, Lovecraft Country sought to articulate every one of those fears, and in Strange Case, it hit its absolute peak

2. Bagman (Better Call Saul)

As Better Call Saul catches up with Breaking Bad, the line between Jimmy McGill and Saul Goodman is gradually disappearing. In the fourth season finale, Saul took over and became the dominant personality, and as season five went on, Jimmy died a little more with every episode: every time the world took a chunk out of Jimmy McGill, a piece of Saul grew back in its place. Bagman is the moment where the process speeds up. If the whole show is a battle between two personalities, then this is the chapter where Jimmy loses himself in a desert hell and walks out 100% Saul. It's a true epic that takes Jimmy out of his natural environment to be born anew. What gets it this high on the list, though, is how it marks a turning point in Jimmy's relationship with Mike. Their dynamic has consistently been one of the best parts of the show but with nothing to rely on except for each other, Vince Gilligan forces them into a situation that leaves them forever changed. Speaking of Gilligan, the episode feels like such a labour of love, and you can sense the blood sweat and tears that have gone into making it. It really paid off, not just as one of the best episodes of Better Call Saul, but as one of the highpoints of Gilligan's career

1. The View From Halfway Down (Bojack Horseman)

Bojack Horseman's penultimate episode was such a punch in the gut, not because it introduced something new, but because it used something that was in front of the audience the whole time to devastating effect. Every episode starts with that intro sequence: Bojack gliding through his life, the people around him flit in and out, he plummets into his pool and the episode begins. The View From Halfway Down uses that image, capturing the chaotic fantasies churning in Bojack's brain as he drowns. It's the darkest moment in the whole series, the absolute rock bottom that Bojack's threatened to reach since episode one. And yet, it's deeply, deeply beautiful. Surrounded by everyone he's lost along the way and confronted with performed reenactments of his past mistakes, Bojack finds himself immersed in the void, so deep that escape is impossible. It's sad, and funny and experimental: everything that makes the show great. Nice While it Lasted gets an honourable mention for evening things out again, but in the show's darkest hour, Raphael Bob-Waksberg and his team find something eerily magical. Watching it for the first time was an experience I'll never forget, the absolute creative peak of one of my favourite shows of all time. There can be no doubt about it- this was my favourite episode of 2020