The 10 Best TV Shows Of 2023, Ranked

The best TV shows of 2023 have something odd in common: before they happened, most of them felt impossible. On paper, the idea of a complex and satirical retelling of Edgar Allan Poe's greatest hits sounds strange, as does a real-life "Truman Show" style reality experiment built around one of America's most tedious pastimes. Before this year, we had no reason to think that our favorite cable drama would blow up its entire premise three episodes into its final season, or that the TV adaptation of a near-perfect video game would in some ways prove better than the original.

TV can and should elicit all sorts of responses from viewers, but by virtue of its continuous format, it's especially well-equipped to leave us surprised. With seasons' worth of watercooler conversations under our belts, viewers become confident prognosticators sure we know exactly where our favorite shows are headed, but some of the best shows make an art form out of reminding us that life — and storytelling — is unpredictable. None of the stories on the list would have been told without the hard work of the writers and actors who struck for fair pay and treatment this year, in a twist we all should've seen coming.

While industry executives still publicly struggle to understand what connects with their audiences, TV writers clearly know. The shows on this list are surprising not just narratively and cinematically, but emotionally, too. They evoke deep reactions that I firmly believe could never be inspired by anything less than a real, flesh and blood cast and crew. These titles were handpicked from a list of over 100 series watched for consideration, and several of my absolute favorites just missed the cut. If you don't see your own favorite, rest assured knowing it could've been number 11.

The latest Netflix project from Mike Flanagan, the visionary behind "The Haunting of Hill House" and "Midnight Mass," is a loose adaptation of pretty much every Edgar Allan Poe story. Unlike Flanagan's more earnest projects, "Usher" possesses a wicked streak of dark humor and irony and a distinctly political fury. The show tells us exactly what it's going to do — document the methodical demise of the wealthy Usher family — and then does it. Yet the cast is so great, the scripts and design so decadent, and the details of the Ushers' deaths so creatively and hilariously disturbing that "Usher" manages to satisfy and set our teeth on edge at the same time. From feral housecats to acid-bathed orgies, "The Fall of the House of Usher" delivers some of the most memorable small-screen horror of the decade, and it does it all with a righteous sense of loathing for America's rotten capitalistic heart.

Another Netflix limited series, Lee Sung Jin's "Beef," tells its own bold and relentless story, this time about two people (Ali Wong and Steven Yeun) who grow increasingly obsessed with one another after meeting in a road rage incident. "Beef" continually ups the ante, careening its way towards a climax that can only be watched on the literal edge of one's seat. Formally inventive, fiercely acted, and unapologetically angry, "Beef" by now can't be recommended without a note about the controversy that surrounds it. A disturbing anecdote from castmate David Choe resurfaced this year, and cast and crews' late and lackluster response to the situation led to calls to boycott the series. In a vacuum, "Beef" is a great show, but in reality, it's tough to untangle from the Choe fiasco.

FX's "Reservation Dogs" bowed out this year on its own terms, ending with a third season that expanded its big-hearted world and proved that sometimes you can come home again. After season 2 ended with the titular Rez Dogs headed back to Oklahoma while Bear (D'Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai) charted his own course, the concluding chapter saw the Indigenous teens reaching towards the future. Sterlin Harjo and Taika Waititi's show has always had a lovely tendency to focus on small details, and this season, it captured the beauty and complexity of its world through subtle acts of intention and growth, and empathetic perspective shifts.

We see Bear, Elora (Devery Jacobs), Willie Jack (Paulina Alexis), and Cheese (Lane Factor) grow this season, but we also see the world through the eyes of Bear's mom, the spiritual figure Deer Woman, Elora's long-lost father, an alien-obsessed elder, and more. As one of the only shows ever made to date with a Native cast and crew, "Reservation Dogs" never shows the weight of its place in TV history, instead always looking towards specificity and the truth of its eccentric cast of characters. The show built its world carefully and says goodbye with just as much care. We'll miss these characters who always felt so alive, but it was a joy to watch them come of age.

Anticipation can be poisonous to a franchise adaptation, but years of hype did nothing to diminish the collective viewing experience for HBO's "The Last Of Us." That's because Neil Druckmann and Craig Mazin's adaptation of Druckmann's award-winning game is expansive in every way, growing beyond the borders of its source material like a blooming colony of cordyceps fungus. Episode 3, a stunning and surprising love story, is the season's oft-discussed crowning achievement, but the entire season takes an additive approach to its retelling, warming us up to Pedro Pascal's world-weary Joel, allowing Ellie's (Bella Ramsey) full self to flourish, and giving each supporting character their due.

In this post-apocalyptic story of a broken father and a naive kid forming a dangerous bond while on a shared mission, emotional connection is the real killer, even as it has the power to redeem us. Not all of us can imagine a zombie apocalypse, but it's easy to picture a world in which letting one's guard down or pushing past trauma can feel like a death in itself. Couple two vulnerable, subtle lead performances and clever script changes with cinematic visuals, impressive set and creature design, and a transporting soundtrack, and "The Last Of Us" is more than a video game success story — it's a prestige TV phenomenon.

The basic premise of Hulu's "Tiny Beautiful Things" sounds a little bit saccharine. The Kathryn Hahn-led comedy-drama follows a dysfunctional writer who copes with family issues by taking on an advice column called "Dear Sugar." But since Hahn's character, Clare, is based on powerhouse real-life writer Cheryl Strayed, "Tiny Beautiful Things" quickly evolves beyond its cute initial setup into something stunningly profound and achingly honest. Clare's tendency toward annihilation — in the form of alcohol, drugs, infidelity, and self-sabotage — started when her mother died, leaving her adrift and unattached to the world without her. As an adult, she works to get it together so her own teen daughter doesn't start following in her footsteps.

In flashback, the always-great Merritt Wever puts in one of the best performances of her career as Clare's wise, resilient mother, and as the show grows, her beloved memory travels like a current not just through Clare and her family's lives, but the lives of anyone who tunes into the series. With just eight half-hour episodes, "Tiny Beautiful Things" is a quick watch, but it's also a potentially life-changing one. The one-two punch of Strayed's incredible, insightful prose and Hahn's delicate yet frank performance will leave you laughing, crying, and (if you're able) reaching for the phone to call your own mom at the same time.

Greg Whiteley has mastered the art of the underdog story. With "Cheer" and "Last Chance U," the documentary filmmaker turned niche sports stories into everyman odysseys, taking the recipe that made "Friday Night Lights" one of the best shows on TV (grit + vulnerability + imperfection + realism + a near-fanatical obsession with the game) seemingly conjuring real-life analogs to the sports saga out of thin air. With Netflix's "Wrestlers," he turns his artistic gaze towards Ohio Valley Wrestling, a spectacle-filled entertainment company with a storied history that's on the verge of financial collapse when the cameras start rolling.

"Wrestlers" breaks down the emotional barriers between viewers and its core cast quickly, letting us into the complex worlds of the people who wrestle for OVW, the staff who keep the company running, and the new outside investor with a strong vision for how the company should be run. Childhood trauma, outsider status, insecurity (financial and otherwise), and a whole lot of rage all work themselves out in the ring as this league of actors scrap their way through a pivotal summer tour. Gorgeous cinematography, real blood, sweat, and tears, and no-holds-barred interviews all make "Wrestlers" great, but Whiteley's incredible flair for documentary storytelling makes it one of the best human dramas of the year.

How do you tell a story about a travesty that impacted millions of people and make it feel personal and real? In the case of "A Small Light," a National Geographic production which is now on Hulu and Disney+, the answer is by focusing on just eight of them. This remarkable drama miniseries (which at times veers into pure thriller territory) expands upon the true life story of Miep Gies, the spice company secretary who helped hide eight Jewish friends and neighbors, including Anne Frank, in the Netherlands during World War II.

"A Small Light" sounds heavy, and it certainly treats its history seriously, but the show's brilliance comes from a surprising source of light: Miep herself. As played by Bel Powley, Miep is a stubborn, brash, brave woman with absolutely no filter — a reminder that the tragic figures who are often studied in black-and-white photos came of age at the same time as our favorite screwball heroines. Viewers are initially thrust into her world at a time when the threat of Nazism feels distant and unlikely to Miep, and "A Small Light" communicates the horrifying realities of World War II in realistically incremental doses. The series would be a triumph even if it just worked to ground viewers' understanding of history with relationships that feel vibrant and modern, but "A Small Light" is also well-cast, pristinely designed, fantastically impactful, and genuinely inspiring.

"Justified: City Primeval" has no business being as good as it is. As a show about a reluctant, gunslinging lawman outsmarting racist hillbillies, organized crime bosses, and a revolving door of memorable baddies, the original run of "Justified" already sounds like a relic of a previous era. Yet somehow not only did FX revive the excellent Elmore Leonard-inspired series, but showrunners Dave Andron and Michael Dinner brought it back with a decades' worth of cultural changes on its mind — and a light enough touch to pull off its conversations about race and power remarkably well.

Despite its ambitious relocation to Detroit, "Justified: City Primeval" feels like it's picking up where it left off. Deputy U.S. Marshall Raylan Givens, played with a deeply satisfying sense of soul and swagger by Timothy Olyphant, is still working out his unspoken daddy issues while raising a daughter of his own, still toeing the line between above-board cop and rule-bending vigilante, and still developing unhealthy fixations on criminals he can't catch. Aunjanue Ellis and Boyd Holbrook are as captivating as Olyphant (this show has always let its supporting players shine), but it's the series' eleventh-hour callbacks and pitch-perfect ironic ending that elevate the neo-western revival to all-time-great status. So ... when's the next season?

No TV show from 2023 goes down quite as smooth as Peacock's "Poker Face." Rian Johnson's modern answer to "Columbo" is a freewheeling, endlessly watchable delight anchored by what may be Natasha Lyonne's best performance to date. Lyonne's Charlie Cale has a knack for knowing when someone's lying, and that preternatural talent allows her to thrive in the uncanny world she's thrust into — which just so happens to involve a new murder in a new location every week. The show makes the satisfying structural choice to begin with the death of its victim of the week before backtracking to reveal the circumstances around the person's death and their relationship with drifter Charlie.

With just one season under its belt, "Poker Face" has already built up a comfortable routine, one it bolsters with a wide-ranging slate of incredible guest stars (Nick Nolte! Chloe Sevigny! Charles Melton!) and a savvy sense of the American landscape and spirit. Despite the surreal body count that follows Charlie around, there's a pleasant hum to the road-tripping mystery series, as if at any moment it might just become a travel show about Lyonne asking each person she meets to explain their life story. By season's end, it's easy to see how the show could carry on for years to come, ambling at its own pace and delivering eclectic murder mysteries that always wrap up by hour's end. Don't tell the "Knives Out" and "The Last Jedi" fans, but I think this might be the best thing Johnson's ever done.

"Jury Duty" should not have worked. From an ethical standpoint, this reality-comedy hybrid show about a normal man (Ronald Gladden) being put through a "Truman Show" style scenario in which the entire world around him was fake probably shouldn't have even happened. But the fact that the plan did work makes the Freevee series into something of a small screen miracle. Dozens of actors and crew members worked tirelessly around the clock to bring the world's weirdest jury duty experience to life. Comedians and actors (including James Marsden, who played an insufferable version of himself) improv'd for days on end, blurring the line between themselves and their characters. And in the midst of it all, Ronald, a hilarious golden retriever of a man, remained friendly throughout more awkward and inexplicable social interactions than most people face in a lifetime.

A singular social experiment, "Jury Duty" works as a novelty, but also simply as a surprisingly warm-hearted comedy. Whether Marsden is preparing for a role in the fake awards bait movie "Lone Pine," Ron is showing Juror #2 (David Brown) the movie "A Bug's Life" to inspire him, or Juror #9 (Ron Song) is losing $2000 to Ron while playing a board game he never fully explained, every scene of "Jury Duty" is packed with ridiculous, creative humor that works in part because of the element of reality. In many ways, "Jury Duty" functions as an anti-reality show: it breaks down the artifice between filmmaker and audience, but it also looks for the best in its subjects and cast — and finds it.

No show on television took more medium-defining risks this year — or pulled more of them off — than HBO's "Succession." Every second of Jesse Armstrong's operatic, satirical, deeply tragic look at the wealthy Roy family felt ambitious and unexpected. After a third season that kept hateful siblings Kendall (Jeremy Strong), Connor (Alan Ruck), Shiv (Sarah Snook), and Roman (Kieran Culkin) mostly in a holding pattern, the final stretch of episodes quickly threw a grenade into its story arc by killing off even-more-hateful patriarch Logan (Brian Cox) just three episodes into the season.

With its withholding perspective and 30-minute centerpiece scene, "Connor's Wedding" is by far the most inventive and impressive hour of TV released this year, but it's also just the beginning. After Logan's death, the show kept pushing itself in unlikely and often purposefully unpleasant directions, reuniting and then imploding a key couple, turning the series' climax into a horrifyingly clear-eyed look at the 2020 U.S. Presidential election, and finishing off with a death blow to the psyche of heir apparent Kendall.

"Succession" has always been a ruthless and clever actors' showcase, but its final season will also be remembered for its brilliant, defiant inventiveness — and its incredible ability to reap the narrative seeds it planted in offhand comments and vague allusions across its entire remarkable 39-episode run. In this amazing and cruel game of CEOs, even the viewers don't come away unscathed.

This ranking was created through a combination of independent research and expert opinion. We compiled all relevant data, studied/watched all relevant material, and used our best professional judgment to determine the order of the list. The final order was determined by examining the larger cultural ramifications of each entry, as well as our take on the material, as determined by the past year of our work and analysis at /Film.