The Best TV Shows Of 2021

Word of mouth made this French comic-drama a binge sensation outside of France at the end of 2020, when Christmas was all but cancelled and we were chained to our televisions. This show was better than Christmas, though. Set in the backstabbing, back-biting world of a film and TV talent agency, it expertly balanced supreme character drama with on-set squabbling and A-list cameos. The fourth – and supposedly final – series, featuring Sigourney Weaver and Jean Reno, was as funny as ever, and an absolute heartbreak: it is testament to the quality of the show that you care so much about a bunch of talent agents and their industry machinations, which by this point had become positively Machiavellian. It was also a masterclass on how to finish a show, with things coming to a very finite, bittersweet end. Or did they? Such was the series' popularity that within months of that finale, a fifth season and film were announced, which leaves us with mixed feelings. You don't want a good thing ruined. But we just miss these people so much. Call My Agent is as good as it gets. AG

The romcom can sometimes feel tired, cheesy, or even cynical. But a romcom done right? There's really nothing better. Kiwi comic Rose Matafeo's BBC series was a six episode injection of pure delight, charting the one night stand and growing feelings between famous actor Tom Kapoor (Nikesh Patel) and, as best friend Kate (Emma Sidi) calls her, "little rat nobody" Jessie (Matafeo). The writing is hilarious and heartfelt throughout, Matafeo elevating the tropey notions of the 'hot mess' and the 'normie falls for a famous person' to something altogether more authentic and refreshing. There are ups, there are downs; there's a hilarious moment where Jessie gets mistaken for Tom's cleaner when she leaves his apartment. There's a 500 Days Of Summer-esque sequence where Jessie dances with freshly-laid glee through a crowd to the soundtrack of 'Return Of The Mack'. There's a stunning sequined dress. And there's a quietly brilliant finale that will leave you giddy with anticipation for the confirmed second season. SB

There are many reasons for Cobra Kai's success, but they're all about one thing: love. Sequels are often cynical, exploitative endeavours, but the Cobra Kai creators – Josh Heald, Hayden Schlossberg and Jon Hurwitz – made the show out of undying adoration for the original Karate Kid films. The original cast – including Ralph Macchio as a hotheaded but gentle Daniel Larusso, and William Zabka, so brilliantly nuanced as a furtive, fragile Johnny Lawrence – clearly care deeply for their characters, while the new breed of kids are sensitively drawn and cast. Season three, Emmy-nominated for Outstanding Comedy Series, was the best yet: with Miguel (Xolo Maridueña) in a wheelchair after being thrown off a staircase, it featured heartbreak and shockwaves, as allegiances shifted and reality bit, the fractured family dynamics reaching an operatic crescendo. Let alone the return of Elisabeth Shue's Ali and Okinawa's Kumiko (Tamlyn Tomita) and Chozen (Yuji Okumoto), all perfectly pitched. It's a miracle of a show which hasn't put a foot – or, indeed, a crane-kick – wrong yet. AGRead the Empire review of Cobra Kai Season 3.

There is a raw and joyful chemistry that ricochets between the cast of We Are Lady Parts, an invigorating comedy series from creator Nida Manzoor. Our protagonist is Amina (Anjana Vasan), a PhD student and talented folk guitarist, who falls in with an all-girl Muslim punk band in spite of a debilitating fear of performing in public. Manzoor wrote the show's original songs – Basheer With The Good Beard is a setlist highlight – with her siblings, and the breakout cast learned to play as a real band, all of which translates into a giddy and guttural series of performances that bottle the spirit of live punk music while packing some serious emotional punches. The casting is flawless; Vasan is charming with a note-perfect comedic presence, while Sarah Kameela Impey, Faith Omole, Lucie Shorthouse and Juliette Motamed all bring boundless and infectious energy to one of the year's most exciting debuts. BW

One of Netflix's biggest, most beloved shows returned for a third series, delivering a batch of episodes more sex-positive and boundary-pushing than ever. Sex Education continues to explore underrepresented facets of gender and sexuality in incredibly sensitive and compelling ways – like how new non-binary character Cal (Dua Saleh) and Jackson (Kedar Williams-Stirling) explore the queerness of their relationship, or a love scene between Isaac (George Robinson) and Maeve (Emma Mackey) that feels truly momentous in its depiction of intimacy involving a disabled person. There's no weak link in this expanding ensemble cast, every storyline as engrossing and emotional as the next, and the show always finds the perfect balance between comedy and drama as well as education and entertainment. The stylised world of Moordale is, quite simply, a wonderful place to spend time. SBRead the Empire review of Sex Education Season 3.

The enduring friendship of The Martins (Steve and Short) continues to bear glorious creative fruit as they head into their seventies. Their latest collaboration may even be their best yet, a delightfully odd comedy-drama in which the dynamic duo come together and stop bickering long enough to solve a murder in their lavish New York apartment building. By now, Martin (who co-created) and Short could do this stuff in their sleep — Martin is uptight and fastidious; Short a freewheeling, flamboyant loose cannon — but thankfully both men are wide awake, and perhaps energised by the deadpan, needling, and youthful presence of Selena Gomez as a fellow true crime podcast nut who becomes the final member of this unofficial Three Amigos triangle. Quirky, and often very, very funny, it's also tempered by moments of unexpected emotion as we probe deeper into the characters than a movie might allow. We only wish we hadn't guessed the murderer by episode five. Still, a second season is on its way, and we can't wait to drink more of this particular bottle of the last of the summer wine. CH

Even Hari Seldon's psychohistory couldn't have predicted that, when David Goyer went to Apple and pitched an 80 hour adaptation of Isaac Asimov's ludicrously dense Foundation, he would not only get the go-ahead, but knock it completely out the park. Goyer took the sci-fi opus' thousand-year narrative — deep on ideas, shallow on character — and dialled up the human aspects. Using a variety of narrative tricks to expand their roles, he brought the book's assortment of maths nerds and emperors (the latter gloriously reimagined as the triumvirate of Lee Pace, Cassian Bilton, and Terrence Mann) to life in a way they never had been on the page. Ambitious, thought-provoking, and only occasionally baffling, Foundation is a beautifully-produced adaptation of something that couldn't be adapted — a show that reaches for the stars in every sense. JDRead the Empire review of Foundation.

The jewel in the crown of ITV drama, Chris Lang's Unforgotten is also one of the low-key best series on television. The anti-Line Of Duty, it's a series not reliant on gunplay or Reg-15 notices for high drama, relying instead on the meticulous, methodical unravelling of a single cold case, played out with forensic attention to detail. Nicola Walker's DCI Cassie Stuart and Sanjeev Bhaskar's DI Sunny Khan walked into a tangled web of lies and betrayal from former and serving police officers in this fourth (but not final!) series. Having returned from a leave of absence after the events of Series 3 and dealing with her father's advancing dementia, Cassie's own demons threatened to pull her down with every episode, before it all culminated in an emotional punch that still has us reeling. Beautifully written (Walker's near-to-tears victim monologues having long been series high-points) and with a pair of thunderous performances from the series leads, this was an unforgettable instalment of an unmissable show. JD

None of us are all saint; none of us are all sinner. Jimmy McGovern's three-part series illustrates that in gripping fashion, following two men — fresh-to-prison convict Mark (Sean Bean) and veteran warden Eric (Stephen Graham) — as they navigate crises on either side of the bars. Both actors are on terrific form, Bean finding shades in a gentle man forced to toughen up to survive in a brutal new environment, Graham making us care for an upright screw being made to compromise his values. Whether sharing scenes together or facing situations alone (Mark's day-trip release from prison is a series highlight), they're gripping throughout – and so is the series, finding humanity in an inhuman system. NDS

With over 12.8 million people gazing slack-jawed at the finale, Series 6 of Jed Mercurio's hyper-addictive cop thriller cemented its status as the most-watched drama on British telly, and it's not hard to see why. Convoys ambushed, London streets shredded by gunfire, police officers assassinated — it was all part of the 9 to 5 for Ted Hastings and AC-12 this time around. Kelly Macdonald proved herself one of the most compelling guest stars to date as DCI Joanne Davidson, and as the overarching conspiracy began to finally crack open — via a series of howl-at-the-screen rug-pulls and switch-outs — nothing was as it seemed. This latest (and possibly last!) Line Of Duty boasted an all-new series of baffling police acronyms (hands-up if you spent half of episode one frantically Googling 'CHIS'), and rolled out the series' most show-stopping action to date, while drawing together threads that went as far back as series one (enter PC Ryan Pilkingon). The resolution might not have been to everyone's tastes, but Jesus, Mary and Joseph and the wee donkey if this wasn't a resonant, heart-pounding instalment of the most exciting cop show around. JDRead the Empire review of Line Of Duty Season 6.

Tom Hiddleston's God of Mischief was always one of the Marvel Cinematic Universe's greatest assets: as cacklingly malevolent as he was fascinatingly insecure. So it seems only right that his first solo outing would prove to be among the MCU's best small screen offerings. With a Whovian sense of time — the story freewheelingly jumps between ancient history and the end of all things — director Kate Herron and head writer Michael Waldron found vast sci-fi ambition in some retro bureaucratic stylings, the addition of the seemingly all-powerful Time Variance Authority reshaping the universe beyond all recognition (they keep their Infinity Stones rattling around in a drawer!). The finale, meanwhile, was a boldly understated affair that left more questions than answers, set up a key character for the wider universe, and teased a second season, the first MCU show to get a sophomore hit. Loki, it seems, is burdened with more glorious purpose than even he thought possible. JNRead the Empire review of Loki.

In 2016, Barry Jenkins made a movie masterpiece in Moonlight; in 2021 he pulled off the same trick on TV with The Underground Railroad. The plot is simple — two slaves, Cora (Thuso Mbedu, terrific) and Caesar (Aaron Pierre), escape their plantation using a (fictitious) underground railroad to try and find sanctuary — but Jenkins' approach is radical, rejecting the tired staples of antebellum narratives by never reducing Black Trauma to spectacle, by filling his tale with joy, laughter and love, then telling it all through a lens of hallucinatory magical realism (take a bow cinematographer James Laxton, composer Nicholas Britell). Time and again, Jenkins plays fast and loose with TV conventions; Chapter 4 leaves the protagonists to deliver an origin story of chief slave hunter Ridgeway; Chapter 7 is just 20 minutes long, mostly dialogue free and stunning; and the penultimate Chapter 9 is a gourmet meal, running the gamut from intoxicating romance to horrific violence — it has a strong shout as the best single episode of any 2021 show. There's a lot of talk about cinematic TV these days. Few achieve it so effortlessly and movingly as The Underground Railroad. IFRead the Empire of The Underground Railroad.

This is the kind of show that could be inhaled in one cathartic evening. And though you'd be forgiven for wanting to do so, you won't want to miss the subtle beats that make up Mae Martin's masterpiece of a sitcom. Co-created and co-written by Martin and Joe Hampson, the first season saw Canadian comedian Mae fall hard for English George (Charlotte Ritchie), the relationship becoming quickly and toxically obsessive as Mae looked to replace other addictions. This second (and likely final) season, on new home Netflix, sees the aftermath of Mae's relapse and rehab, the exploration of some demons, and the rekindling of her relationship. The writing in this show is so intelligent, skilfully threading emotional wisdom with sharp jokes, propped up by tender empathetic performances from Martin and Ritchie (plus a standout supporting role from the always-great Lisa Kudrow as Mae's mother). As ironic as that title is, it's impossible not to feel nourished by a show this good. JN

In true Netflix anti-hype style, Hwang Dong-hyuk's Korean drama Squid Game arrived with virtually no fanfare. Thanks to its higher-than-high concept, instantly iconic imagery and engaging characters, it became a word-of-mouth hit, breaking viewing records and becoming one of the streaming platform's biggest series launches to date. With a dystopian Battle Royale-slash-The Hunger Games element at its core, extreme pulpy violence and a crushing anti-capitalist message all wrapped up in a sugary, pastel-coloured coating, this heightened hellscape of a show struck a nerve with its depictions of desperate civilians competing in death-trap-laden games in the hope of winning a prize-pot able to pull them out of crushing debt – subverting the simplicity of the childhood games the characters compete in to produce some of the most tense small-screen setpieces in recent memory. Anyone fancy a round of Red Light, Green Light? SBRead the Empire review of Squid Game.

At high-end hotel resort The White Lotus, the views are picturesque, the food is divine and the service is second to none… most of the time. The (truly despicable) residents' wallets are huge, and their sense of entitlement even more so – and it's not long before the glamorous facade starts to crumble. Cue familial falling-outs, newlywed despair, teenage toxicity and, of course, shitting in a suitcase. Mike White's limited series expertly gathers some of the most unbearable characters ever put to screen, pitting their vile exploits against a backdrop of gorgeous Hawaiian golden-hour sunsets tinged with queasy greens, with a chant-like, humming score that hints at the cultish effect of joining the world's wealthiest. Standouts include Murray Bartlett as hotel-manager-on-the-edge Armond, the inimitable Jennifer Coolidge as Tanya, a lonely rich lady desperate for company, and Jake Lacy entering full villain mode as Shane, a truly awful mummy's boy who won't stop complaining about being given the second most beautiful room on site. A luxury holiday has never looked so heinous. SBRead the Empire of The White Lotus.

If The Haunting Of Hill House didn't make it clear enough, Mike Flanagan getting stuck into an entire Netflix limited series means you're in for something special. And his long-gestating Midnight Mass (of which he directed every instalment, and co-wrote them all too) was pure, unfiltered Flanagan – a bloody-but-beautiful, spine-tinglingly spiritual seven-episode series that plays both as a rip-roaring horror story and as theological allegory. With its explorations of familial trauma, faith, guilt, alcoholism, and the ghosts of the past that refuse to die, Flanagan mulls over his key obsessions afresh – spinning them into a Stephen King-esque tale of an isolated island community, and the charismatic young preacher (an astonishing Hamish Linklater) who inspires renewed religious fervour in his flock when performing apparent miracles before their very eyes. To state the exact subgenre Midnight Mass plays with would be to spoil things, but Flanagan weaves his central themes together with thrilling potency – the compulsion to drink, redemption through communion, and the very notion of bad faith. It's lofty material, but not afraid to splash around the red stuff too – with dead cats everywhere, a glowing-eyed beast stalking the island, and several narrative rug-pulls to make your jaw drop. Yes, there are a lot of monologues. But those back-to-back ones about what happens when you die might change your life. BTRead the Empire review of Midnight Mass.

2021 was the year that Succession went stratospheric. The most GIF-able show ever made returned for a third season, turning up the high-stakes corporate moves, scathing insults, rich-people cringe levels and utterly compelling drama all the way to eleven. Logan Roy (Brian Cox) is making his kids work harder than ever to be next in line to rule Waystar Royco – Roman (Kieran Culkin) is doing his best to play with the big boys, Shiv (Sarah Snook) is trying desperately to be included, Connor (Alan Ruck) won't let go of his presidential dreams, and former number one boy Kendall (Jeremy Strong) has really gone rogue this time, striking out on his own to once again try and take his father down. In a show that just keeps getting better, highlights from the new season include Kendall's failed birthday party, an extremely influential box of donuts, and a devastatingly misplaced dick pic. These people are literally the worst, but Succession is one of the best things on television right now. SBRead the Empire review of Succession Season 3.

The first Marvel series out of the gate on Disney+ made it clear that the MCU has as much of a home on the small screen as it does with its gargantuan cinematic blockbusters. And WandaVision was immediately something special – a sitcom-homaging meditation on grief, loss and love, relocating Wanda Maximoff and her (dead, synthezoid) lover Vision into the retro televisual town of Westview, finally able to live out the domestic life they never had. But as the show zips forward through decades of iconic comedies – riffing on everything from I Love Lucy up to Modern Family – it becomes increasingly clear that not all is right in the town. Elizabeth Olsen and Paul Bettany give their best MCU performances yet, making Wanda and Vision looser, more human, all tinged with the tragedy of knowing this can't last. Chuck in earworm theme tunes from Frozen songwriters Robert Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez, a delectable turn from Kathryn Hahn as nosy neighbour Agnes, and beautifully emotional dialogue, and WandaVision deserved to be a major ratings hit. What is a nine-episode MCU show, but an MCU movie persevering? BTRead the Empire review of WandaVision.

On paper, Mare Of Easttown sounds run of the mill: a middle-aged small-town detective investigates the murder of a local teenager while dealing with divorce, a custody battle, and her own hyper-critical mum. But when that detective is Kate Actual Winslet, and the story is really one of the power of generational trauma, you get something that's never been anywhere remotely near a mill. The Mare of the title is Mare Sheehan, Winslet's copper of few words and mum of two kids, one of whom died by suicide (the custody battle is over Mare's grandson). This isn't a prestige TV thriller built out of flashy dramatics, hyperbolic speech and increasingly absurd twists – it's an authentic, detailed, haunting character study that just so happens to be about solving a crime too. Moreover it's about the mundanities and struggles of small-town life, the multitude of ways that women, particularly, can be ground underfoot. Think Happy Valley but with Kate Winslet doing a Delco accent. And eating cheese. And sandwiches. And blinking like no-one's ever blinked before. As an exploration of the devastating impact of grief, there's been no better, on any size of screen. It's the model of quality by restraint and understatement. And when one horrific surprise-death does occur, it lands like a sledgehammer, quickly becoming the telly moment of the year. TV doesn't come much more profound than this. By god: we miss you, Mare. TWRead the Empire review of Mare Of Easttown.

You'd expect a five-hour drama about the onset of AIDS in 1980s Britain to be a fairly gruelling watch – but It's A Sin is a Russell T Davies creation, which means there's room for a sex montage to the soundtrack of cheesy medley 'Hooked On Classics' and a waiter peeing in Margaret Thatcher's coffee. And while the limited series is inevitably and unflinchingly structured around the devastating deaths of many of its beautifully drawn characters – young men gathering in London, hoping to live their best, freewheeling lives – Davies' profound love for them shines through. As much a testament to a generation decimated by this horrific virus as it is a social history of what life was really like for gay men in the '80s, It's A Sin was devoured in record-breaking numbers on All 4, turning this historic piece of television into a full-on cultural phenomenon. BHRead the Empire review of It's A Sin.