Skip all this bullshit and take me to the list.

I think it’s safe to say we’re firmly past the peak of the “Golden Age” of television. In some ways it feels less like we’re strolling down the other side of that hill and more like we’re dangling off the precipice at the very end of our grasp. AI isn’t coming to wipe everything out in a clean, cinematic apocalypse. It’s coming to step on our fingers.

It won’t be Terminator 2. It’ll be that cruel middle-school bully who deep-fakes your nudes and rewrites your social media history until everyone thinks you’re the one who shot everybody’s favorite racist. It won’t obliterate culture. It’ll just quietly ruin things.

My friend Owen said:

“I think people are so beat down they don’t want to do hard work, and AI will be happy to convince them that they’ve done hard things easily. Or something like that.
This thing where people are like, ‘I can make the better version, the Star Wars with only white people,’ or whatever, like that’s an accomplishment.
It convinces them they’re doing something as good as people making something good, or that they don’t ever have to question things they thought were really amazing.
There’s a shortcut in it all that’s the same as skipping an essay so you can get a grade, like the essay and the work and the thinking weren’t the real point, even if it turned out kinda mediocre. Like you don’t have to work at it again and again and again to make something great.
People compare it to a calculator, but there’s something in real calculation or reasoning your way through things. A calculator lets you do real things faster. AI skips that end goal and just leaves you with a bunch of hollow bullshit. You’re suddenly at the end point with a bad product and an empty process.
And the industry side, the money side, never cared about process or product anyway, so they don’t care about ruining either if it’s cheaper.”

I’ve written before about how art is a medium for communicating things we can’t easily put into words. A way of communicating an emotion, or a situation, or a concept. The complications and nuances of how each person receives that message are part of the art itself. That’s why great art can feel obscure or difficult, and why it’s so often manipulated or flattened until the original message is barely recognizable.

This is where long-form television has shined. A great series can hide its message long enough that by the time it lands, it’s too late to interfere with it. It doesn’t have to water itself down or simplify its ideas to survive.

I once used e-bikes as an example of this. An e-bike gives someone access to terrain they might never have considered riding. They get the joy of the experience without changing the terrain itself, and riders with greater physical ability lose nothing in the process. That’s the best version of television too. It expands access without taking anything away.

Which brings me to this list.

When I looked at my top ten shows of 2025, a couple of themes jumped out immediately. First, a lot of slow burns. That makes sense. Messages are under heavier scrutiny than they’ve been in a long time, and slow storytelling lets writers protect their work from being diluted or misinterpreted before it’s ready.

Second, there’s a clear political lean. In a world that increasingly feels defined by anti-compassion, a lot of television is pushing back, saying that most of us still believe in empathy and are willing to fight for it. That message has always been present in art, but it hasn’t always been this transparent.

This isn’t true of all television, of course. Plenty of shows exist purely to fill space long enough to sell you something. For a while it felt like those shows were disappearing, drowned out by the abundance of genuinely artistic work. Maybe streaming platforms took bigger risks to stand out. Maybe the collapse of the theater model pushed serious storytellers toward television. Maybe creators realized long-form storytelling was the best way to keep their ideas intact.

Whatever the reason, we’re on the other side of that moment now. As media companies merge, they consolidate power and erase choices, both for audiences and for storytellers. Putting together a top ten list used to feel easy. Now it feels deliberate.

Still, there’s a strange optimism here. If the medium becomes cheap enough, empty enough, maybe only the people who truly want to make art will stick around. And maybe that’s how we get a renaissance.

That sounded darker than I intended.

So. Here’s the list.

10. Daredevil: Born Again
This one was about the joy of watching three incredible actors return to roles they clearly love. Charlie Cox, Vincent D’Onofrio, and Jon Bernthal are magnetic together. Some people wanted more action, others wanted more story. I thought it struck the balance just right.

9. The Righteous Gemstones
I still can’t decide whether Danny McBride is the greatest doofus of all time or one of the sharpest character actors working. This show feels like the perfect balance of both. It’s savage satire, consistently hilarious, and I think it’ll be remembered as one of the best comedies ever made.

8. Obituary
The UK’s obsession with murder mysteries continues to pay off. Instead of asking who did it, Obituary asks how she’s going to get away with it. It treats the genre as a theme rather than a formula, and the result is sharp, dark humor.

7. Poker Face
I wrote about Poker Face before learning it was cancelled, and I’m still baffled by that decision. Letting show runner Rian Johnson go feels almost negligent. This show deserved better.
You can read my write up at this link:
https://carbatterytv.com/2025/05/18/poker-face/

6. Big Boys
It was a genuine gift to see this show get a proper ending after its (second!) cancellation. Jack Rooke wrapped up this sweet, sad story with the same care that made it special in the first place.

5. Fisk
This will either inspire a deeply disappointing American remake or become the next The Office. Either way, it’s some of the best television to come out of Australia, which is saying a lot.

4. The White Lotus
This show has always wavered between cynicism and brilliance. This latest season is its most confident yet, with its strongest cast so far. Mike White’s talent is truly blossoming as a show runner.

3. The Change
After rewatching Northern Exposure, this felt like its spiritual successor, filtered through Jungian archetypes and philosophy. So far, it’s even better, which is not something I say lightly.

2. Pluribus
An unapologetic slow burn. It asks for patience and occasionally makes you uncomfortable, but every piece feels intentional. It’s clearly building toward something beautiful. Albeit we may die before we ever actually learn what that is, as it’s looking like it could be anywhere from 3 to 5 years before we even get season 2.

1. Andor
This should be at the top of everyone’s list. It’s television storytelling at its absolute best. The perfect e-bike. We all made it to the mountaintop together, and no one had to give anything up to get there. Two seasons was exactly right. That some folks complained it was slow even though it was only 24 episodes in total is probably the best back handed unintentional compliment there could be. The story knew where it needed to go, and it took us somewhere special.

RONNY CHIENG: INTERNATIONAL STUDENT

What began as part of Australian Broadcasting Network’s Comedy Showroom anthology series blossomed into a brilliant, if short, full series. Before Crazy Rich Asians, Interior Chinatown, and toward the early part of his time on The Daily Show, Ronny Chieng starred in a six episode gem called Ronny Chieng: International Student.

Between 2012 and 2017 he was flying constantly between the United States for The Daily Show, running nonstop stand-up tour dates, and returning to Australia where he was juggling a law degree and winning Best Newcomer at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. Just before being cast in Crazy Rich Asians, he somehow found time to create a show based on his own experiences at the University of Melbourne.

The laughs are plentiful, thanks in part to a stellar cast that includes Hoa Xuande, who was outstanding in The Sympathizer. He keeps pace with Ronny Chieng, which is no small feat. The show plays with stereotypes and manages to keep a fresh perspective on a trope that should feel tired by now: the normal guy surrounded by a cast of wacky college characters.

It is a shame that Ronny Chieng is so busy and we only have one season, but the series is absolutely worth the watch.

BOY SWALLOWS UNIVERSE (Aus. 2024)

An astoundingly creative yet grounded semi-autobiographical coming-of-age story about a boy surviving 1980s Australia, surrounded by poverty, addiction, and violence, the only way an Australian can: with grit, humor, and the will to rise above.

Boy Swallows Universe is a wonderfully faithful seven-episode miniseries based on Trent Dalton’s incredible, award-winning novel of the same name. The book had already seen a critically acclaimed stage adaptation before getting the bump-bow from that streaming service. With a cast featuring some of Australia’s best alongside a couple of spectacular newcomers, the series delivers a stellar adaptation.

Dalton’s story includes some wild happenings that, honestly, shouldn’t translate that well to screen. Yet in the hands of directors Bharat Nalluri, Jocelyn Moorhouse, and Kim Mordaunt, we’re treated to one of the best novel adaptations I’ve ever seen.

Both Bryan Brown and Simon Baker give us Gary Oldman-esque performances, blending into the story in all the best ways and almost unrecognizable. Travis Fimmel (most notable to me from Vikings) is absolutely lit in his characterization, and it’s a shame the story doesn’t call for more of him. The standout is young Felix Cameron, who earned an AACTA Award for Best Lead Actor in a Television Drama and two Logies (Most Popular New Talent and Best Lead Actor in a Drama) for his work here. Only thirteen during production, he brings a complexity and calmness far beyond his years. He’s so good, in fact, that the later time jump is almost jarring. Not because Zac Burgess does a poor job, but because following Cameron’s performance is a tough act for anyone.

Some might feel the story rushes toward the end, and yes, it does button up a little too neatly. Still, it’s worth every minute of the journey. And maybe it’s worth remembering that the tidy ending is the true story, the real life that Trent Dalton survived, and the one he’s since proven himself brilliant at telling.

NORTHERN EXPOSURE

There are a few shows that sit on my short list of all-time favorites: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Happy Valley, M*A*S*H, among others, and of course, Northern Exposure.

A six-season television show that ran from 1990 to 1995, Northern Exposure arrived during an incredible time in the United States, a decade that began with a long run of Republican presidents and conservative policy, but gave way to significant social change by the time the series ended. The show was ahead of its time, to say the least, yet is was also a clear reflection of it.

A lot has been written about the Jungian themes present in the series, and it’s true, the early seasons practically beat you over the head with them. But that’s part of its charm. Northern Exposure came at a moment when television was evolving out of the simple, studio-bound formats of The Brady Bunch and Full House era and into more thoughtful, risk-taking storytelling. The series made real strides in representing the underrepresented in respectful and dignified ways.

It was one of the earliest shows I can recall that even approached the notion of the harm perpetrated against Indigenous people, and how that harm feels especially pointed around Thanksgiving. It also featured two openly gay couples: the first, a lesbian couple presented as the founders of the fictional town of Cicely, Alaska; the second, a pair of gay entrepreneurs who move to Cicely as series regulars.

Crucially, Northern Exposure portrayed them not as comic foils or stereotypes, but as people. One couple appeared as free-thinking frontier visionaries, while the other were intellectuals and outdoorsmen. The latter were even featured in an episode that presented one of the earliest same-sex marriages on U.S. television. (The first, done equally respectfully, was in the show Roc, an excellent sitcom that ran from 1991 to 1994.) Ellen wouldn’t come out of the closet for another two years after Northern Exposure ended.

Across its six seasons, the show explored themes that remain relevant today: interconnectedness, mindfulness, the relationship between mental and physical health, and what it means to live meaningfully in community.

Troubled Beginnings

The original idea for Northern Exposure came from Sandy Veith and was presented to Universal Television. Universal then brought the concept to Joshua Brand and John Falsey, the duo behind acclaimed series like St. Elsewhere and the impeccable and near perfect limited series I’ll Fly Away. Brand and Falsey, unaware that Universal had taken Veith’s idea without credit or compensation, were tasked with developing the show as a midseason replacement for CBS. It ran for 2 Summers before being picked up to regular series.

When the time the truth about the origins came out in a lawsuit in 1994, Brand and Falsey left the show. David Chase (later of The Sopranos fame) stepped in as executive producer and is often blamed for running the show into the ground. I don’t think that’s fair. I think the show was doomed from the start, although it might have faired better had Chase not seen as anything more than just a paycheck.

It was plagued early on by conflict between the producers and lead actor Rob Morrow, who fought over salary and creative direction. His eventual departure led to one of the show’s better-written character exits, but it was probably too jarring a shift for audiences of the time.

A good deal of the first three seasons are wildly lofty and philosophical. The show also dabbled in magical realism, not as a central gimmick, but as a quiet undercurrent to the world of Cicely. Despite rave reviews and multiple awards, including an Emmy for the pilot episode, the ratings never quite met CBS’s expectations.

The early seasons were short, just eight and seven episodes respectively, airing as summer fillers. That wasn’t enough to build momentum, and by the time Northern Exposure became a regular series, it struggled to rake in new viewers. It was also an hour-long comedy with no studio audience and no laugh track (thankfully), airing in an era dominated by 30-minute-live-studio-audience and Audience Response Duplicator filled sitcoms.

After executives grew tired of negotiating with Morrow, they wrote him off the show. Meanwhile, David Chase, who admitted he only took the job for, in his words, “the paycheck,” had little creative interest in the project. It’s too bad. Chase is capable of great television, and I often wonder what might have happened if he had given Northern Exposure a real chance.

Music

Many shows claim to have great music. Northern Exposure actually did.

There were over 200 original pieces composed for the series, and the producers clearly saw music as integral to the show’s atmosphere. They filled the quiet, dreamlike spaces of Cicely with an eclectic mix of classical, folk, indie rock, and great 90s hip-hop. The music was never trite or manipulative; it was another character in the story, and fans rightly consider it one of the show’s brightest stars. Finding the series with the original music intact is a holy grail among fans. There are two options available for that, first is the entire series UK Blu Ray release from 2018, second is in the German DVD entire series release from 2017.

An Extraordinary Cast

The cast was spectacular, though I’d argue the two “main stars,” Rob Morrow and Janine Turner, were actually among the weaker actors. (I can feel the heat from the Northern Exposure community already.)

Darren E. Burrows was absolutely stunning as Ed Chigliak, a half-Indigenous young man found abandoned as a baby and raised by the local Tlingit people. Episodes focusing on his character are some of the show’s best, especially Duets.

Elaine Miles established herself as a significant social icon of the day through her time on Norther Exposure. Fiercely representing indigenous people, pushing the show’s producers to correct missteps and inaccuracies while walking a thin line between comedic punchline with out sacrificing the dignity of her character. There are episodes in the show where the bottom falls out of what sometimes appears as a 2 dimensional comedic moment. She fills her scenes with a full range of emotions all while maintaining a stern presence and poise. It is wonderfully subtle and magically impactful whenever she is on screen.

Northern Exposure also launched John Corbett’s career, though I’d argue he was never better than here. Peg Phillips was another standout. She began her acting career at age 60 and was initially hired as an extra until she arrived on set with a self-created fully developed character and back story. She earned an Emmy nomination for her performance, survived a near-death surgery between seasons five and six, and continued acting for years afterward.

Barry Corbin was pitch-perfect as Maurice Minnifield, a too-rich-to-see-his-own-faults colonizer and foil. Throughout the show, white male privilege is treated not as invisible background but as a theme to interrogate. Joel Fleischman’s journey, from a self-centered New York doctor to someone aware of his small place in the world, is a gratifying payoff to that recurring idea. Though, like in real life, that awareness takes far too long to arrive.

Recurring guest stars included Graham Greene, Anthony Edwards, Moultrie Patten, Valerie Mahaffey, and Adam Arkin, among others, all adding texture and warmth to Cicely’s world.

The Death of a Main Character?

Joel Fleischman’s character arc has long been debated by fans. While the show never explicitly says so, there’s strong evidence, and plenty of fan theory, that he dies in the end. Watching his final episode through that lens gives it a sense of metaphysical closure that I never fully appreciated before. What once felt abrupt now feels profound, a spiritual death and rebirth befitting the show’s themes.

A Show That Still Blooms

It’s rare that a show this old holds up so well. While a few moments reflect their time, Northern Exposure remains disarmingly progressive, curious, and humane.

If it aired today, it would be labeled “prestige television” and compared to Ted Lasso or Only Murders in the Building. But in the early 1990s, it stood alone, funny, strange, philosophical, and deeply kind. The closest modern parallel might be Bridget Christie’s brilliant The Change, though that feels like an echo (in the best possible way) more than a continuation.Northern Exposure presented lofty premises and original ideas, earning 57 award nominations and 27 wins across just 110 episodes. It should have been a massive hit, but despite its network missteps and uncertain beginnings, it still managed to bloom beautifully, a rare, vivid flower that continues to unfold decades later.

ANDOR

Let’s get the first thing out of the way: I am not a Star Wars fan. I’m more interested in stories that offer up commentary. Stories with complexity and teeth. Stories that have a strong enough message to offend. Sure, Star Wars has always featured a rebellion of some kind, but it’s often portrayed so simplistically, and somewhat offensively, that it rings hollow.
Andor does not ring hollow. It’s ironically more in line with universes like Star Trek or Babylon 5, where politics, philosophy, and social structure are part of the world building, not window dressing.

I’ve consumed a lot of Star Wars media, it’s so culturally ingrained that it feels like we’ve all absorbed it by osmosis. A lot of us born in the late 70s and early 80s were spoon fed Star Wars. We were told we were fans before we even understood what we were watching. A few of the films are fine. None are amazing. Ultimately, they’re fantasy stories… set in space.

Andor is as far from a fantasy story as this franchise has ever gone. It’s a political thriller, it is grounded, intelligent, and deeply human. It’s a story about systems of oppression, the machinery of fascism, and the slow, painful birth of resistance. It is a spy drama with the soul of a revolution, disguised as a prequel to a prequel (Rogue One) to the middle of a trilogy in a nine-part–for fuck’s sake, really?

How did we get here?
Rogue One should have been a much better film. The premise had real weight: a suicide mission to steal the Death Star plans, set during the early days of the rebellion. But the execution was a mess. The original director and writer fumbled it so badly the studio decided they needed to bring someone else in to fix it. Tony Gilroy, who has a co-writing credit, stepped in with re-writes, re-shoots and post-production editing marathons to fix (in his words) “all the confusion of it … and all the mess,” And to that end he managed to pull together an ending that sort of made sense. It was a hard movie to love, knowing what it could have been. And for the most part folks have fond memories of Rogue One. And it’s worthy of that fondness. It’s a flawed movie, albeit one with moments of potential and a final act that stuck the landing.

Tony Gilroy’s best decision was the fate of the main characters in Rogue One. A rare and refreshingly honest move in a franchise that usually bends the rules to protect the marketability of its heroes. Rogue One squandered actors like Diego Luna and Donnie Yen (what was with that cheesy-assed mantra they made him repeat over and over?), but it at least hinted at something grittier and more mature. Gilroy was responsible for that.

Tony Gilroy is best known for penning the early Bourne movies and for writing and directing the amazing film Michael Clayton. For me, the real highlight in his stack of writing credits is the 90s film, Dolores Claiborne, but that’s a bit off topic here.
What Gilroy does best is show the machinery behind ideology, and movies like Bourne Identity and Michael Clayton are prestige spy thrillers that definitely informed Gilroy’s choices in presenting the inner workings of what makes ideology become actionable.

Originally intended to span five seasons, Andor was ultimately trimmed down to two, 12 episodes each. Mostly due to COVID delays and the aging cast that had been asked to return some 6 years after the movie.
Gilroy crafted a meticulously structured narrative. The pacing is deliberate, and glacial, especially in the early episodes of each season. But there’s method in the slowness. The storytelling unfolds like a case study in radicalization, laying out the anthropology of rebellion step by step.

Diego Luna, who was robbed of any chance to shine in Rogue One, is phenomenal here. He comes across with an interiority that portrays Cassian Andor’s evolution as earned. Stellan Skarsgård’s Luthen is a standout, delivering one of the series’ defining monologues: a reflection on sacrifice that feels lifted from the pages of a Le Carré novel. Forest Whitaker is iconic in the role of Saw Gerrera. And Thierry Godard, who was great in the French series Spiral (Engrenages), quietly steals every scene he’s in.

There are no training montages here. No Jedi tricks. No “chosen ones.” Just people making hard decisions, inching their way toward a cause that becomes greater than any one person. The craft of the series, from its muted color palette to its sparse, pulsing score, is all in service of that grounded (but not defeating) realism. Even the time jumps feel natural, not cheap.

Andor uses the Star Wars universe as a familiar shell, but what’s inside is more The Lives of Others than A New Hope. Where Star Wars often deals in the broadest, generic strokes (light vs. dark, good vs. evil), Andor dives deep, it suggests and shows us that political resistance is usually murky, compromised, and slow.

The show is littered with echoes of real-world recent events and historical significance: fascist regimes, surveillance states, prison labor, propaganda, the quiet heroism of whistleblowers. It’s not subtle but it is serious.
Andor is about political awakening, it makes the great statement that regimes don’t maintain their domination by fear or force, but by inertia, by making people think resistance is futile. And then something shifts. Someone says “no”.
Andor is about that first “no.” It’s about the cost of waking up. The first sparks of resistance don’t look heroic. They’re awkward, they can be selfish, miscalculated, and painful. They matter. They compound. They lead somewhere.

In the end sticking it out will reward you with one of the best shows of 2025. I think especially so if you aren’t a Star Wars fan. If you are interested in a spy thriller with a prescient message, give it a chance.
Andor is a pretty great over achieving spy thriller… set in outer space.

THE OA

Here’s the thing; The OA is the perfect intersection of high art and easily approachable television.
I think that there can be real art in the form of a television series. I mean that there can be both something simple, moving, and easily attainable while still providing all sorts of avenues for artistic expression and there can also be high art. A creation that can be complex, that requires us to think and dismantle and perhaps even put the work into understanding something about the creator in order to delve into the message and the meaning. Art is a language to do just that, to communicate something that isn’t easily portrayed with a phrase, or even a sentence, or even a paragraph. That it requires a whole set of tools in order to convey the message. Because sometimes feelings or messages are complex beyond simple words. The problem with a lot of that kind of art, is in the interpretation of it. ( ⎋Here is a great example of that kind of pay off from the amazing TV show, Ugly Betty). When a work of art becomes too laborious, or feels too complex; or when the emotion or idea the art is attempting to communicate becomes too complex, a lot of people toss it aside, or move on from it, or fail to put the work in to understand it. Which is kind of what that whole Ugly Betty episode from above, is all about… in a way.
This is where television as an art form can shine. It is a media that is used by so many across a broad spectrum of tastes and consumers. It can win back those that would not be convinced at first approach that they should put the work in. It can provide an avenue or a path to those who might feel like the art is not approachable. It can deliver complex and high concept ideas on a platter that is easier to digest, and then in turn encourage further exploration of higher ideas and expression. It can do this without having to break the work of art down into something that would take away from those who already appreciate the art. There is no need to change the path on behalf of the artist, it is a path that can be explored by all. Television is like the electric bicycle of art. All of a sudden many users can ride the same steep hill trail without the need to flatten the trail, taking away the challenge for other riders who might enjoy it, while also providing a great experience to those who would normally not consider riding their bicycle up the hill. Then we all get to the top to see the same amazing view.

Few TV shows capture this element so well as The OA. In many ways, The OA is a perfect case study. It doesn’t sacrifice ambition. It expects something of its audience—faith, patience, empathy—but it gives so much in return: questions about identity, belief, trauma, connection, and the limits of reality. It steeps in genre without becoming limited by it. It delivers surreal, experimental imagery while grounding it all in intimate human storytelling. It’s both avant-garde and comforting. It is the kind of rare thing I’ve come to expect from the amazing artistic team up of Brit Marling and Zal Batmanglij.
Brit Marling and Zal Batmanglij brought us the amazing films Sound of My Voice and The East. Marling was also responsible for the incredible film, Another Earth.

The OA dives right in at episode 1. Season 1 is the best, season 2 is equally strong, though you should be ready for a shift. The issue here was Netflix completely failing at every turn. I am staggered that Netflix would have the prestige of Marling and Batmanglij in their roster only to squander it based on any number of rotating excuses that are weak at best.

So we only get 2 seasons of The OA, and it ends in a cliffhanger of sorts. Really, for real this time, here really is the thing: Do not watch a trailer, do not read anything else about the show. Know there is a fantastic cast in this scifi-esque dramatic thriller, with Jason Isaacs (most recently White Lotus), Brit Marling, and others including Patrick Gibson, who knocks it out of the park in this series. The OA is the perfect intersection of high concept art presented on a platter of easily approachable story telling. It will have you binging the entire first season ala Portlandia’s Battlestar skit ⎋. And who knows you might start reading TV show blogs.

THE MICK

The Mick was a Kaitlyn Olsen starring comedy that aired on for 2 seasons from 2017 to 2018. It was an incredibly well written, sharp-wit comedy that fit well alongside another Kaitlyn Olsen starring hit show at the time, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. The show had some incredible break out stars in Sofia Black-D’Elia (who went on to star in the fantastic Single Drunk Female), Thomas Barbusca (Wet Hot American Summer: First Day of Camp, Arrested Development), Carla Jimenez who is incredible in everything she has been in, notably Raising Hope, Better Off Ted, and Last Man Standing. The whole cast is amazing, I don’t want this to end up reading like the end credits.
The premise: The titular “Mick” Mickenzie Molng is unapologetic degenerate of a woman from (to quote  Wikipedia here): “a tough part of Rhode Island”, from A tough part of Rhode Island. More than one part, huh?
The Mick ends up as guardian of her high maintenance niece and two nephews after her extremely wealthy sister and sister’s husband get arrested for fraud and racketeering (and brings along her dipshit ex-boyfriend) and thus, we are awarded comedy.

While the show did struggle somewhat for an audience, it wasn’t exactly a flop. It drew OK ratings, it got a mixed bag of critical attention, I feel like it was just hitting its stride when it was cancelled. While the network tried to claim low ratings, there were plenty of shows on the same network with lower ratings that ran for much longer. What really happened here was the network unexpectedly won the rights to air professional football. Rather than put a little work into shuffling around the schedule they just blanket cancelled any shows with conflicting air times. So goodbye Ghosted, Last Man on Earth, and The Mick among other shows that might have been just getting started, that might have been destined for greatness. That’s right, they cancelled nearly their entire Thursday night comedy lineup. Which also included Brooklyn 99 at the time. B-99 was famously saved by fans and picked up at another network.

At least we got 2 great seasons. Where It’s Always Sunny… are outrageous people who stumbled all over an ordinary world like a bull in a china shop, The Mick would be outrageous people flying just barely under the radar in an ordinary world. They were the weird neighbors who you suspect are squatting in that mansion at the end of the block, who you know are insane, you just don’t have any proof. 

I liked it quite a bit, it could have been a massive hit, it was cancelled before it ever had a decent chance. You can currently see Kaitlyn Olsen’s masterful comedic work as a recurring character on Hacks.