The Top 10 TV Shows of the Decade

With the 2010s coming to a close, it’s my duty as a TV critic to create a Top 10 List of the best TV shows of the decade. Seriously. Check all the other entertainment sites. We’re all doing it. (And, if I’m honest, we’re all putting a lot of the same shows on our lists – because while this was the era of Peak TV, there are a handful of shows that were a clear cut above the rest.)

So, what did a show have to achieve to be considered for this list? Well, there’s the timeline of when it aired. To be considered for my list, a show needed to premiere no earlier than 2009. So, that means no Breaking Bad or Mad Men, which would certainly make a list with a different starting date. I placed no restrictions on the type of series – traditional comedies and dramas were considered against animated series, reality shows, and anthologies. The series needed to keep its level of quality over all of its seasons (which means no Game of Thrones, but also no Halt and Catch Fire, which started off a mess before finishing strong). And, since ten is such a small number, and I started with an initial list of over 50 shows, I may have cheated a bit to get a couple more shows in. But it’s my list, so I can do that.

So, without further ado, here’s my list of the Top 10 Shows of the 2010s.

10. The Great British Bake Off/Great British Baking Show (2010 – Present)

I toyed with leaving GBBO off the list, since I had several more niche shows that would be supplanted by its inclusion, but in the end I couldn’t cut a show that has given me and so many other people such joy. I first discovered the series back in 2014, during series 5, and was completely hooked. The only problem was that PBS, the home of the series in the States until 2019, could only air the show months after the series aired in Britain. Meaning we were forced to avoid spoilers until PBS graced us with the series (which never aired at a set point each year – it could be two months after its initial airing or eight). Nevertheless, GBBO became my go-to show whenever I was feeling down. The genuine love and comradery between the contestants is something that almost never happens on US competition shows (although NBC’s delightful Making It also retains this spirit), which made it all the more special to watch. Even when the series lost Mary Barry, Sue Perkins, and Mel Giedroyc in a shake-up that made international news (and worried so many), it came out ok in the end, because the show is really about how food connects us to each other and how teamwork is always the best option.

9. Master of None (2015 – 2017)/Atlanta (2016 – Present)/Barry (2018 – Present)

So, I’m cheating on this one, but hear me out: The late 2010s were all about giving unique comedic voices a platform to thrive in non-traditional television shows. Out of these three, Barry is perhaps the most “traditional” comedy series, but it’s a show about an assassin trying to get out of the game and become an actor. And it had an episode centered around a chase to capture a feral tween girl who saw Barry try to kill her father. That’s not something you get on Modern Family. But the brilliance of these three series is that each one allows its creator (or co-creator) and star to tell a story that matters to him, often while playing fast and loose with the traditional confines of the television comedy. Master of None offered up a play on Vittorio De Sica’s The Bicycle. Atlanta’s “Teddy Perkins” episode is one of the most amazing (and strange) hours of comedy I’ve ever seen.

And while these three shows are the best of the decade, they certainly aren’t the only ones. Hulu has the smart, strange, and complicated duo of Pen15 and Ramy, each with a unique point of view that comes directly from their co-creator/star combos. Giving new and diverse voices a platform to tell their own stories is definitely something good. If three is a trend, this is definitely a trend – and it’s one I hope to see continue into the next decade of television.

8. Rectify (2013 – 2016)

Practically no one outside of television critics ever watched Rectify, and that is such a shame, because they missed out on one of the all-time greats (luckily, it’s currently streamable on Netflix). The series initially aired on Sundance, which likely didn’t help it in finding an audience, but it’s hard to get people interested a series that cares more about exploring the silences in life than in solving the central mystery at its heart (did Daniel Holden, a teenager when he was convicted and sentenced to death row for the rape and murder of his girlfriend, actually commit the crime). It’s not flashy, it doesn’t have dragons, and it’s more concerned with the slow burn than the quick release – that’s not the recipe for getting noticed in the era of Peak TV. By the end of the show’s four season run, the mystery is indeed solved, but it’s the path to get to that resolution that is far more important than the answer itself.

Released from prison after nearly 20 years in the series premiere due to a legal technicality, we follow along with Daniel (the great Aden Young) as he slowly acclimates to life in the modern world (a shopping trip to Wal-Mart is as overwhelming as stumbling into a death metal concert without suitable ear protection). While Daniel’s path back into the world is complicated and difficult, it’s just as hard for his family to learn where he fits within their settled lives. It’s that strain – both family and son (step-son, half-brother, brother) attempting to figure out just how their family functions at this juncture – that presents the real conflict at the heart of the show, not the mystery of what happened the day Hanna was killed. And Rectify refuses to offer up easy answers. The characters are put through their paces, struggling to figure out how to save a family suddenly on the brink of collapse due to the reintegration of a seemingly lost member. It’s such an amazing family story, but one that requires the audience to sit with these characters as they figure things out. That’s not an easy ask in this age of streaming on-demand television, but it’s so rewarding for those that manage it.

7. Better Call Saul (2015 – Present)

I loved Breaking Bad, but over the past four years I have come to love Better Call Saul even more. A prequel to Breaking Bad, the series follows Jimmy McGill (the irrepressible Bob Odenkirk, showing that his comedy chops are accompanied by exquisite dramatic ability) as he breaks bad and becomes Saul Goodman, sleazy attorney to the underbelly of Albuquerque. While it also follows the stoic ex-cop Mike Ehrmantraut (Jonathan Banks, bringing to the series the same quiet yet strong performance he gave on Breaking Bad) as he navigates the criminal underground of the city, the series is at its best when it’s focused on Jimmy. Watching Breaking Bad, I would never have imagined that a series about the origins of Saul Goodman would be all that interesting. Hell, I wouldn’t have thought there was more then four seasons’ worth of material to cover before the first real appearance of Saul would occur. But, here we are, and I remain devastated at the thought that, one day soon, Jimmy McGill will be gone and only Saul will remain.

And that’s the real genius of Better Call Saul: The show made us all fall in love with the man who came before the loud suits and questionable ethics. Jimmy McGill was a good guy. He wanted to do good. He had a moral compass in the form of his brilliant girlfriend and partner Kim Wexler (the incredible Rhea Seehorn, who has yet to receive an Emmy nomination – which is an utter crime), who mysteriously never appears on Breaking Bad. Yet, with each passing season, Jimmy slowly started to fade into Saul. It’s been a long process, but one that makes complete sense within the confines of the series to date. And it’s utterly heartbreaking – for the audience, for Kim, and for the man Jimmy once was. While Breaking Bad took Mr. Chips and turned him into Scarface, Better Call Saul took the unethical asshole we all loved, showed us his heart, and then slowly turned that heart to stone. For my money, that’s an even worse tragedy to experience.

6. Hannibal (2013 – 2015)

It’s been nearly five years since Hannibal went off the air and I still can’t quite believe that this series lasted as long as it did on NBC. Yes, folks, Hannibal – with its intoxicating visuals and exploration of the dangerous codependency between an FBI profiler and a cannibalistic killer – was a network drama. And what a drama it was. Yes, there was murder. Yes, there was violence. But it was presented in such a way that an audience member could understand just what about experiencing and participating in these instances of horror made both Will Graham and Hannibal Lector tick. These men, so different on the surface, were in reality two sides of the same coin. Their complicated dance and the push and pull between them (which, of course, resulted in those around them getting tangled in their web as well) was mesmerizing to witness. Anchored on the writing of Bryan Fuller (and drawing from the visual stylings of some of TV best directors, including David Slade and Michael Rymer), and with stunning starring turns from Hugh Dancy (Will) and Mads Mikkelsen (Hannibal), this three season series is a feast for the senses. If you can stomach it, it’s absolutely worth a look.

5. Parks and Recreation (2009 – 2015)/Brooklyn Nine-Nine (2013 – Present)/The Good Place (2016 – 2020)

If the 2010s brought about the emergence of comedy auteurs on cable and streaming, network TV was dominated by the brilliance of Michael Schur. First coming to prominence through his work on The Office, Schur left that NBC institution and started his own with Parks and Recreation in 2009 (yes, I know that’s before the decade began, but the truncated first season aired in that year and then the series completely rebooted its tone for season two – which is when the series really began in the minds of most fans). These three shows couldn’t be more different in their subject matter, but each has the same sense of love and family at its heart. On Parks and Rec, the characters form a family in their department (and nowhere is this bond more apparent than in the seventh season episode “Leslie and Ron”). On Brooklyn 99 it’s found within the members of a police precinct. And on The Good Place, the highest concept show of the bunch, a family is formed among a gang of people (and supernatural beings) in the afterlife.

A lot of network comedy is predicated on the idea that someone needs to hold the “idiot ball,” and the rest of the cast react to that (often with callous jokes at that person’s expense). Not on a Schur show. Sure, there are dumb characters, but the humor is never biting or mean. You know that each character loves the other, even if they don’t necessarily like them at that moment. And yes, that extends even to Jerry – the denizens of Pawnee do, in fact, love Jerry (and he knows that). The other hallmark of a Schur show? The writing is smart. Are there dumb jokes? Of course, but the writers don’t dumb down the humor or go for the low-hanging fruit. Gags pay-off several episodes later. There are interesting bi happening in the background for eagle-eyed viewers (especially on The Good Place – the Meghan Amram puns are genius). Watching an episode of a Michael Schur series never feels like work to me – only joy. Which is largely why I’ve opted to never do weekly reviews of his shows – I want to be able to bask in each episode, spending a half hour with characters that grow to feel like friends. And that, really, is the best part of diving into one of these wonderful shows.

4. BoJack Horseman (2014 – 2020)

BoJack Horseman is not an easy series to watch. But boy, is it worth it. I was skeptical of the series when I first heard about it in the summer of 2014. A cartoon about a washed up 1980s sitcom star that has a bunch of anthropomorphic animals interacting with human characters? Yeah, no thanks. But then I began to hear that this show is brilliant – if you can get to episode seven. Well, fine, I thought. I’ll give it a go. That was the right call. It’s hard to explain BoJack in a manner that entices people to watch (after all, saying “it’s a series looking into how depression and substance abuse can shatter a person and their relationships, but I promise it’s funny, smart, and truly engaging” tends to make people run for the hills), but the best I’ve come up with is: This show will wreck you at points, but the journey you take with these incredibly drawn (both as cartoons and as characters) characters is so moving on an emotional level that its worth the moment of pain to experience the moments of hope.

There’s a deep honesty within BoJack that makes it a cut above the rest of the shows on television (and far and away the best series Netflix has ever had, full stop). BoJack is often a jerk, and the show admits that. Yes, it delves into his trauma and how it affected his life, but it never uses that to excuse his more horrific choices (and there are some doozies). Mr. Peanutbutter, the show’s constant ray of hope, is more than just his sunny disposition. Diane may present herself to the world as an ethically conscious bedrock, but there’s an unease and lack of confidence lurking underneath her hard outer shell that she refuses to reckon with until it starts consuming her.

BoJack Horseman tackles hard issues and isn’t afraid to admit that some problems can’t be solved easily or even at all. And if this sounds way too dark for a cartoon comedy, well, it can be at times. But boy is it also plain hilarious. There are more sight gags than you can catch in a single watch. The pun-game is strong. And there are long-running jokes that last over seasons (the journey of Beloved Character Actress Margot Martindale is one of the funniest things I’ve seen). There’s darkness throughout BoJack, but the series is clear that darkness cannot exist without light. There’s always an undercurrent of hope present. BoJack may be an asshole, but he learns from his mistakes. He genuinely wants to become a better person. The series is just clear that such monumental changes cannot happen overnight. It takes time and it takes personal responsibility. The show will air its final set of episodes in January of 2020, so I don’t know just how BoJack’s journey will end. It’s looking like he’ll finally have to reckon with some of his worst life-choices publicly for the first time. But, I have hope that he will face this last hurdle head-on and make it through to the other side.

3. Fleabag (2016 – 2019)

Season one of Fleabag, the series from the brilliant Phoebe Waller-Bridge (who had a hell of a decade, also creating Killing Eve, appearing in Solo: A Star Wars Story, and co-writing the forthcoming James Bond film) was excellent. That season alone would have had a strong argument for a place on this list (albeit lower than where it is placed now). Then, three years later, came season two. Which was other-worldly good. So, here we are, extolling the virtues of a series that only got better after it was supposed to have ended – a rarity in this age of rebooting shows in the hopes that they will garner even half of the praise and ratings they once had.

But the brilliance of Fleabag is found in how each beat ties tightly into the end result. Take season one: We are in the presence of, we learn slowly throughout the course of the series, of an unreliable narrator who is shielding herself from the guilt she feels by presenting herself as the normal, sane one surrounded by those who seek to persecute her. Only in the finale do we learn that yes, Fleabag’s family does have its own problems (and yes, her future step-mother is, in fact, a monster), but Fleabag is certainly not blameless in her own narrative. With that realization, season two is even more riveting. We know we cannot trust everything that Fleabag tells us, although we also know there’s a great deal of truth to her view of events.

Where season one was Fleabag’s story of coming to terms with her guilt, season two is her coming to terms with what it means to love someone. Where the cornerstone relationship in season one is with her friend Boo, in season two it’s her romantic entanglement with the Priest (the excellent Andrew Scott) and her familial relationship with her sister, Claire (the heartbreakingly good Sian Clifford). The richness of these relationships, and how they impact Fleabag on such a deep level, are what makes this show so damn good. Fleabag may put on a good front for the world, but we get to see just how affected she is by those she lets under her tough façade. And that final relationship – between protagonist and audience – that occurs throughout via the shattering of the fourth wall, takes Fleabag from a good, complex comedy to a great one. And when the curtain falls in season two and we have that close tie with Fleabag taken away from us, well, it hurts. But we also know it’s for the best. It’s time to let her live her life, on her terms, without us watching her every move.

2. The Americans (2013 – 2018)

I never thought I would be in tears while listening to a U2 song (while watching Soviet spies attempt to flee the US), but that’s what happened while I watched the series finale of The Americans. And I know that I am not alone in that reaction. That a series that followed two spies as they stole intelligence, scientists, and killed many people over the course of six seasons could elicit such a deep reaction is a testament to just how much we grew to care about Elizabeth and Philip Jennings, despite their atrocities. To be fair, when you sit down to watch The Americans, you already know how things end from a political perspective. You know the USSR is getting ever closer to falling. You know that, at some point, the FBI agent across the street is going to get wise to what’s been happening right under his nose (although you also know the show will deepen the friendship between Philip and Stan, just to twist the knife all the more once the truth comes out). But you don’t know when things will start to go south for the Jennings family.

And you certainly don’t expect the incredibly nuanced performances from this entire cast of actors – that only seem to get better as the seasons churn on. There’s Keri Russell, who everyone already knew had serious acting chops, taking on a female anti-hero in Elizabeth but never making her wholly unredeemable. Her cold, steely performance would, on occasion, break, letting us see the humanity Elizabeth had been forced to hide for years. And then there was Matthew Rhys, tasked with showing us just how broken Philip was becoming as the years and lies began to stack up. A man who once loved his country, but who became more and more pulled in by the promise of America as things back home got worse. Watching these two play off each other for six seasons, as their characters brought their relationship and their secrets to the edge of brinkmanship, was incredible.

But this wasn’t just about the marriage at the show’s center (although it so often was). There was Noah Emmerich’s steady performance as Stan Beeman, the FBI agent who assumed the best of his friends for too long. The heart of the series, Emmerich’s realization that he’s been played was such an amazing bit of acting that it stopped me cold when I watched it. Holly Taylor’s turn as Paige, the teen daughter of the Jennings, showed such range as she grew from naïve child to someone just as embroiled in her family’s lies as her parents. The series had such a deep bench that I could spend this entire post listing actors and their contributions – but then it would be another couple thousand words long and I know you don’t need to read all that.

This was a story about two nations at war, but it was really a story about a war at home. How love can wound, how trust can be misplaced, and how ideologies can shift when someone you care deeply about is involved. A lot has been made this decade of “sticking the landing” when it comes to ending a series – as if the end of a journey is more important that the journey itself. While having a satisfying and strong ending matters (there’s a reason Game of Thrones does not appear on this list – those uneven final seasons mean it can’t be considered among the greats), you need to succeed at each point along the path to get there. The Americans stuck the landing (and yes, it went a little off the beaten path in its penultimate season, but I’ll forgive it), but the entire journey was worth the ride.

1. The Leftovers (2014 – 2017)

Anyone who has spoken to me about television since 2017 likely predicted this incredible drama would top my Best of the Decade list. After all, for a show that a minuscule audience watched (and most of those viewers were critics), I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time evangelizing about it. But it really is, for my money, one of the greatest television series to ever air, not just one of the best of the decade. A large statement, perhaps, but one that rings true to anyone who has had the pleasure to travel through the three seasons of The Leftovers and experience just all it has to offer.

It’s a show built on this question: “2% of the world’s population simply disappeared. What happens to those who remained?” It’s not about solving where those people went. Or why they disappeared. Or if they can be found and brought back. It’s about what happens to those who stayed. It’s about the characters. The richly drawn, complex, lost and found men and women who have to move forward in whatever way possible. And boy, what characters they are. There’s Kevin Garvey (Justin Theroux, giving a nuanced and heartbreaking performance), the cop from Mapleton, NY, who didn’t actually lose anyone in the mysterious events of October 14, but who did lose himself. And Nora Durst (the superb Carrie Coon, the show’s beating heart), who seemingly lost everything on that fateful day, but who started to find herself. And Laurie (the stalwart and measured Amy Brenneman), who opted for cynical silence that day, after a life spent listening and dispensing advice and hope. And Matt (Christopher Eccleston, whose performance builds over the three years to a rapturous climax in the final season), who saw the tragedy of those lost as a call to greater faith for all, only to find his own faith tested time and again over the ensuing years. And Meg (Liv Tyler, both regal and terrifying), who was so lost before but who finds a purpose in the aftermath of the monumental event.

This collection of characters will make you laugh and cry. And those they meet along the three season journey only enrich the show. Regina King and Kevin Carroll turn the series on its head when they join up in season two. Ann Dowd’s Patti proves to be the absolutely perfect foil for Theroux’s Kevin throughout the series. And Mark Lynn Baker (of the TGIF sitcom Perfect Strangers) becomes a crucial element of the story. These are characters (portrayed by a murderers’ row of actors at the top of their game) that matter. They draw you in. You care about their success and failure. You find yourself yelling at the television when they make the wrong choice- even though you know it was the choice they were destined to make. There’s a mystery at the center of The Leftovers, but it’s not one to be solved. Let the mystery be. It’s simply the jumping off point for exploring humanity in all its glory and darkness. This might sound like a lot for a show to deal with. It might sound too heavy. And yes, the show’s first season is dark and lacks humor. It’s hard to get through, but push on. Get through the darkness because there’s light at the other end of the tunnel. You need the first season to understand where these characters came from. Season one takes them on the beginning of their journey to self-discovery. If you don’t see Kevin at his lowest in the first season, you won’t appreciate who he is in season three. Same with Nora. And Laurie. And Matt. Especially Matt.

But there’s a lightness to the show, too. There’s a Wu-Tang Clan tattoo. There are International Assassins. And karaoke. And a penis scanner. And, of course, there’s a Tasmanian lion sex boat conversation with “God.” Seriously. If that last part isn’t enough to get you to watch, I don’t know what is (and no, you can’t just watch that episode, you need to watch it all). The Leftovers is an adaptation of Tom Perrotta’s novel of the same name, made by him in conjunction with Damon Lindelof (one half of the duo behind Lost, a show that made the mistake of promising answers, while this show promises none). And the first season is pretty loyal to its source material. But seasons two and three, boy, that’s when things get really good. Mimi Leder (one of the greatest television directors of the past 30 years) joined the series in the back half of season one and gave the show its distinctive style. Leder’s touch is felt throughout the series from that moment on, and it’s a true turning point of the show. The camera work, the framing of scenes, the focus on the faces of actors as they break. The visual beauty of the show’s various vistas. It’s something to behold and cherish. And it makes the show so special.

The Leftovers is the perfect synergy of actors, writers, and directors, all working in tandem to deliver an amazing story that hits on all cylinders. Carrie Coon’s Nora, who is in the background throughout most of season one, turns into the show’s core character. It’s a testament to Coon’s amazing work, but also Lindelof’s decision to take a chance on an unknown actress (at least to those outside of the theatre community) and build the emotional arc of an entire series around her. Theroux, whose chiseled good looks and rumored endowment are fetishized throughout the series, turns out to have incredible dramatic chops and grounds the show’s more fantastical moments. I dare you not to fall for either actor, and not to root for their characters to succeed and overcome all the obstacles in their path to contentment (not happiness, because that is never the goal of this show about survival).

But ultimately, The Leftovers is a show about characters. Characters telling stories. Not just presenting stories to us, but characters telling stories to each other. About each other. Where they’ve been, where they’re going, who they were, who they want to become – or who they cannot become, despite the wants of those around them. And that’s what makes the show so damn special. It focuses on the story. The journey. The why and how aren’t the focus. It’s the who. Are there miracles? Are some people chosen for a higher purpose? Is there a reason these particular people make it through trial after trial to persevere? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that they are here, now. Together, apart. And they have a story to tell. It’s a story of human strength in the face of adversity. Of the lies they tell themselves and each other out of fear. Of unbelievable truths. Of faith, lost and found. Of family. Of love. Of loss. Of finding one’s purpose. Of finding the person who makes life complete. And yes, it’s also a story of “God” spending time on a Tasmanian lion sex boat.