The Best TV Shows of 2026 So Far

Just when you thought the idea of spinning off more Game of Thrones shows was simply an exercise in IP extension, along comes a buddy comedy that restores your faith in George R.R. Martin’s TV franchise of fire and ice. Based on the author’s “Tales of Dunk and Egg” novellas and set roughly a century before GoT, this chronicle of the adventures of bumbling would-be knight Dunk (Peter Claffey) and his young, bald-headed squire Egg (Dexter Sol Ansell) is fleet-footed and not weighed down by the need for spectacle that sank the flagship series’ final season. Yes, these two characters will eventually become big deals in the Thrones-verse, and there are some incredible set pieces, including one hell of a jousting battle. But freed from the responsibility of having to add chapters to a saga, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is happy to crack wise and be bawdy over in the saga’s margins. —David Fear

Being in the running to be the next James Bond seems like a rarefied problem, but Riz Ahmed’s Bait mines six hilarious, unpredictable, and universally moving episodes out of the highly specific dilemma. Strictly B-actor Shah Latif (Ahmed) finds himself up for the very A-list part of the British icon, and he’s not handling the pressure well. As he wrestles with issues of identity, selling out, self-involvement, and shame, a supercilious inner voice (Sir Patrick Stewart, really) and the very loud outer voices of his tight-knit Pakistani family drive him to extremes. With exceptionally sharp writing and a fantastic cast, Bait doesn’t need to take such big creative swings — episodes mimic different movie genres and dip in and out of Shah’s unconscious — but even the misses feel worthwhile. In a crowded field, Guz Khan steals every scene as Shah’s cousin (hard to pull off the line “You look like a pedophile gerbil, bro,” but he does) and if you’ve been worried about Industry‘s Rishi (Sagar Radia), he pops up doing fine in Episode Eight. —Jennifer Silverman

How do you follow up a debut that wins eight Emmys and instantly establishes your new show as one of Netflix’s biggest hits? If you’re Lee Sung Jin, the creator of Beef, you start from scratch, assemble a dream cast, and double down on the social commentary. This sophomore-season reset examines not one but two Angeleno couples in a state of crisis: a country-club manager and his interior-decorator wife (Oscar Isaac and Carey Mulligan), and engaged twentysomethings (Charles Melton and Cailee Spaeny) who work for him. Once again, bad behavior, blackmail, and aspirations toward a better life cause these dueling duos to play dirty, even as the stakes keep escalating. Like Beef‘s first season, these eight episodes present a caustic view of a world brimming with ever-elusive brass rings, and give all four leads a large stage on which to rage; even in expanding the show’s scale and scope (the final few episodes take place in Seoul), Lee keeps his sights set on the way the American dream has a way of delivering rude awakenings. That first season was anything but a fluke. —D.F.

Considering how embedded in the culture it’s become, it’s hard to believe that Schitt’s Creek was Dan Levy’s very first credit as both writer and star. How in the name of Pope Moira I do you follow an act like that? Levy made the wise choice to go in a completely different direction with Big Mistakes, the dark crime comedy he co-created with fellow millennial humorist Rachel Sennott. Levy’s Nicky is the diametric opposite of David Rose: a closeted pastor with impostor syndrome — and absolutely no fashion sense — who, along with his slacker sister Morgan (Taylor Ortega), finds himself caught up in New Jersey’s criminal underworld. It’s equal parts cringe comedy, thriller, and family sitcom, elevated by the addition of the great Laurie Metcalf as a suburban mom with an ax to grind. The freshman season ends on a delicious twist that’s got us champing at the bit to find out what fresh shenanigans these three get up to in season two. —Jenna Scherer

The first half of this TV year introduced several excellent new shows examining the struggles and humiliations of fame, but they all live in the shadow of The Comeback, Lisa Kudrow’s master class on self-delusion and resiliency. After a 12-year break between seasons two and three, Hollywood survivor Valerie Cherish (Kudrow) returns to confront a contracting entertainment industry, AI creep, agism, sexism and the compromises of success. As a bittersweet bonus, this season features the recently passed legendary sitcom director James Burrows. He plays himself as the beloved voice of reason, a guy who’s done it all, very well, and can demand a “fun clause” in his contract (“If I’m not have any fun, I’m out”) — something you suspect Kudrow included in hers. —J. Silverman

Excellent television has been crafted around our cratering health system, the dark side of international finance, and examinations of ethnic identity in a postcolonial world, but sometimes, you just need jokes about a dating show called “Ex Peninsula,” featuring the Valtrex Confessional Pool. The latter comes courtesy of The Fall and Rise of Reggie Dinkins, the latest entry in the Tina Fey-Robert Carlock cannon of silly, joke-a-minute comedies. Tracy Morgan plays a disgraced former NFL football player looking for a comeback. To get there, he hires a documentary crew, helmed by a pompous Daniel Radcliffe, to follow him around, along with his ex-wife and manager (Erika Alexander, working magic), current fiancé (Precious Way), son (Jalyn Hall), and live-in Al Cowlings-esque sycophant (Bobby Moynihan). It’s a far from an original premise, and the pilot creaks a bit, but the ensemble soon hits its groove, stuffing jokes into every crevice (Sports Shouting! is back!) while making room for comedy aces like Craig Robinson, Heidi Gardner, and [checks notes] Megan Thee Stallion. —J. Silverman

In the history of television, there’s never been a relationship quite like the one between Deborah Vance (Jean Smart) and Ava Daniels (Hannah Einbinder). Are they creative partners? Professional rivals? Mentor and protégé? Mother and daughter? Best friends? Wives? Yes. After five years spent in the world of Lucia Aniello, Paul W. Downs, and Jen Statsky’s whip-smart, emotionally honest comedy series, we’ve become deeply invested in Deborah and Ava, two women who are completely different and exactly the same. The fifth and final season couldn’t have been a more fitting sendoff for our girls, who have finally come to know and accept each other on every level. We laughed through a hilarious lesbian farce, cheered as they each achieved their lifelong dreams, and wept cathartic tears through that raw, gorgeous finale. These two began as enemies, but they ended as one another’s literal reason to live. —J. Scherer

Just like its baby traders, Industry has grown up over four seasons. What started as a juicy trifle that used London’s finance world as a backdrop for the salacious cavorting of the young and attractive has gradually become a more serious meditation on capitalism, politics, race, class, and power, and how they all make a dangerous cocktail when it comes to human relationships. The series’ fourth installment widened its aperture far beyond Pierpoint, showing how the finance sector’s greedy tentacles stretch across the globe and intertwine with even more sinister underworlds. The unraveling of Kit Harington’s Henry Muck, only for him to wind up coddled, if trapped, on his family’s country estate in perpetuity, is a haunting testament to both the privileges and the damages of the elite. Ken Leung, the series’ stealth MVP, brought pathos and humanity to Eric’s dissolution, while Myha’la’s Harper, who’s sometimes seemed the most soulless of the bunch, proved she still has a moral compass. Yes, the season turned woefully dark by the end — but in a world where the depravities of the so-called Epstein class are only just beginning to be known, nothing it depicted felt too heinous to be real. —Maria Fontoura

Between Euphoria and this series, it’s been a banner year for OnlyFans on the small screen, but David E. Kelley’s adaptation of Rufi Thorpe’s novel about a young, single mom on the platform neither demonizes nor romanticizes the controversial site. Sex work is real work, and NSFW content can be a creative outlet, the show suggests. The struggle to outrun social stigmas around such things is equally real, but this standout dramedy doesn’t let its hot-button topic eclipse everything else — it never forgets it’s a character-driven piece, as well as a first-rate showcase for star-producer Elle Fanning. She’s matched by Michelle Pfeiffer, doing some career-best work as Margo’s mother, who’s trying her best to leave her own checkered past behind, and a surprisingly moving Nick Offerman as Margo’s pro-wrestler pops, grappling with sobriety. It’s the sort of story about class divides and second chances that wears its prestige bona fides lightly, and brims with empathy. Plus, because Kelley’s gonna Kelley, it’s also got a showstopper of a courtroom climax. —D.F.

We came to R. Scott Gemmill’s hospital drama for the ER nostalgia and Noah Wyle’s big, soulful Basset Hound eyes. But we stayed for the propulsive pacing, brilliant ensemble, and hyper-realistic depiction of just how intense life in the ED can be. If the first season was a thriller, the second was a study of the psychological cost of years spent helping people through the worst day of their life. It also grappled with hot-button topics like sexual assault, insulin rationing, and suicidal ideation without ever coming off as didactic. But the show’s appeal ultimately comes down to following the characters we’ve come to know so intimately — not just how they hurt each other, but how they care for each other, whether through wisecracks or tough love. And that karaoke credits scene? Icing on the cake. —J. Scherer

Aside from sweetly enjoyable, it’s a little tough to figure out what, exactly, Wonder Man is. This genre-defying series starts with the familiar Marvel montage and some superhero business but soon switches to the very unheroic life of a struggling actor, Simon Williams (a mesmerizing Yayha Abdul-Mateen II), a guy so dedicated to his process he loses a three-line part for overthinking his barely-there character’s backstory. Simon soon meets a minor Marvel character, Trevor Slattery (a loose, joyous Ben Kingsley) and together the two live out a sort of Once Upon a Time in…MCU Hollywood. It’s a funny, unexpected, poignant study of art, friendship and loneliness, with barely a supernatural set piece in sight. Wonder Man purposely evokes the two-handers of the 1970s (count the references to Midnight Cowboy), with Abdul-Mateen II and Kingsley’s easy banter giving Newman and Redford a run for their money. —J. Silverman