Effective sci-fi mystery or not, as a sharp-edged family drama, Night Sky is a compelling watch.

As historical fiction, as sleepy Gothic romance, as an understated showcase for its cast and crew's talents, it's impossible to escape The Essex Serpent's unexpected charms.

If you’re unfamiliar with Rooney’s work or hoping for a story with characters closer to those found in Normal People, things might not land as well. What can be expected from the show, though, is some lovely coloring and cinematography, stellar performances, well-placed music cues, and a story that lingers after the final credits have rolled.

If you grew up in the 1990s, a latchkey kid glued to the television waiting for that signature surf-guitar riff from The Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet, there’s little doubt that the revival will give you those same feelings all over again.

Underneath its mildly amusing, emotionally scattered exterior, The Pentaverate is a flawed but heartfelt ode to the importance of honesty in an era where lies are widespread and popularized.

Biel’s stuck playing too many conflicting notes: jealous housewife, traumatized child, Ryan Murphy-level camp queen. And really, it’s that disconnect between the low-wattage horror movie and the John Waters-y camp trappings of the story that keeps Candy from feeling consistent or all that complete.

Season 2 proves that the show isn’t even close to running out of steam — each plot point is deliberately designed to take these characters in the most exciting and satisfying direction possible.

In its painterly flourishes, and its willingness to poke at the moroseness of true crime stories from time to time, The Staircase proves gripping television.

It might not have been the most intelligent or profound show, but Ozark has never backed off from its dark, nihilistic, and destructive view of middle-class family values, and its final two episodes bring that vision into its ultimate fruition.

While not the most addictive true-crime drama in recent years, Under the Banner of Heaven is elevated by its heartfelt performances.

This version of The Man Who Fell To Earth could stand to learn something from its predecessor and rely on the strength of its cast and the story, instead of surrounding them with noisy, expensive special effects and scattershot physical comedy.

If the show were just a little tighter in pace, a little more grounded in fact, it’d be an easy recommend to any cinephiles interested in this particular period of film history. Even as is, there are so many strong elements to recommend it. Just don’t trust too much in its version of events.

As a methodical, unblinking account of the ways that the criminal justice system is designed to keep poor and minority citizens marginalized, it’s certainly an eye-opening one.

There is a whole new level of danger in the air, but yet some of the show’s darkest moments happen while no one’s holding a gun. The fact that Barry makes a point of this is why it’s one of the smartest shows on TV right now.

As an example of the well-worn genre of true-crime docs, it's decently well-structured, moves fast at a mere three hours(!), and accurately pins down the societal ills that Gacy's predation highlighted.

While the growth that Nadia — and, to a less-showcased extent, Alan — undergoes this season is made to feel substantial by the time the final (perfect!) shot longs, it’s easy to argue there’s just not enough meat to the seven episodes that comprise it to convince skeptics the return was worth it.

Put fears to rest that this is an unnecessary extension of what could’ve been a wonderful mini-series, as networks are often known to create — this is some gripping television, expanding on a story while honoring its starting point.

The show is mostly about how the hole’s very presence affects the Abbotts and the Tillersons, and the way their animus ripples down through generations. Its ambitions are subtle but powerful, and I can’t wait to see how deep the rabbit hole goes in future seasons.

Slow Horses hardly reinvents the wheel, mostly comfortable with recycling spy-story archetypes with a few minor twists here and there. But when it’s this entertaining, and you get to hear Gary Oldman curse people out with ridiculously-complex bon mots in between fish-and-chips toots, it’s hard to complain about the end product.

Every element of one of TV's best-made shows is working hard to invest us in so many of the show's biggest questions, including the most important one of all: How's it going to end?

Don’t let the stranger-in-a-strange-land story (and Elgort’s presence) put you off Tokyo Vice; it’s as moody and atmospheric as any Mann-led tale you’ll see. Equal parts journalistic procedural, fish-out-of-water story, and Beat Takeshi-esque crime thriller, the first five episodes provided to critics for review set us up for a welcome slice of lurid thrills.

All told, Moon Knight feels limited by that one key choice to start with Steven’s point-of-view. While some of the show’s best moments come from Steven’s ever-present disorientation as to his circumstances, it throws the pacing of the show off to such a degree that by the time the story really kicks into high gear, this highly unconventional origin story feels like it’s drawing to a close.

The Netflix period drama struggles to enrich its storylines and generate the same heat as its debut.

The Donald Glover-created series, returning for Season 3, remains as ethereal and shocking and fascinating as ever; having screened the first two installments, it’s a thrill to know that eight more are coming to engage and confound us.

With stories of real trauma, it’s hard to ever imagine a true ending, and this documentary still manages to end on a hopeful note, if only because the hardest part has happened: Wood has managed to tell her story.

The most frustrating aspect of DMZ is that by the end of these four episodes, it does land on something resembling a complete ending — but it's also made the case for itself as an ongoing series.

While the facts mostly remain the facts (though there’s the standard disclaimer about some of the names and events having been changed), and while it offers new context for those less familiar with the real-life events, the series is ultimately more curious than compassionate towards Michelle.

If nothing else, WeCrashed is a testament to just how long money — or the illusion of it — will insulate narcissists from consequences, and the slow burn of its progression makes the show all the more tantalizingly agonizing