Despite a Masters in Psychology, Mikuri can’t find work. She’s even fired from her temp job, since her employers assume her level of education means she’ll leave anyway. Her father finds her extremely part-time work as a house cleaner for an acquaintance – a shy but serious systems engineer named Hiramasa.
Mikuri can’t afford to live alone, so when her parents suddenly decide to move to the countryside – where she’d have no hope of finding work in her field – she makes a proposal to Hiramasa. They’ll enter a common law marriage, no romance intended. She’ll take over the cleaning, cooking, and laundry at an agreed-upon rate.
The premise may seem regressive, but writer Nogi Akiko turns that expectation on its head. It becomes a framework to recognize the unpaid and undervalued household work that women are often burdened with. When Hiramasa brings a contract proposal to Mikuri, it details the value of everything she would do, a value that often goes unseen.
It wouldn’t work if there weren’t fully realized characters going through all this. Above all, Mikuri cares about putting her heart into her work. Whether it’s psychology, a temp job, or a contracted wife, she cares about doing it well and having that work be appreciated and noticed. She regularly envisions herself as the subject of a documentary or news interviews as a way of reflecting on her own sense of self-worth. Even if her bosses and coworkers don’t notice, the care and effort she puts into perfecting daily tasks is often greater than those bosses and coworkers put forth. She values herself, and considers her effort important and worthy of focus whether anyone sees it or not.
It’s rare we get a character who blends impulsiveness and creativity with great care and attention to detail – and even rarer still when the character’s a woman. We get tons of quirky, capricious women characters and stiff, detail-oriented stereotypes, but rarely do writers imagine a woman is complex enough to be capricious and careful, self-fulfilled and longing, aimless yet direct, tenacious and relaxed. It’s as if all the things a human being is capable of are things a woman character can be capable of, too – which is such an obvious statement that it shouldn’t be impressive when it’s realized. And yet, it’s so rare when women are allowed to be written this way all the way to the screen that it does stand out. Aragaki Yui does a great job embodying Mikuri as a realistic character with a full internal life who can feel and act on all these complexities – and she does it while shifting between broad comedic and nuanced dramatic moments.
Hiramasa is imperfect, but he’s introspective and works to improve. Early on, when he realizes an act of casual homophobia’s hurt one of his friends, he works to change. Even though Mikuri and Hiramasa agree to no romance as part of their arrangement, we are in a romantic comedy, so expect complications. That said, the approach here is incisive. Hiramasa values many of the overlooked things typically asked of women from the start. Part of the reason Mikuri even proposes marriage is that Hiramasa noticed and thanked her for something easy to overlook, and he communicated what an improvement it was and why. He understood intrinsically that this was work, he was grateful for the effort, and he praised the real, noticeable difference it made in his life.
Hoshino Gen plays Hiramasa and he does a very capable job of realizing a man who’s content to be alone, but isn’t stereotypically set in that lifestyle. It’s just what’s easy and comfortable for him, and he makes an argument at one point that if being married for convenience is what’s easiest for two people who both want and consent to it, why wouldn’t they do it? What’s wrong with making life easier on both of them? We pretend marriage is a purely emotional thing removed from practical considerations, but overlooking and not solving the practical and lived-in are what lead to partnerships failing. By looking at the parts of marriage that are increasingly and aggressively dismissed as they begin to matter, “The Full-Time Wife Escapist” asks what gender roles are assumed without thought, challenge, or discussion.
There’s a reason Hiramasa is a systems engineer here. The job entails designing and managing both the technical and practical aspects of complex systems from origination throughout implementation. He brings this perspective back to his life – he understands the real value of work typically loaded onto women, how the system falls apart if no one does it, and thus, how the system is broken at design if the person who does that work isn’t recognized, valued, and compensated for it.
This systemic viewpoint may seem cold, but it relentlessly argues that household work has tremendous value and that overlooking it disempowers and devalues those who do it. The series doesn’t argue that women should be doing that work, but it recognizes that women are overwhelmingly the ones expected to do it and burdened with it in reality, so at the very least it should be recognized and treated with the same value as any other work.
That’s how Nogi inverts the out-of-left-field premise of contractual marriage. It reflects on a genre of 60s “marriage of convenience” sitcoms; it even namedrops “Bewitched”. The stories that arise lean toward episodic and comedic bits. It’s adapted from a manga by Umino Tsunami, and sometimes asks characters to overplay their role for comedic effect. Between Umino and Nogi’s writing, though, it always manages to find the human being in that overplayed moment. There’s a tender way of conveying how and why people are comfortable around each other, why they seek each other specifically out, and what they discover in communicating with each other that creates a safe space.
Aside from some genre-necessary romantic comedy complications, Mikuri and Hiramasa communicate fantastically. They listen, they place themselves in the others’ shoes, they compromise from the others’ standpoint. The entire point is that this is an incredibly healthy marriage before any romance is introduced to it, and that argues that these are the elements of equity that are as fundamental to a partnership as emotion.
I’ve lauded Nogi’s writing in the past. Just as “MIU404” and “Unnatural” tackled police, justice, medical, and work reforms within strong, standalone mysteries, “The Full-Time Wife Escapist” tackles the overlooked work women are asked to do while developing a strong, situational romantic comedy. It might seem dry to highlight how extraordinarily researched her work is, but through her characters holding this information so closely, we’re asked to understand why. She takes this dry, often statistical information about systemic realities and makes it matter to how we live our daily lives and how we treat other people. Her ability to streamline why a piece of information directly impacts our quality of life, our well-being, and the norms we expect of each other is one of the most remarkable things I’ve seen any writer consistently do. And since stories are all about how people treat each other and challenge each others’ norms, it takes these already real characters and grounds the weight of where their lives go. The story about whether they’re able to overcome a system is one in which we’re also emotionally invested. They’re finding a way to personally overcome and rewrite it is the drama, and how nonsense that system is to begin with and how it asks us to act as a result is the comedy.
The dialogue enables entire ensembles of characters to differentiate themselves and shine, regardless of whether there are two people in a scene or eight. This is an absolute feast of character reactions, but what I like is that there are few close-ups. We don’t get individual cutaways that make each reaction obvious, but instead we’re treated to four or five characters in one shot. Our eyes dart between reactions – it’s the type of simultaneous ensemble acting an older cinematic comedy like “The Thin Man” might favor, albeit with cultural differences and more modern sensibilities in framing. By doing this, we’re enjoying the timing of the actors as they play off each other with fewer interruptions, an approach that can often feel more natural and comforting than relying on editing to create the timing.
These reactions also reveal aspects of character that are hidden in dialogue. Mikuri’s mother, Sakura, is way ahead of other characters in terms of catching on to what’s unspoken – but always keeps it unspoken, letting them reveal what they want on their own terms. Mikuri’s aunt, Yuri, is quick to react – but the moment she understands she might be running counter to what her niece needs, she shifts into whatever that need is. There’s utterly nuanced work across the board.
It’s the overall feeling of “The Full-Time Wife Escapist” that I love most, though. There’s a heartwarming glee to watching it, perhaps because all of me is watching it. I don’t have to turn off any part of myself to enjoy it. From my emotional investment in these people all the way up to the systemic arguments about inequality, it’s all of a piece.
There are comedies out there that are broadly reassuring and nice to watch but can feel non-specific and therefore a little hollow in those reassurances. But this is specific in its criticisms, in its eye for what needs improvement in the world, and so its reassurances and hopes feel more substantial. It sees people who care about doing a good job in a system that de-prioritizes those people. It conveys why a woman might feel safe sleeping in the home of a man she barely knows and why the man – knowing that – feels happy about the choices that have made him the kind of person who can be trusted that way. It argues for fairness, for perspective, for valuing overlooked work, and like all Nogi’s work it does so in specific terms with specific grievances and solutions, with lovely people who never lose their sense of humor about it all.
Part of the joy of watching her work is that I’m never getting some generalized sense of consolation as if kindness is a plaque on the wall. I’m witnessing compassion with pinpoint direction and application, kindness as an action that has context and needs work put into it, ways of being that are real and actionable and both systemically and individually argued. And all that can still fit into something that’s a bigger blanket of reassurance, that’s a successful romantic comedy, and is funny enough to have me reeling throughout.
“The Full-Time Wife Escapist” is on Netflix, or can be watched free with ads on Viki TV, which specializes in East Asian series.
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There’s something thrilling about unflappable protagonists working in their specialty. If they’re insulted, libeled, told to stop, refused resources, or their life put at risk, they still get the work in front of them done because it needs doing and if they get it right, it means helping people. Medical coroner Misumi Mikoto is a very believable hero because the solution to each mystery she faces is always just hidden behind the work. She runs a team that autopsies odd deaths, an experiment in Japan, which has a low autopsy rate.
The forensics in “Unnatural” don’t take place in million-dollar, set designed, “CSI”-style labs. The office they work in is tight and cluttered. The drama doesn’t hinge on “Eureka!” moments of realization by a troubled genius. Instead, likable but flawed characters debate and consider each others’ points as conversations weave between cause of death and what to have for lunch.
Showrunner and writer Nogi Akiko has a way of evoking a real office with all its limitations and eccentricities, and populating it with charming, unique characters who exist with one foot in a very recognizable, practical take on reality and the other in a sharply-edited, dramatic, TV-ready one. They make sense in a world that balances both modes.
Ishihara Satomi acts Mikoto as someone who’s sociable but likes to keep her social circle small. By others’ measures, she’s a bit geeky and directionless in her personal life, but her life is what she believes in doing. When doing that work she has a calm tenacity fueled by an idealistic streak that’s easy to admire. She contends with a cantankerous senior coroner, a boss who’d rather cook than play bureaucratic politics the office needs, an inexperienced assistant, and her blunt best friend Yuko – she’s often ready to throw an insult or confront someone when Mikoto would find a more diplomatic way.
The pace of the dialogue is sometimes lightning-quick, which can be challenging with subtitles. I feel no shame in occasionally scrubbing back 10 seconds to re-read a bit or so I can watch the performance more closely. It’s worth it because when the writing is this good, actors like these can work magic with it.
There are a lot of times when I feel I’m watching something more akin to “The West Wing” than to Western medical dramas. A lot of that’s the balance between the drama and comedy in a professional environment, but there are other pieces that factor into that comparison:
Nogi’s portrayal of the field she’s covering is deeply informational. First off, science isn’t treated as magic here. Things aren’t made up. Occasionally, they’re sped up, but Mikoto works in a building full of labs and her boss is owed a lot of favors, so I can buy that. But the science is explained, and the crutch of DNA that mystery shows lean on for big reveals is treated as one of many factors that all have to fit in order to draw a conclusion. That one big reveal other shows rely on is just a step along the way here, until all the clues fit alongside each other to make sense.
The social commentary in “Unnatural” is just as piercing as Nogi’s police procedural “MIU404”. She’s extremely critical of police departments’ weaponization of arrests, tendency to bully witnesses, and desire to take the route toward the easiest conviction rather than the right one. If a local medical school doesn’t give police the conclusions they want, or it’s far and the police don’t want to drive it that day, they’ll just skip the autopsy even if it’s needed. She backs up her criticisms with information, and houses it within characters having to work their way around these obstacles or deal with their fallout.
Nogi also has rare ability to write media reaction. Mikoto’s biggest hurdle is often being a woman in this field. It impacts how many of those outside her profession find it unseemly, and how those linked to her profession judge her as less capable. She’s torn down in a court case for her professionalism being “hysterical”, while a man walks all over the proceedings and is shown deep respect for his outburst.
“Unnatural” came out in 2018 in Japan, but aside from some niche availability, its arrival on Netflix is the first time it’s hit a major streaming service in the U.S. Don’t at all be dissuaded from the show being six years old. Our police procedurals may be new, but are largely stuck in modes that are 20 years moldy.
In fact, despite dropping in 2018, “Unnatural” has the best take on the COVID pandemic that I’ve seen…you know, the one that started two years later? East Asia has had to deal with these outbreaks before we had to face one in the U.S., but what’s impressive is how fully Nogi breaks down the political and media discourse that surrounds it. Those in power obfuscate to protect themselves rather than clarify to mitigate others’ risk. Corporate interests trump human ones. Doctors fight tooth and nail to get accurate information out while the media obsesses over a blame game instead. Panel shows break down portions of blame to turn pandemic debate into entertainment. If writers warn of what’s to come, this is some of the most impressive writing I’ve seen. I’d have room to be awe-struck by how prescient Nogi’s writing is if I weren’t so chilled by it.
“Unnatural” is a mystery, so characters face a life-or-death moment now and then. What I like is that the series isn’t interested in making these into expensive, overdramatic set pieces. Instead, it maintains its tight character focus. Characters make the smartest decisions they can with the tools they have on hand, and trust their team to make similarly smart decisions with the information they have. No one becomes a stereotype or an action hero – characters simply double down on who they’ve always been and do the work that gives themselves the best chance of surviving. It’s rare a writer looks at a set piece, declines to show it to you, and decides what’s more exciting is how capably these characters can avoid it. And when you can write like this, she’s absolutely right.
Larger series arcs are introduced not through towering reveals or mustache-twirling villains, but through character stories that intertwine and build episode to episode. It makes us understand the practical elements that feed these arcs. Nogi doesn’t have to declare their importance or cheat them in if she’s simply enabled us to see how those elements have grown over time.
There are some filmmakers and writers who become appointment viewing. Nogi Akiko is one of them. “Unnatural” is phenomenal. The mysteries are good and the process for solving them is more complex and realistic than what we usually get. The social commentary is some of the best I’ve seen worked into a series, using a lighthearted, optimistic tone to constantly work loose biting systemic criticisms. There’s a very empathetic eye for finding what’s human in every character despite how different they all are, which makes their stop-and-start bonding feel real in both its honesty and awkwardness. The dialogue is constantly interesting and edifying, and the humor is on point and endearing. I haven’t talked nearly enough about Ishihara Satomi, who realizes in Mikoto a deeply interesting and admirable character, someone who’s idealistic, more than capable enough to back it up, and never stops god damn trying even when others tell her to knock it off.
“Unnatural” is on Netflix, or can be watched free with ads on Viki TV, which specializes in East Asian series.
If you enjoy what you read here, consider subscribing to my Patreon! It helps with the time and resources to write more articles like this.
The ebb and flow of titles is always unpredictable, so I thought I’d do something a little different this week. Last week saw 13 new shows and movies by women. This week sees just one, “Past Lies” from Spain. It’s frustrating when that happens, but rather than just pitch a single title up here, I’ll take the opportunity to share some standout shows by women I’ve seen so far from this year. First, let’s tell you about “Past Lies”:
NEW SERIES
Past Lies (Hulu) directed by Julia de Paz, Clara Roquet
A group of successful women are shaken when the 25-year-old remains of a missing high school classmate are found in Mallorca, where they shared their senior trip. Star Elena Anaya may be familiar to American audiences from her lead role in “The Skin I Live In”.
Director Clara Roquet won Best New Director and was nominated for Original Screenplay at the 2022 Goya Awards, Spain’s equivalent to the Oscars. Director and co-writer Julia de Paz was nominated for Adapted Screenplay the same year.
“Past Lies” premieres on Hulu tomorrow, Friday May 10.
THIS YEAR’S SHOWS SO FAR
Links go to my reviews, let’s get in:
“Fallout” (Amazon) is one of the best shows of the year. It’s an incredibly biting and visually beautiful post-apocalyptic dark comedy co-showrun by Geneva Robertson-Dworet. It works as an adventure, as action, as science-fiction, as character drama, and especially as a dark comedy. Watching it kind of broke me because as fun as it is, its retrofuturist satire bites deeply into modern anxieties.
“Mr. and Mrs. Smith” (Amazon) is a spy comedy showrun by Francesca Sloane. Dry humor in an unsettling atmosphere makes for an incredibly unique feeling – the whole show is quirky but tense. There are multiple memorable guest stars, which is usually a feature I don’t care much about, but here it’s used very well and in ways that sometimes undermine the concept. Maya Erskine and Donald Glover star, and the pair act the hell out of it.
Those two are pretty intense. If you need something lighter but still very worthwhile, “Renegade Nell” (Disney+) is a really fun historical adventure/comedy about a woman forced to become a thief. It’s showrun by Sally Wainwright. I’d compare it to a period “Buffy” with much higher production values, or a series-level “Pirates of the Caribbean” without the baggage. If the first episode doesn’t hook you, you are unhookable.
“Death and Other Details” (Hulu) is fun if you can get along with its period-mystery-in-modern-times vibe. Mandy Patinkin plays the wacky detective. It’s co-showrun by Heidi Cole McAdams. Its quirk might come off as overly precious to some, but I ended up liking its diorama-esque stylization. It acts like a stage comedy, which is something I look for, but you’ll be able to tell pretty quickly if it’s your thing or not.
And of course, “Abbott Elementary” (Hulu) is still a great comedy co-showrun by Quinta Brunson. The writing has an incredibly good feel for its ensemble and where their strengths lie. Usually a sitcom gets its good writing in early seasons and the ensemble develop their timing in later ones, but “Abbott Elementary” has enjoyed both right off the bat.
I’m working on “Unnatural” (Netflix) right now. I loved Nogi Akiko’s police series “MIU404” because it presented a way that police can help people from a non-antagonistic perspective, and it focused on both large and small cases. Not everything was high drama, life-or-death stakes. Its sensibilities were completely different from an American cop show. “MIU404” is still on Netflix. I highly recommend it, and I’m thrilled Nogi’s prior series “Unnatural” – about a woman leading a forensics team investigating odd deaths – is now there, too.
On my watchlist are the second season of Tima Shomali’s Jordanian drama “AlRawabi School for Girls” (Netflix). The first season was incredibly salient, punctuating an intriguing interpersonal drama about bullying with some rattling scenes.
I also need to watch Korean vigilante mystery “A Killer Paradox” (Netflix) written by Kim Da Min, and I keep hearing really good things about Vivienne Medrano’s animated musical-in-hell series “Hazbin Hotel” (Amazon) so I’ll be checking that out.
In this feature, I limit the weekly coverage to series showrun or directed by women (or else I couldn’t do the amount of research I have to do weekly). But I do want to highlight how good of a year it’s been for anime written (or based on work written) by women:
“The Apothecary Diaries” (Crunchyroll) is the best mystery going for a second year in a row. It follows Maomao, the daughter of an apothecary in Imperial China. She wants to remain anonymous and live a quiet life of testing poisons on herself, but her knowledge of chemistry and medicine means she can make connections between clues others can’t. The mysteries are balanced between small and large, between incidental and intentional, and its protagonist is a unique blend of tenacious and lazy that you usually don’t see – especially for women characters. “The Apothecary Diaries” is based on a light novel series by Hyuuga Natsu.
“Delicious in Dungeon” (Netflix) is a rangy fantasy series that tells its story through cooking (of fantasy creatures), written by Ueno Kimiko and based on a manga series by Kui Ryouko. Its talented but sometimes bumbling adventuring party is a familiar anchor of fantasy, but done very well here. As they set out to resurrect one of the party’s sisters before a dragon fully digests her, what makes the show unique is how it world-builds. They’re broke, so they cook monsters along the way. Hunting and cooking requires knowledge of the dungeon’s ecology and environmental impacts, which in turn reveal complex relationships between the world and its magic. It’s deeply thought out and surprisingly engrossing. And while it’s not primarily an action series, its action scenes are phenomenal.
“7th Time Loop” (Crunchyroll) is one of the best uses of time loop fiction I’ve seen, about a woman who repeats five years, each time taking a different career. Every time, a war that envelops the world causes her death, and she restarts that five year chunk. She keeps the skills and knowledge she accumulates each go-round, and makes it her mission to use these to stop the war. It’s written by Machida Touko and based on a light novel series by Amekawa Touko. I would’ve preferred it got an extra episode to give the ending some more room to breathe, but it has such incredible character writing along the way that it’s a minor flaw. There are scenes here that are so literary and layered they should be studied if you’re even remotely interested in storytelling.
“A Sign of Affection” (Crunchyroll) is a superb and tranquil romance between a deaf woman and a man who learns sign language. What I like about it is that things don’t come easy – and I don’t mean the usual trope of dragging the will they-won’t they out. What I mean is that both characters question if they truly like each other or simply see in each other an idea they want to embody in themselves. Yuki’s been sheltered and likes that Itsuomi travels the world. Does she like him, or just that he represents a wider world out there? Itsuomi travels because he seeks out new experiences. Does he like her, or is she simply a new experience that will fade once familiar? The great gentleness and care for the other with which they figure this out already provides the answer, but even if the anime itself is pretty sentimental, it’s refreshing to see this realistic complexity and sense of responsibility be the core of the story. It’s also a really good view on a man doing the work to unlearn assumptions and understand someone else’s perspective. Itsuomi doesn’t automatically know how to understand and relate to someone who’s deaf, and he makes clear mistakes, but he does the work to unlearn bad habits and replace them with recognition and communication.
This last one is current season, so only halfway in, but “Train to the End of the World” (Crunchyroll) is a very hidden gem. It fuses wholesome with disturbing as four girls drive a train through an incredibly artistic and metaphorical post-apocalypse to find their lost friend. It’s cosmic horror if the power of very stubborn friendship was enough to fight your way through it, and holding onto that in the face of unprecedented weirdness has its own way of speaking to our times. It’s written by Yokote Michiko.
There are 13 new titles this week so let’s skip the prologue and get right in. New series by women come from Japan, Korea, Nigeria, the U.K, and the U.S. New movies directed by women come from Italy, South Africa, and the U.S.
NEW SERIES
Unnatural (Netflix) showrunner Nogi Akiko
Mikoto is a doctor working at a forensic lab. She runs a team that looks into deaths that don’t quite make sense, and uncovers a serial poisoning case.
I am over-the-moon that this series is finally widely available in the U.S. It’s by Nogi Akiko, who also wrote and showran “MIU404”, a police procedural that tackled toxic genre issues and offered an antidote to antagonistic policing. It was one of the best portrayals I’ve seen of a functional, multi-talented team valuing each others’ perspectives in realistic ways.
All 10 episodes of “Unnatural” are out on Netflix.
A Man in Full (Netflix) half-directed by Regina King
Jeff Daniels plays an Atlanta real estate mogul unexpectedly facing bankruptcy. He goes to (corporate) war to keep what he has. Diane Lane and Lucy Liu costar. The series is based on the Tom Wolfe novel.
Regina King directs 3 of the 6 episodes of the David E. Kelley series. She won an Oscar for her performance in “If Beale Street Could Talk”, and has directed on “Scandal”, “Shameless”, and “This Is Us”. Her 2020 film “One Night in Miami…” saw three Oscar nominations. She has an argument as the best actor-director working today.
All 6 episodes of “A Man in Full” are out on Netflix.
CW: The Holocaust
The Tattooist of Auschwitz (Peacock) showrunner Tali Shalom Ezer
A Jewish prisoner is given the job of tattooing identification numbers on fellow prisoners’ arms. It’s based on the novel of the same name by Heather Morris. Harvey Keitel and Melanie Lynskey star.
Tali Shalom-Ezer directs. She also helmed “My Days of Mercy”.
All 6 episodes of “The Tattooist of Auschwitz” are out on Peacock.
Frankly Speaking (Netflix) showrunner Jang Ji Yeon
Ki Baek is a 33-year-old broadcast announcer, stricken with a disease that causes him to say whatever comes to mind. This catches the eye of Woo Joo, a variety writer who wants to feature his unfiltered takes in an attempt to save her show.
Jang Ji Yeon directs/showruns. She also helmed romance “Nevertheless”.
The premiere of “Frankly Speaking” is out on Netflix, with a new episode as it airs in Korea dropping every Wednesday.
Postcards (Netflix) directed by Hamisha Daryani Ahuja
Four Nigerians attempt to establish their daily lives and find their own community in India.
There’s not a lot of information available about this one, but it is out on Netflix tomorrow, Friday May 3.
NEW MOVIES
I Saw the TV Glow (in theaters) directed by Jane Schoenbrun
This A24 horror film follows two suburban teens who bond over a late-night TV show, which suggests a supernatural world exists below their own. Reality begins to take the hint.
Writer-director Jane Schoenbrun also made “We’re All Going to the World’s Fair”, a no-budget, reality-bending horror which gained traction online over the COVID shut-in.
“I Saw the TV Glow” starts in limited release tomorrow, Friday May 3.
Prom Dates (Hulu) directed by Kim O. Nguyen
Two girls make a pact to have the perfect prom, but they break up with their dates less than 24 hours before the dance. They have a night to find new dates, an effort that spirals into an ever-growing crisis.
Kim O. Nguyen directs. She’s also helmed episodes of “Never Have I Ever” and “With Love”.
“Prom Dates” is out on Hulu tomorrow, Friday May 3.
Turtles All the Way Down (Max) directed by Hannah Marks
This is a confusing one. The official synopsis reads that a teenager with OCD is determined to solve the disappearance of a fugitive billionaire, which is also the plot of the novel it’s based on. The trailer mentions nothing about this, and seems to be about a teen with OCD embarking on her first romance. Maybe it’s both? Rarely do I come across advertising that seems so at odds with itself, but it’s probably about at least one of those two things.
Hannah Marks directs and costars. She also directed poly comedy “Mark, Mary & Some Other People” and John Cho father-daughter drama “Don’t Make Me Go”.
“Turtles All the Way Down” is out on Max.
Lost Soulz (in theaters) directed by Katherine Propper
A rapper sets out with a group of touring hip-hop musicians, determined to build his music career on a road trip through Texas.
“Lost Soulz” sees a limited release in theaters tomorrow, Friday May 3.
Beautiful Rebel (Netflix) directed by Cinzia Th. Torrini
This Italian biopic follows rock star Gianna Nannini. Starting her career in the late 70s, her breakthrough finally happened in 1984.
Cinzia Th. Torrini has helmed a number of Italian series.
“Beautiful Rebel” is on Netflix.
Lola (Netflix) directed by Nicola Peltz Beckham
Lola works with one goal in mind: to get her younger sibling Arlo out of their toxic home. An unexpected crisis turns her plans on their head.
Nicola Peltz Beckham writes, directs, and stars in her feature debut.
“Lola” is out on Netflix.
Tarot (in theaters) co-directed by Anna Halberg
A group of friends uses a set of cursed cards to do a tarot reading, which is generally a bad idea in a horror movie titled “Tarot”.
Anna Halberg directs with Spenser Cohen. This is her first film directing. She started in the industry as a casting and assistant director.
“Tarot” has a wide release tomorrow, Friday May 3.
Thabo and the Rhino Case (in theaters) directed by Mara Eibl-Eibesfeldt
A boy named Thabo wants to become a private detective. His first case is the death of a rhino, killed in a safari park for its horn.
Mara Eibl-Eibesfeldt directs.
“Thabo and the Rhino Case” is out in theaters tomorrow, Friday May 3.
It’s a big week for new series, with seven showrun or directed by women. These cover post-apocalypse, near-future, slice-of-life, thriller, and a pair of mysteries. I’m always fascinated by what comes to us from other countries, and how streaming services choose to pursue certain markets. For instance, Hulu continues chasing Netflix’s lead in the burgeoning K-drama audience, as Netflix continues making deep inroads into producing and licensing Japanese live-action work.
There used to be a lot of competition for European shows between Max and Netflix, but since Discovery effectively took over Warner Bros. and HBO Max – and decided they didn’t want to pay European residuals – that area has been left for Netflix to farm. You’ll notice all three titles from continental Europe this week are on Netflix – that’s pretty usual these days. (The one from the U.K. is, too, but everyone tends to bring in British work.)
This week, new shows by women come from France, Japan, Korea, the U.K., and the U.S. New movies by women come from Spain and Sweden.
Based on a beloved video game franchise filled with off-kilter humor, a woman who’s lived her life in an underground vault must trek a post-apocalyptic world filled with radiation and mutants.
Geneva Robertson-Dworet showruns with Graham Wagner. She also co-wrote the screenplays for “Captain Marvel” and the 2018 “Tomb Raider”.
All 8 episodes of “Fallout” are out on Amazon Prime immediately.
Blood Free (Hulu) showrunner Lee Soo Yeon
Genetically engineered meat has replaced the consumption of animal meat, but the corporation that’s brought about this revolution is approaching turmoil. Rumors swirl about CEO Yoon Ja Yoo, and her bodyguard Chae Woon must engage a future world of industrial espionage.
Showrunner Lee Soo Yeon also wrote on “Stranger” and “Life”.
The two-episode premiere of “Blood Free” is out on Hulu. A new episodes arrives every Wednesday.
Anthracite (Netflix) co-showrun by Fanny Robert
A reporter goes missing in the Alps, leading his daughter – a sleuth in her own right – to a remote and unsettling mountain town. The French series was filmed in Switzerland.
Fanny Robert showruns with Maxime Berthemy. Robert also wrote on “Profilage” and produced on “Passport to the World”.
All 5 episodes are out on Netflix.
Tonari no Yokai-san (Crunchyroll) directed by Yamauchi Ami
A mountain town sees humans and supernatural beings living a cozy life side by side.
This is Yamauchi Ami’s second series as director after 2022’s “Ryman’s Club”.
“Tonari no Yokai-san” is on Crunchyroll. The premiere is out, with a new episode every Saturday.
Baby Reindeer (Netflix) directed by Weronika Tofilska, Josephine Bornebusch
A stand-up comic is stalked from gig to gig and in his private life, forcing him to confront both his stalker and long-buried trauma. The series is based on Richard Gadd’s one-man play, and he writes the series.
Weronika Tofilska and Josephine Bornebursch direct. Tofilska co-wrote the exceptional “Love Lies Bleeding” and has directed on “The Irregulars”, “Hanna”, and “His Dark Materials”. Bornebusch wrote on “Love Me” and “Orca”.
All 8 episodes of “Baby Reindeer” are on Netflix immediately.
Mission: Yozakura Family (Hulu) directed by Minato Mirai
Taiyo loses his family in a car crash. He’s comforted by his longtime friend Mutsumi. They eventually marry, but he must become a spy – just like every other member of the family.
Minato Mirai has also directed on “Bofuri” and “The Misfit of Demon King Academy”.
“Mission: Yozakura Family” has its premiere on Hulu, with a new episode every Sunday.
Destiny (Netflix) showrunner Yoshida Noriko
(No embeddable trailer out, but you can see one on Netflix here.)
Kanade becomes a prosecutor, spurred on by the death of her prosecutor father. Years after she splintered from her friends in law school, she takes up the case that split them up…and it may reveal new information about her father’s death.
Yoshida Noriko showruns and writes.
The premiere of “Destiny” is on Netflix, with new episodes every Tuesday.
NEW MOVIES
Love, Divided (Netflix) directed by Patricia Font
A young pianist named Valentina conflicts with – and falls for – David, a noisy inventor. I believe this is the feature film acting debut for Spanish singer-songwriter Aitana.
The Spanish comedy is helmed by Patricia Font and written by Marta Sanchez.
“Love, Divided” arrives on Netflix tomorrow, Friday April 12.
Stolen (Netflix) directed by Ellke Marja Eira
A Saami woman tracks down a killer in a world where her culture is being choked out. The Swedish film is told in Saami and Swedish.
Elle Marja Eira directs.
“Stolen” is out on Netflix tomorrow, Friday April 12.
Now to the top 10. First off, what didn’t make my list and why am I so horrible for not considering it? There’s one that I just can’t get on board, and it wins all the awards and makes people argue over which horrible wealthy person they love the most and think should have all the money and they’d give their money to if they were real and ugh. That’s right, it’s “Succession”. Never gonna put it on my list, and those are just a few of the many reasons why.
Allow me my yearly paragraph(s) to state I’ve tried “Succession” and I just can’t bring myself to get invested in billionaires fighting over money. I could barf at the thinkpieces that came out when the series landed, telling us how AOC and Elizabeth Warren could change their messaging to acknowledge that wealth was its own punishment. I went to a boarding prep school on a ton of scholarship and financial aid. I learned to chameleon in with a lot of rich people – probably not that well, but the point is I got to see some of those families in their natural environment.
Some were good, some were bad, some were kind, some were awful, some families suffered horribly from their wealth, others were having the time of their lives with it. Wealth is not some excruciating burden the rich suffer so the rest of us don’t have to, nor should suffering while happening to be wealthy excuse someone from the corruption and abuse that wealth augments.
I don’t know why we keep telling ourselves the myth of the burdened billionaire, or if I do know I think it disappoints me too much to think that could possibly be the case. I understand this isn’t all of what “Succession” does, but it is a part of it, and it genuinely grates on me. I love a lot of the actors on “Succession” and I was jumping up and down telling everyone about Sarah Snook years beforehand, but…I just can’t get on board a segment of the priorities “Succession” relies upon to tell its story. There’s an entry on this list (“Queenmaker”) that asks many of the same questions, investigates accountability and redemption in very realistic terms, and does so without falling into traditional pitfalls of choosing our favorite billionaire that we’ve had countless opportunities to outgrow.
Is that an unreasonable judgment on “Succession”? I look around and see so many amazing series that I can spend my reason on better. Like this:
10. Am I Being Unreasonable?
(Hulu) Nic is a mother who self-medicates with alcohol to dull a traumatic loss. She dislikes her marriage and feels isolated until she meets a new mom at school. This would be Jen, and the pair find joy feeding on each others’ chaos. Our first impression of every character isn’t good, and that’s the point. “Am I Being Unreasonable?” constantly morphs genres and perspectives in order to reconsider our previous impressions and reveal how wrong they were.
What’s remarkable and unique about “Am I Being Unreasonable?” is that our judgments become the framework of the storytelling. The series sells itself and its characters short in our eyes to appear simpler and sillier than it really is, only to take a 90 degree turn and reveal what’s really happening…and then another 90 degree turn from there to reveal a new misread we’ve made. The thing is, the show rarely distracts or lies. It just lets us make assumptions, and then gives us more information so we can realize how toxic and misleading the assumptions we’ve made have been.
Daisy May Cooper and Selin Hizli play Nic and Jen, and also write and showrun the series. I started out disliking every character because the question in the title isn’t just about them – it’s about the viewer. The series casts in stark relief how much we rely on being unreasonable in order to tell and be told stories – on the screen and in real life. (Read the review.)
9. The Apothecary Diaries
(Crunchyroll) Maomao is a girl who serves as the apothecary for a red-light district. On her way home, she’s kidnapped and sold as a servant to the Imperial Palace. She tries to keep her head down as she serves out a forced 2-year contract, but as the emperor’s children grow ill, she has to pipe up when she’s the only one with the knowledge to help them.
Her experience with poisons gets her promoted as a food taster in the Inner Palace, where the emperor’s four concubines and their ladies-in-waiting reside. Mysteries both intentional and accidental flourish among the court politics, some women finding it an honor to be there, others wanting out. A eunuch who Maomao bristles at runs the Inner Palace and harasses her, but she tolerates him because he brings her cases and allows her free reign to experiment with foods and medicines. She learns to get what she wants while still drawing clear lines and being protected by the concubine she serves.
Maomao is an exceptional and complicated character. She’s obsessed with testing poisons on herself and is quick to assess what someone else’s goals are. She’s ambitiously lazy, but also doesn’t want others shouldering work that she could be helping with. She’s content to be walked all over when she doesn’t see anything to gain from standing up, but she can command a room and fearsomely put everyone in their place when there’s a truth that must be communicated. She doesn’t want to be noticed and fears making a mistake that will see her executed, but she’ll dismiss and scold royalty if it means saving someone. She’s an exceptional detective, but she often protects the criminals when she thinks their actions have reason, or the revelation of a truth will do more harm than good.
The mysteries themselves are varied and the motives human – often understandable, if misguided. No two mysteries follow the same formula in terms of the investigation and the evolution of clues, making the path each takes feel tenuous and consequential.
The art is stunning, often at the level of a film. It’s colorful and its sense of lighting is evocative. It also has a great eye for timing – whether it’s for the broadest physical comedy or the smallest change in a character’s expression. This is up there with the very best mystery series I’ve seen in the last several years.
8. The Worst of Evil
(Hulu) Gicheul is a club DJ in 1990s Gangnam. Discontent with his role as a minor drug dealer within a crime syndicate, he quietly masses a rebellion against the region’s leader and takes the area over.
Junmo is a tenacious rural police officer who is chosen to go undercover and join Gicheul’s gang. The only problem is that Gicheul once knew Junmo’s wife Euijung, and that she’s a police officer. A chance encounter complicates Junmo’s cover story and throws Euijung into the fray.
What makes “The Worst of Evil” work so well is its focus on small details. Emotional vulnerabilities give Junmo access to the gang as he pretends to be a fallen comrade’s cousin. They’re also what let Gicheul exploit Junmo and Euijung as the undercover operation becomes messier and messier.
But those emotions are just the start. That fine detail work lets them sell their undercover stories. It’s not emotional distrust that begins to carve away Gicheul’s confidence in Junmo, or even the introduction of Euijung. It’s a small, everyday detail overlooked in an operation that throws a wrench into the works. What threatens Junmo the most is the operation he’s a part of making too many of these small mistakes.
The fight choreography is beautifully choreographed chaos, where technique rises and falls as mass fights get more and more desperate. It creates an ebb and flow where characters lose and regain control over how they engage others. It’s choreography that communicates there are rarely winners in a fight, but rather a side that can afford the human cost more than the other. The set design and cinematography are brilliant and repulsive. It feels like everything’s coated in a layer of cigarette ash, which complements the visual translation of the series’ barely controlled violence. It forms a well of brutality over which Junmo and Gicheul dance, where the real clash is how quickly Gicheul can erode details as Junmo and his undercover operation improvise and manipulate new ones into being. (Read the review.)
7. Skip and Loafer
(Crunchyroll) We go from the most brutal entry on this list to the kindest. Mitsumi dreams of working in government, so she transfers from the countryside to a Tokyo high school. She stays with her Aunt Nao, a trans woman who is deeply nurturing and protective of her niece.
Mitsumi has a plan for school, but her anxieties are realized when everything that can go wrong does. Luckily, her first friend there is a supportive boy named Sosuke. He’s effortlessly popular, but feels isolated by guilt and harbors a sadness at his core. Whereas Mitsumi is filled with anxiety and struggles socially, she also has a deep well of hope and carries with her the support of her community and family.
Mitsumi and Sosuke are two beautifully human characters who recognize the ways in which the other needs kindness and support. Even if they don’t always realize how or why, they draw what’s best out of each other, and those around them start doing this for each other, too.
Director Deai Kotomi has an eye for picking up the subtle ways in which people feel vulnerable, mask that vulnerability, or feel safe enough around someone to unmask it. Her sunny, breezy, pastel color scheme is punctuated by deeply textural visual moments. Mitsumi’s hometown is a breathtaking work of art, told in one episode I can only describe as utter peace. The series is beautiful and heartwarming and made me cry for the rarest of reasons – not because anything sad happens, but just because it feels like a place where it’s reassuring to do so. “Skip and Loafer” is a gift of kindness. (Read the mini-review.)
6. Reservation Dogs
(Hulu) If you haven’t started “Reservation Dogs”, you’re lucky. You’ve got three seasons of one of the funniest and most touching shows waiting for you. The comedy follows four Native American teenagers growing up on a reservation in Oklahoma. The third season finds them returning from a disastrous but very needed trip. It’s filled with brilliantly interwoven jokes, where one punchline barely finishes before the next is set up.
Episodes aren’t afraid of following tangents, only to reveal later how that tangent is deeply related to a character or their community. By now, the mythological Deer Lady has gotten an episode a season, and this season’s is a devastating entry housed in history.
She’s not alone – “Reservation Dogs” makes the best use of guest stars of any series running. Graham Greene has a beautifully felt performance, and there’s a surprise or two later in the season. “Reservation Dogs” is rife with humor that pokes fun at white co-optations of Native experiences, excising these and replacing them with far better, indigenous comedy. The cast is a blend of actors and comedians young and old who have extremely different approaches, and showrunner Sterlin Harjo utilizes this to make every episode flexible and unpredictable. You rarely know what’s actually going to happen next, whether it will be outlandish or understated, raucous comedy or piercing drama.
“Reservation Dogs” has made my top 10 each of its three seasons. It boasts some of the best individual episodes of every year it’s been on. Give it a try if you haven’t; it’s well worth it.
5. Queenmaker
CW: sexual assault, suicide
(Netflix) Cutthroat corporate strategist Hwang Do Hee has never met a truth she couldn’t massage through the media and turn on its head. Her unswerving loyalty to the wealthy Son family she serves causes her to disbelieve a sexual assault victim and bully her toward an NDA, covering up a rape by Son’s son-in-law Baek Jae Min and resulting in the victim’s suicide. Her illusions broken, Do Hee goes to war with the family she once served.
The Son family runs Baek himself for mayor of Seoul, Korea’s capital. The position is a stepping stone to the Korean presidency. Do Hee approaches Oh Kyung Sook, an incorruptible lawyer-turned-activist who’s never met a truth she isn’t willing to fight for, and who very justifiably hates Do Hee. The pair decide to run Oh as a candidate, Do Hee maneuvering according to her own talents, but bound by Oh’s ethics instead of her own.
This series has the writing of the year for me. A lot happens, so much that it’s difficult to believe it could all transpire in one election…until you look around at how much more happens in our real-life elections. It’s strange that so much slander and narrative would strain belief in a fictional election, yet barely equate to a week in one of our own.
Moon Ji Young wrote the series, and she makes the cascade of fights, slander, and strategies feed off each other and swing one into the next – all the way highlighting how media buys, journalists, corporate promises, backroom deals, social media, and consumerism can be manipulated into favoring a dangerous candidate. Moreover, she demonstrates how each can be used uniquely against a qualified and proven woman running for office. The politics may be specifically Korean, but even as someone in the U.S. there’s a mountain here that speaks to what our own political landscape has barely endured.
This is the best ensemble of the year for me, and offers some of the most complex and varied roles written for women as they dominate the main cast – as a wealthy matriarch, a daughter with intermittent explosive disorder, another who bides her time, a corporate strategist trying to live up to a Do Hee’s legend, as a heroic activist turned politician, another activist who betrayed her movement, as a journalist, as a researcher, the list goes on.
Through it all, Moon’s writing paints a staggering story of Do Hee pursuing her own accountability and redemption, even if too late. Kim Hee Ae’s Do Hee is a role that’s Shakespearian in its dynamism. She’s detestable, but human in understanding how she became so. She conveys how easy it is for anyone to cross a line and treat others with horror so long as they think they’re right. Her ability to draw our ire and shock even as she draws our empathy, for us to hate her before we want to see her eviscerate the people who taught her and expected her to do hateful things – it’s a complex web that Do Hee herself is undoing.
Kim’s performance shows us how easily someone we can understand as a hero in one minute could be weaponized by those with more money and power the next. Moon’s writing investigates whether someone who’s done something so horrible and irreversible can become accountable and through their actions use what they know about inhabiting and enabling corruption to protect and help others. Neither gives us easy answers, but the questions drive one of the very best political shows I’ve ever seen.
4. Beef
(Netflix) A man tries backing out of his parking space. A woman in a passing SUV blocks him in and lays on the horn. Both think the other’s at fault, and escalate a road rage incident until they’re enacting elaborate plans to ruin the other’s life. Steven Yeun and Ali Wong are phenomenal, in turns wearing their pain as raging anger and hiding it to fit into the expectations of their families.
Rage has become each of their coping mechanisms. They’re both products of trauma, and they both see kindness as a shameful act, something to reject aggressively or take advantage of before it takes advantage of them. What makes “Beef” work so profoundly is that it can still find so much in people like this to empathize with and understand. It doesn’t give us every detail of how they got this way, but rather enough of the shape of it for us to understand there is some tether back neither can reach anymore. The pair hate each other because they hate themselves, and recognize someone who’s similar enough that hurting them feels like hurting themselves.
“Beef” is absurdist and satirical, but it treats late-stage capitalism and the implicit racism inherent to assimilation as targets that can be expressed in grounded detail. It saves the conceptual for its metaphysical finale, a gobsmacking left turn that clarifies the habit forming nature of rage as a reaction to pain. “Beef” is a dark comedy at its core, but isn’t afraid of undermining and interrupting itself on behalf of our characters’ journeys. It’s weird, ultimately transcendent, and staggeringly brilliant. (Read the review.)
3. Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End
(Crunchyroll) Here is one of the best realized pieces of fantasy I’ve ever seen. It covers not the journey to end an ancient evil, but what happens afterwards. As an elf, a 10 year, life-defining journey for her human companions is less than a hundredth of Frieren’s own life. It’s not until later that it becomes clear the connections she made on that journey have lingered. For someone who lives so long, a feeling like that can take years to begin to understand, and at that point those companions she wants to be close to have already started dying.
This is such a beautiful, beautiful contemplation of the meaning of those who’ve passed, housed within a fantasy world where we see day-to-day life – even if the stories themselves are spread out over years and decades. As Frieren takes on an apprentice – a human girl named Fern – and begins a new journey to a place where she might speak with the dead, we see moments both small and large.
One episode is simply about Frieren finding a flower so she can use a spell to grow a field of them. There’s good reason for it, but that reason is deeply personal. Another episode is a raging, breakneck battle, filmed still in that longing way fantasy can uniquely evoke. Yet another episode is about why a battle is over before it’s even begun, a flashback that describes Frieren’s unique relationship to magic.
I love magic in my fantasy, but I hate the way it’s usually portrayed, like Harry Potter and company treating wands like six-shooters in a Western. If you have magic, make it magic. Make it weird, give it its own logic, put us in awe of its beauty and danger. “Frieren” does so over and over again.
The elf herself is a character who feels truly alien to us, who sees the world through such a different lens. If we smile every day, she might smile every 20 and still smile just as often in her life as we do in ours. The different emotional clock is portrayed in a way we get to learn, and begin to appreciate.
The animation…it just feels. It feels off the screen as dappled light and worn pavement stones and the lines of growth on trees. It frames characters as part of their environment. “Frieren” convinces so soundly that its world exists, and it genuinely sparks wonder and awe. In many ways, I still don’t know how “Frieren” does everything it does. It is a piece of magic. Maybe I don’t want to know, because I don’t want its spell to be broken. It transports you like few other things ever have. (Read the review.)
2. The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House
This Japanese slice-of-life series follows two best friends as they leave home. Kiyo and Sumire are on their way to train as geisha, not as the scandalous American cinematic make-believe, but as performers who live together and train seriously in traditional dance and choreography. Sumire is a natural, but no matter how hard she works, Kiyo washes out. She’s not capable of keeping up.
Before she’s sent home, Kiyo asks to cook a meal. The regular cook, or makanai, is injured. And Kiyo can cook. With the old makanai’s permission, Kiyo takes over the role and stays in the house with Sumire. Their paths diverge, but they still walk them together.
There’s very little conflict to “The Makanai”. Characters face decisions, and discuss them, but handle them in realistic, practical fashion. But “The Makanai” finds so much beauty in the ordinary, in the everyday. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a show that’s so calm – not slow, not boring, not unfocused…just calm.
There’s always a conversation, a character we can better understand, an action being taken. The throughline is that these characters take the uncomplicated route – and uncomplicated is no less worthy of attention. Everyday tasks are filmed beautifully, as an art in and of themselves that it is necessary for the camera to appreciate. “The Makanai” communicates a sense of fulfillment, and finds no correct path to it.
There’s a line about Kiyo – and you’ll hear it in the trailer: “That girl is meant to make things instead of being made into something”. Sumire is the one whose talent is being molded, to take what’s already been created and express it through herself. Kiyo’s talent is in creation, and in that creation to express others back to themselves. There are still other characters who have other approaches, and they each find their way to art, and their need to be making it every day in close connection with each other. (Read the review.)
1. The Last of Us
This series is undeniable. I say this as someone who dislikes most post-apocalypse stories. I pretty much only like the wackily off-kilter or quietly tone-heavy stuff. Too many post-apocalypse stories are there to be spectacles, with only a half-hearted wave to deeper themes. “The Last of Us” eschews the spectacle for the personal. It sticks close to its characters, and only shows that wider world in glimpses, encounters that are better avoided. Any view that sees far is too dangerous to exist in for long.
Joel is a traumatized mercenary tasked with transporting a girl named Ellie across the United States. She’s immune to the fungal plague that’s decimated the planet. Getting her to a rumored research base might lead to finding a cure. The way there is uncharted and filled with unknown risks.
“The Last of Us” is about perseverance without hope, of knowing what hope must be because you know the hope-shaped hole that exists, and so acting as you would if you had it, emulating what you’d do if it still survived. Bella Ramsey’s Ellie is the best performance of the year, so utterly realistic in a space that is anything but. To out-act Pedro Pascal at the top of his game is unthinkable, and she does it. The ensemble is superb: Pascal, Anna Torv, Melanie Lynskey, Lamar Johnson, and of course Nick Offerman and Murray Bartlett.
The way “The Last of Us” shapes what we know of these characters, how we anticipate their responses, and appreciate what they’ve sacrificed…it guides us toward developments that we couldn’t have anticipated but fully grasp as they happen. We learn about these characters during their journey, and through the eyes of others’ experiences…but there’s a quieter, subconscious understanding of them we also begin to gather – elements we understand about someone but never need to put into action until things have gone wrong even more than they normally do.
“The Last of Us” gets right what the post-apocalypse genre overwhelmingly gets wrong – it gives us reasons to learn about and deeply understand its characters so that we’re on the journey with them, so that the smallest moment of unexpected quiet is larger than the most ridiculous of spectacles, so that a single word can cave us in more than an entire argument, so that the violence of an internal moment can make us question humanity more than any outward struggle ever could. (Read “The Saddest Series of 2023”.)
The Best of the Unseen
Well, maybe not the best of the unseen so much as the top of my To See list. There are still series from 2023 I’d like to see but haven’t yet – and so can’t put on a list like this. Maybe I would have included them, maybe not. The top on that list are U.S. sci-fi animation “Scavengers Reign”, Korean superhero drama “Moving”, Japanese reincarnation mystery “Oshi No Ko”, German detective story “Dear Child”, British sci-fi mystery “Bodies”, and Indian legal drama “Trial by Fire”.
Also, anything that premiered after Dec. 20 I’m magically making a part of 2024. Korean cosmic horror “Gyeongseong Creature” would’ve made this top 20, but there’s only so much time to watch, write, and finalize a list like this. I reviewed its first several episodes, but I’m still working through the later ones.
Honorable Mentions?
“Star Trek: Strange New Worlds”, gothic horror anime “Undead Girl Murder Farce”, Korean musical drama “Castaway Diva”, the beautifully edited romance “My Love Story with Yamada-kun”, and British historical mockumentary “Cunk on Earth” are all well worth your time.
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I always watch the credits. They set the scene. They prime you for what’s to come. Sometimes they tell the story before you know it, letting you recognize piece by piece what you should have known before. When they close an episode, they can offer bitter irony, desperate need, or taper off an intensity of feeling as if you’re being weaned back into the real world. They can give you permission to lose yourself, or to cry, to close the world out and open yourself up, or to silently scream at heartbreak. I always watch the credits because they’re part of the story.
Some stick in my mind and some don’t need to. Each does something different. In 2023, here’s how:
The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House
(Netflix) The Japanese series tells the story of best friends Kiyo and Sumire, who train to become present-day geisha performers. Sumire is a natural, but Kiyo flunks out. Rather than going home, she takes over as her house’s new chef, or makanai. She finds deep satisfaction in this, and the opening credits serve to clarify that Kiyo didn’t fail as an artist, but simply found a different form of art. She finds value and joy in practicing that art, and those around her appreciate it not as an expectation or chore, but as a daily gift she gives them.
“The Makanai” has very little conflict, and what conflict there is tends to be solved with a minimum of drama or be forgotten in realistic ways as time passes. Yet it is one of the most compelling and captivating series this year, finding a measure of calm I’m not sure I’ve ever witnessed in a show before. That starts with the credits, which present what its characters do in artistic, caring detail.
Map Break!
Why are there so few English-language entries here? There’s a trend in U.S. and U.K. series to completely do away with opening credits. Just slap the title up in all-caps, drop a loud note over it, and call it a day. Edgy.
You know what we do love, though? Maps. Oh my god, give us a map and we can spend all day with it. It might be tempting to blame “Game of Thrones”, but I think our dysfunction goes back further than that. Psychiatrists shouldn’t ask us how we feel about our parents; they should ask us what’s our deal with J.R.R. Tolkien? If you approach me at the bar, don’t buy me a drink or compliment my eyes. Show me a map you drew with mountain ranges at absurd right angles to each other.
(Netflix) The live-action “One Piece” adaptation delivers on the map front like you wouldn’t believe. The endearingly cheesy pirate adventure features close-ups of maps, panning shots over islands we’ve visited, clues to episodes we haven’t seen yet, and realizations of how episodes we have seen link together geographically. Makes you want to settle your tab and pop a ride-share back to Oda Eiichiro’s place.
Every end credits sequence gets a different song, which isn’t that rare, but many are variations which capture the theme of that particular episode or center on specific characters. What’s more is that the maps themselves and their creation eventually play a major component in the season’s most emotional plot reveal.
(Disney+) The other quality credits map we’ve got this year belongs to “Ahsoka”. It’s a little harder to keep track of since it’s two-dimensional layers in a three-dimensional space, but it communicates the notion of traveling across the galaxy and – as the villains attempt – traveling to another galaxy altogether. Its markings of creatures and threats also help return that original trilogy feeling of the unknown and uncharted to Star Wars, an element where “Ahsoka” excels.
Kevin Kiner’s yearning but lurking score is exceptional. Between “Ahsoka” and “Andor”, we finally have new musical identities in Star Wars rather than folks just trying to emulate John Williams over and over again. It’s a big galaxy; it should cover just as much music.
Hell’s Paradise
(Crunchyroll) “Hell’s Paradise” is full of mood, tragedy, and mindfucks. So are the opening credits. The story follows criminals who are condemned to death but are given an opportunity for a pardon…if they can retrieve an elixir of immortality from a mysterious island. Everyone who’s gone there has died, or returned as their body transforms into flowers.
The animation is often astounding, and the storytelling is well-delivered. A good chunk of the first season is getting to know most of the ensemble right before they die. It’s not an upper, but it is thrilling. It gives into a few shonen cliches, including one I hate, but it is the best action-oriented anime of the year.
The credit sequence immediately gets your adrenaline pumping, and the scenes tell stories we immediately want to know more about.
Skip and Loafer
(Crunchyroll) For the complete flipside, we’ve got “Skip and Loafer”, which is the credit sequence that best sticks in my mind this year. You may wonder for the first half why. Song’s good, the visuals are pleasant enough, but nothing’s really popping. Then they get to the dance. It perfectly captures the nature of our two leads and their relationship – the driven, ambitious, yet anxious Mitsumi and the popular but egoless, and endlessly supportive Sosuke.
“Skip and Loafer” is so, so kind and real. Mitsumi isn’t as gorgeous or stylish as her classmates, but she’s substantive and honest. Sosuke harbors regrets and a quiet depression, but his own ambitions lie in bolstering and supporting the people around him. Mitsumi is someone with whom he can realize that ambition, someone he can steady and support. She knows what she wants out of life, but is shaky without kindness and acceptance. His dream is to give that kindness and acceptance, and have it be accepted in turn.
This approach ripples throughout the entire story of “Skip and Loafer”. Mitsumi’s Aunt Nao is cool, protective, caring, and wise. As a trans woman, she sometimes needs kindness and acceptance in the face of social judgment. Mitsumi is there to love, accept, and reassure her. In turn, Nao offers that kindness and acceptance when one of Mitsumi’s friends is having difficulty in their friend group.
The series is filled with beautiful moments: a trip home, a familiar family snack, a moment on a train where one person supports another, a casual comment that turns someone’s embarrassing classroom moment into one that people admire. There’s endless kindness in “Skip and Loafer”. It is a constant painting of loving support, and that dance in the intro encapsulates that permission to be imperfect in front of one another with unconditional acceptance.
See You in My 19th Life
(Netflix) K-Dramas tend toward iconography that’s key to the plot, which means their credit sequences open up the more of the show we see. As we learn to recognize the motifs that keep returning, we can plug their meaning into the opening and understand more and more what it’s telling us.
The opening credits for “See You in My 19th Life” may be briefer than other sequences, but they pack a lot in. They initially speak to protagonist Ji Eum’s ability to remember her past lives, and her goal of reconnecting with a love interest in a former life that was cut tragically short.
I love the retro imagery in this, and the light, hopeful touch of the theme, but every piece of iconography in that credit sequence takes on a meaning by the end of the show. Some take on two or three meanings in a series where that layering across lives constantly offers new ways of understanding both people and plot.
The Last of Us
(Max/HBO Max) “The Last of Us” is a journey through a post-apocalypse where fungus has destroyed society. As it evolves to endure higher temperatures, the same fungus that can control ants and spiders begins to survive in mammals. One girl is found to be immune, and she sets off with an ill-equipped guardian to find a surviving science base that might be able to develop a vaccine.
The series is both dire and beautiful, and constantly finds in its cinematic post-apocalypse ways to reflect our slow-motion one. It is haunting, and its opening credits always set this tone.
So much is hidden in the artistically spreading fungus: sky scrapers, a map of the U.S., a screaming human face. At one point, a baby is seen in razor wire – imagery that should’ve stayed in fiction, but we discovered this year is a reality for the way our National Guard treats refugee and immigrant children. Who needs fungus to steal our humanity when we can do it ourselves?
Just as the series does, the credits comment not just on a U.S. in this recent alternate history, but a U.S. at a juncture in the current history of our own real world. It is horrific and something we all understand, that we can all recognize the spread of, yet that we simultaneously can become lulled and hypnotized by. Sometimes credits help transport us to another world. Sometimes they clarify that the horror we see on-screen is best recognized from right where we’re sitting.
Gabriel Diego Valdez 