Since the show’s first two seasons, it has become harder to sustain the illusion that either Hollywood or the economy at large doles out its shrinking perks fairly.
The case-a-week series, on Peacock, directed by Rian Johnson, is a warm homage to traditional mysteries. “Paul T. Goldman,” on the same platform, is more experimental—and more disturbing.
The HBO drama, based on a video game, works best as a post-catastrophe travelogue, teasing out the ways survivors rebuild mini-societies with new alignments of power.
The freshest observations—and emotional wallops—in the adaptation of Taffy Brodesser-Akner’s novel center on the accrual of the sometimes uncategorizable breaches that women are expected to quietly endure.
The Hulu series, starring Kumail Nanjiani and Murray Bartlett, traces the spectacular rise and sordid fall of a cheesy yet pivotal corner of the sexual revolution.
Few premières have been as fervently anticipated as that of the Netflix series’ latest season, the first following the Queen’s death. But the ten episodes are a startling letdown—a decline that parallels the monarchy’s own.
In its most compelling moments, AMC’s reimagining of Anne Rice’s novel explores which powers a Black vampire can and cannot wield in a segregated America.
An HBO Max documentary, released before the seventeenth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, looks at the storm’s reverberating effects on children in New Orleans.
