As Matt Weiner's masterpiece charges ever deeper into the culture-transforming crucible of the 1960s, we find ourselves fascinated by personal histories most of all, and the intersection of larger society with intimate lives. Vietnam and urban decay helped make Joan's (Christina Hendricks) baby, the drug culture might kill Midge (Rosemarie DeWitt), feminism both enriches and complicates Peggy's (Elisabeth Moss) life, the ceaseless pace of change (not to mention the suburbs in general) drive Betty (January Jones) insane, while the ultimately unknowable Don Draper (Jon Hamm) floats above it all, picking and choosing the bits of zeitgeist that serve him best.
We came for the zombies (who can resist?) but it was the compelling and incredibly real survivors who kept us hungering for more of The Walking Dead. Every episode in this show's short six-episode first season was cinematic in scope, with pacing that was finely balanced between tender moments and explosions of horror. We couldn't help but become invested in every character, even as writers broke our hearts when they killed those same characters off, one by one. (The show is about a zombie apocalypse, after all.)
Part Escher drawing, part Möbius strip, Fringe specializes in grand sci-fi conundrums like alternate universes, but in season three the series has become a study in psychological subtlety, exploring how minute variations in personal choice can change the course of a single life and by extension whole worlds.
They say it's always darkest just before the dawn, and after several seasons of offscreen actor complications and onscreen moping by some major characters, Grey's Anatomy has had a genuine creative renaissance. The cast is dense with deep, richly textured characters, almost of all of whom are capable of shouldering major storylines that keep audiences intrigued, and the writers keep innovating new emotional twists and medical mysteries. Seattle Grace is going to be around for the long haul, and that's only good news. (Also, we love you, Lexipedia!)
No matter what you thought of the Abel/Belfast/Jimmy O. storylines, season three of this saga about motorcycle-club royalty goes into the books as a success thanks to the epic finale, the continuing expansion of the M.C.'s empire and the ad hoc coronation of Charlie Hunnam's Jax Teller as king of all he surveys. Both pulpy and profound, we love this show's unique balance of merciless moral standards and undisciplined violence.
"But seriously, are vampires even popular any more?" —Joss Whedon
Yes, indeed, vampires remain popular, thanks in large part to Six Feet Under mastermind Alan Ball's adaptation of the Southern Vampire novels. Sookie (Anna Paquin), Bill (Stephen Moyer) and Eric (Alexander Skarsgård) are almost as culture-defining these days as Bella, Edward and Jacob, and they're for damn sure better in bed. (What?! The Twilight kids are all virgins!)
We're in the "Trust Tree" here, right? It's safe to say what we really, truly think about Dexter without judgment or rioting in the comments? OK, here goes: Season four's, um, bloodbath of a finale left us heartbroken, and caused some ambivalence going into Dexter's fifth season. But by episode three, we'd left the past in the past and were back on board with the Little Serial Killer That Could. Since day one, the Showtime series has stood above all others because of its willingness to always push the envelope, which always results in creative twists, turns and jaw-dropping moments never before seen on television. Add Michael C. Hall into the mix and you've got a show that just can't lose.
Improbably excellent, The Vampire Diaries is addictive and involving television that deserves to be taken more seriously by critics everywhere. Nina Dobrev is remarkable in the dual role of vampire Katherine and doppelgänger Elena, Ian Somerhalder is high-larious as snarky bad boy Damon, and the writers do more plot acrobatics in one episode than some shows deign to do all season. We're die-hard fans of The Vampire Diaries, and we're delighted to welcome this series into the pantheon of truly great teen TV.
Someday we might run out of ways to say how much we love this documentary-style drama set in the close-knit world of small-town Texas high school football, but today is not that day. What makes it so great? In addition to Friday Night Lights' stunning visual impact (close-ups and reaction shots never looked so beautiful), the significance of the human community that's been built around Eric and Tami Taylor (Kyle Chandler, Connie Britton) is nothing short of profound. Every episode is a lesson in how small graces can make great impact, and for that we are, well, grateful.
Lost was lightning in a bottle. We can't entirely explain what it was, why it worked or what it means to the history of television, but we were absolutely honored to participate in the phenomenon while it lasted. Lost was, quite simply, the adventure of a lifetime, and all we can say for that is thank you.
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