The Best TV Seasons of the 2000s

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Standout episodes: Pilot; "Conjugal;" "Infamy"

This show may be on CBS, the home of Big Bang Theory and CSI: Whateverthefuck, but nevertheless, The Good Wife is wonderful.

The show is not merely a procedural; it is the procedural, elevating the form perhaps as far as it can be elevated. The performances by Julianna Margulies, Christine Baranski, Alan Cumming, and Josh Charles are some of the best of the last decade in their own right.

As brilliant as the acting is, it is the construction of the show that never ceases to amaze. Each episode leans into its particular plot, finding comic or dramatic beats depending on the demands of the story. Showrunners Michelle and Robert King understand that a procedural should almost function as an anthology series, taking on the tonal shading of new guest stars and environments. The Good Wife is at once thoroughly serialized and thoroughly episodic, and no matter how you view the show, it is completely rewarding. —Brenden

Standout episodes: "Babylon;" "The River"

In the conversation about the great television dramas of the early aughts, Carnivále is the one series that gets lost in the shuffle. The show was an underdog from the beginning. David Knauf, the show’s creator, was an insurance salesman prior to Carnivále, and the script lived as a loose 180-page feature script before he reshaped it for television.

The series both benefits and suffers from a passionate but unschooled hand at the helm. The rich mythology underpinning the show came from a type of dedication (or perhaps obsession) that you don’t see from someone developing numerous projects. And the scope of the series is clearly influenced by someone who doesn’t care about production constraints. At the same time, the show feels reductive at times, relying on easy, predictable good-versus-evil binaries that aren’t nearly as complex as its peers plots, like Deadwood's.

Despite the show’s shortcomings, the early episodes of Carnivále stand out for two reasons: They're weird, and they have heart. Daniel Knauf was inspired to write the show by the experiences of his disabled father, and this influence shines through in the compassion he shows towards his characters. This empathy contrasts nicely with an unclear mythology that balances Dust Bowl demagoguery with tarot-inspired mysticism to create a world where even its creator didn’t know the rules. —Brenden

Standout episodes: "Aquamansion;" "The Sundance Kids;" "I Love You, Too"

Turn your snobbish TV nose up at latter-series, borderline self-parody Entourage all you want. But any negative remarks towards the show's second season might just betray a bias against watching bros flourish. The sophomore year finds the show operating with the most assured command of tone, satirizing Hollywood via the superhero genre (before going that route would've been painfully obvious) and dramatizing the behind-the-scenes business with a power play at Ari's agency. Throw in Vince's unhealthy obsession with his co-star Mandy Moore (toast to Vince being an actual character for once, however briefly), and this is one of the few arcs that gives the boys real stakes, amidst the necessary stream of wins, of course—this is the same season that starts with Eric being gifted a Maserati, after all. Most importantly: It's actually laugh-out-loud funny. —Frazier

Standout episodes: "Jurassic Bark;" "The Devil's Hands are Idle Playthings"

Unpopular opinion: the best of Futurama stacks up evenly with the best of The Simpsons. As Futurama approached the end of its first run, it found an incredible balance of emotion and comedy in the endless possibilities of its universe. Each week, a new planet and new rules provided a new dimension to the carefully established relationships between the characters. As characters were added to the show’s endlessly growing roster, they could be deployed again, but it didn’t hinder the writers from finding new, adventurous comic territory to mine.

The greatest relationship on the show is between Fry and Leela, and the finest episodes revolve around the hilarious pain of a man as dense and dull as Fry trying to make Leela recognize how special his love for her is. The apex of this relationship comes at “The Devil’s Hands Are Idle Playthings," an oddly appropriate finale to an odd series. The greatest sci-fi comedies are about small men dealing with the vast superiority of the universe. Fry is a small man, and the universe around him is unimaginably vast. —Brenden

Standout episodes: "Gavin Volure;" "The Funcooker"

Other than the much-debated dip over the last couple seasons of the show, 30 Rock maintained a level of consistent quality few series can muster. The first few seasons are all the more impressive because of the show’s unique pace. The mile-a-minute rhythms came thanks to Tina Fey’s unique comic timing. Her scripts were actually sometimes up to 10 pages longer than standard length to accommodate the rapid-fire delivery, and were filled with the kind of jokes on top of jokes that you're still processing well into the next scene. As a result, the best episodes feel both relentless and effortless, gliding in and out of references to Tracy and Jenna’s old projects, Jack’s worldly advice, and hectic moments on the TGS stage. —Brenden

Standout episodes: "The Politics of Human Sexuality;" "Contemporary Poultry;" "Modern Warfare"

Community is not a sitcom; Community is a parody of a sitcom. The characters aren't flesh-and-blood people, but types to be moved around Dan Harmon’s comedic chess board depending on what genre he wants to put in check this week. Though each episode parodies something, whether it be the Western or the “prom episode,” the series is one continuous commentary on the easy drama of expected emotions.

The television landscape would be pretty bleak if everything was as detached as Community. Only South Park manages the kind of satirical distance as far as narrative shows go. But, Community achieves something that Trey Parker and Matt Stone never quite had; there is sincere humanity underneath Harmon’s chess pieces. Although Jeff, Britta, Annie, and the rest's motivations change from week to week depending on Harmon’s mockery master plan, the proceedings have a layer of emotional truth.

This element of humanity is what made Community work at its peak, before Harmon and NBC had their legendary split. The characters aren’t built to love each other, at least not with the unabashed earnestness of the gang on Parks and Recreation, but there is love here. Every episode offers a piece of Dan Harmon’s love letter to television and storytelling. —Brenden

Standout episodes: "Eureka," "Gilead," "Balm" 

Sure, the show would go on to do narrative off-roading, donuts, and scenic routes all before finally driving straight into a mack truck. But in its sophomore season? Sons may have been the best show on TV. There's nothing better than watching a show come off a strong debut then truly achieve greatness, playing up its strengths while revealing new ones you weren't even aware it was capable of. The growing schism between Jax and Clay gives the season its spine, while Katey Sagal provides the heart, transcending from mere MVP matriarch to Emmy-worthy leading woman (her nomination snub is one of modern television's most glaring oversights) courtesy of a harrowing yet powerful story arc. It's one of few times the series' trademark shock value was truly earned. —Frazier

Standout episodes: "In the Shadow of Two Gunmen;" "Two Cathedrals"

After Studio 60 and The Newsroom, it's hard to explain what made Aaron Sorkin a brilliant TV writer. Believe it or not, he was once the kind of talent he imagines himself to be. His self-righteous characters were more self-deprecating, more lovable. His women were still unnecessarily clumsy for the sake of physical comedy, but they were never unnecessarily dumb for the convenience of grandstanding. And even though he could be idealistic and overbearing, in the Bush years, this was a welcome salve. All of this is to say that Sorkin was always Sorkin, but there was a time when he was sharper and possessed a greater degree of humility.

Even Sorkin loyalists can't claim that The West Wing isn’t corny, but a measure of cornball melodrama felt appropriate on this show. The day-to-day business of the White House should be taken seriously. People who work there should be the best and the brightest. And as such, maybe it's okay that they walk us through their incredibly high opinions of themselves. —Brenden

Standout episodes: "Grilled;" "4 Days Out;" "Phoenix"

Breaking Bad didn't maximize its greatness until Season 3, which damn near overflows with series marquee moments. But with a debut season that fell victim to the infamous Writer's Strike, Season 2 is Vince Gilligan and co.'s first real chance to flex their muscles. Ominous flashforwards to some kind of cataclysmic event at the White household frame a year that sees the eventual kingpin get inevitably deeper in the game, with help from legal weasel and spin-off talent Saul Goodman. Meanwhile the show established itself as having the most talented shooters in the television game with beautifully-directed episodes like Walt and Jesse's desert cook-a-thon in "4 Days Out." But most interesting to note is that, with Tuco's intense but rather speedy exit, there isn't an actual antagonist to be defeated throughout the season. Despite episodic conflicts like Badger's arrest, which begets Saul, the year-long conflict is much more internal. As Walter grows as both a liar and a criminal, one of the final images of the season makes it painfully clear; he may not pay for his sins, but everyone around him will. —Frazier

Standout episodes: "S.O.B.S.;" "Development Arrested;" "Forget-Me-Now;"

Choosing between the first three seasons of Arrested Development is a fool’s errand. The show is so deeply interconnected, it defies the concept of the episode. Jokes from Episode 2 re-emerge in Episodes 26, 34, and 47. If the series hadn’t been canceled, maybe it would have one day run out of steam. When you revisit it, though, you get the sense that the comedy locomotive would have chugged along forever, producing call backs to call backs to references to call forwards to other call backs until the universe collapsed in on itself.

Not only was Arrested Development the most intricately constructed comedy on television, it may be the funniest television show ever. Calling something the best comedy is a matter of taste, but figuring out the funniest show is quite simple. Take the number of funny jokes and divide it by the number of episodes. With this math, only 30 Rock, Veep, and the best seasons of The Simpsons can compete. And though they are all wonderful, it’s hard to imagine that these calculations don’t end with AD as the clear winner. —Brenden

Standout episodes: "Denise Handicap;" "The Table Read;" "Seinfeld"

Season 7 of Curb finds Larry David, the real-life man and the fictionalized bald asshole, triumphant. Despite a steadfast claim that the world will never see a true blue Seinfeld reunion, Larry gets to have his cake and eat it too, by dedicating the season's plot to Fictional Larry staging a reunion—with Jerry, Jason Alexander, Julia Louis-Dreyfuss, and Michael Richards all participating—just to win his wife Cheryl back, which is not to say the season treats Seinfeld as a crutch. TV Larry may be trying to win his wife back, but IRL Larry was already divorced, and thus the humor is decidedly more mean-spirited and edgy. And while it's nice to see him win, bachelor Larry yields much more hijinks than monogamous, doting Larry ever could—word to Denise Handicap. But fuck it, who are we kidding? There's an undeniable thrill in watching Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld shooting the shit together on a meta-level. —Frazier

Standout episodes: "The Enemy Walks In;" "Phase One;" "The Telling"

This is one of the best seasons of television hands down, regardless of era or decade. With Season 1 of Alias, future auteur J.J. Abrams delivered one of the tightest, most impressive, and exhilarating series debuts of all time. He one-upped himself a year later, twisting the complex premise—protagonist Sydney Bristow (a captivating, pre-Ben Affleck's wife Jennifer Garner) is a double agent for the CIA within an evil spy agency that merely poses as the CIA—into an even knottier labyrinth of triple crosses and family drama. Then when ABC gave the fledgling but cultishly appreciated show the coveted post-Superbowl slot, he very publicly blew that premise up with an episode that redefined the serialized game-changer. And for his last trick: the season finale's knock-down, drag-out brawl between Sydney and a foe you've spent the entire half-season waiting for her to handle, with choreography and intensity to rival any current series that's championed now. You'll notice I'm writing in vagaries. It's because I know you probably haven't watched this show and I'm not about to spoil the ride for you in a blurb. It's on Netflix; you have no excuse. Get familiar. —Frazier

Standout episodes: Pilot; "Clash of the Tritons;" "A Trip to the Dentist"

There have been plenty of great high school dramas over the years, full of the necessary, undeniable melodrama, real issues, and love triangles that shows of that genre require. But very few have so precisely captured the true essence of high school—the classism, social politics, rotating friendships and loyalties, and most importantly, the way teenagers talk to each other—the way Veronica Mars did. It's also a damn good mystery show. While I personally prefer Season 2's deliciously denser mystery, there's something to be said about how perfectly Season 1's whodunit unfolds, parceling both clues and the backstory to reveal how Veronica became the rebel social outcast P.I. she is today. There's a reason a cult show that barely even achieved syndication scored a fan-supported movie 10 years later, and it lies in its Illmatic-level debut. —Frazier

Standout episodes: "Out of Gas;" "Ariel;" "War Stories"

In the 2002-2003 TV season, Joss Whedon had a whopping three series on at the same damn time, but when stacked against a divisive final season of his personal brand's flagship show (Buffy), and a pretty solid season of its spin-off (Angel), it's the baby of the bunch that emerges as the clear standout. Angel would go on to achieve a respectable five-year run, Buffy culminated with seven, meanwhile Firefly comes up at a paltry 14 episodes, three of which didn't even air on TV. The rest aired grossly out of order because FOX absolutely bricked it. But what a collection those episodes are.

Every other Joss series that came before Firefly and after (Dollhouse, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.) struggled to find itself before achieving true genius. So it's odd but also awesome that this show, which rivals Dollhouse for the most complex premise dude's ever tried to sell us on—Firefly is most generously described as a "space western"—is his most fully realized body of work straight out of the gate.

Nathan Fillion, now famous for cashing in his leading man aura in Castle, one of the game's most tolerable of Basic Procedurals, is an even surlier Han Solo in a post-war future galaxy where he fought on the losing side. In the face of losing the battle for independence, he skirts around the planets that form up the totalitarian Alliance, pirating his way for a living across outlier planets. And as with any Joss show, family is the prevailing theme, specifically the ones we make for ourselves. 

Best episodes: "The Escape;" "The Best Chrismukkah Ever;" "The Countdown"

Beyond the aughts, The O.C.'s debut season is one of the best seasons of modern television, the #veryrare TV series to come out of the gate with a complete handle on tone, execution, and originality. Across a whopping 27 episodes, and a wealth of arcs and subplots that other shows at the time would parse out over two seasons, The O.C. Season 1 doesn't falter once. As everyone up on the fast-burning mythology of the California Cool Teen saga knows, this success wouldn't continue into the later years. But from the first keys of Phantom Planet's "California" that heralds Ryan Atwood's arrival to the appropriately melodramatic "Hallelujah" that scores everyone's lives falling apart around his self-exile, The O.C. Season 1 is flawless. An invented holiday, several catchphrases, and the birth of one or two of TV's most endearing star-crossed couples later, and you have the defining teen show of a generation. —Frazier

Standout episodes: "Discos and Dragons"; "Beers and Weirs"

It would have been wonderful to have more seasons of Freaks and Geeks. Can you imagine what that show would have been like in Season 5 when the all-star cast was starting to bloom into the full-fledged stars many of them are today? Yet, there is something beautiful about a show that never had the chance to disappoint us. We remember the youthful exuberance of Sam and the ennui of Lindsay like we remember our actual childhood friends: in a brief and perfect moment.

The best compliment I can think to give Freaks and Geeks is that the show feels like a part of growing up. If you see the show before a certain age, you actively miss it and find yourself revisiting it, like messaging a high school crush on Facebook just to see how they’re doing. You remember the euphoric highs and painfully embarrassing lows of the great episodes like “Tricks and Treats” as though they were your own experiences. —Brenden

Standout episodes: "Maidenform;" "The Gold Violin;" "Meditations in an Emergency"

Who actually thought the (first) Draper marriage would suffer such a blow this early in the series? Don begins the season as committed to it as ever, but of course his attention span can only last so long. Soon he's got an independent, decidedly non-blonde bombshell on his regular rotation again, only this time Betty's done playing his games and plotting on playing a few of her own.

And while his personal life faces uncertainty, at Sterling Cooper an antagonist rises in Duck Phillips. But where Season 1's Pete Campell beef subversively amounts to nothing, Don versus Duck culminates with an immaculately stuntworthy conference room kiss-off. It's easy to see why fans grew tired of his shit towards the end of the series, when he seemed so close to affecting real change in the final hours of Season 2. But in retrospect, these were just the last of the Don Draper glory days, back when he had less ruin in his wake. And didn't have a contract. —Frazier

Standout episodes: "Pilot;" "Mudbowl;" "State"

Season 1 of Friday Night Lights is perfect. From the first moments of Eric Taylor’s tenure as coach of the Dillon Panthers, to the first doubting whispers of the townsfolk, to the first motivational speech in practice, to the first supportive words from Tami, you get a clear sense of how the story will unfold. Yet, we feel Coach’s struggle as he tries to mold his boys into men. If endings are supposed to be inevitable and satisfying, this season of Friday Night Lights is a master class.

The other great achievement of FNL is that the show makes you feel like you know these people and these places. Whenever I watch, I see my childhood reflected in the television screen. Whether for you it’s Texas Forever or Pennsylvania Forever or Iowa Forever, the painful optimism of youth and the simultaneous desire to leave and to stay pours out of the show in blood, sweat, and tears.

And if that doesn’t convince you, just watch this Coach Taylor motivational super cut along with me as I watch it for the thousandth time. 

Clear eyes. Full hearts. —Brenden

Standout episodes: "33;" "Flesh and Bone;" "Kobol's Last Gleaming"

The stakes in Battlestar are nothing less than the survival of the human race, and whether the civilian or military arm of the government will be in charge of shepherding the last lost colony of survivors into the new era. As both sides of the government vie for control, they doubt themselves, knowing that any false move means extinction. Any fan of Battlestar will tell you that as the series throttled towards its conclusion it was hampered by odd mysticism and macroscopic grandstanding, but early on, it was as tight and percussive as the Bear McCreary score.

Often science fiction gets caught up in its broad scope and forgets about moment-to-moment tension. Battlestar isn’t about how vast the universe may or may not be. It's about the claustrophobic, sleep deprived, ragged world of survivors on the run from a threat they can barely see, let alone defeat. The tension is present in every frame, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. —Brenden

Standout episodes: "7:00 AM-8:00 AM;" "12:00 PM-1:00 PM;" "6:00 AM-7:00 AM"

24 doesn't just reflect an era of TV, it reflects an era in our nation's history in its post-9/11 debut, when Jack Bauer is the hero we both needed and deserved. Spearheading the wave of post-9/11 fiction while also redefining the capabilities of serialized television all but guarantees one of Jack's bad days on this list. And while Day 1's grim finale is a moment in history, the best elements of 24 didn't fully synthesize into a true-blue A+ blockbuster for the small screen until it's Best Drama-winning fifth season, from bloodthirsty premiere (RIP to two of the show's longest-running characters before the 15-minute mark) all the way through an awesomely insane reveal that this season's Russian-doll game of villains literally goes all the way to the top. For one brief TV season, great action and prestige drama were blissfully one in the same. —Frazier

Standout episodes: "Parricide;" "Party Line;" "Family Meeting"

The Shield is underrated in today's Golden Age/antihero era. And this is felt the most in the show's last season, which has become the veritable blueprint of how to end a serialized drama in nail-biting fashion. (I'm certain every member of the Breaking Bad writing staff saw it while they were writing Season 5.) Season 7 of The Shield is one big payout to the loyal fans who logged over half a decade watching Vic Mackey and his band of corrupt cops bend the law as they saw fit. Every promised conflict hits the fan, but with unprecedented results, leading to one of TV's best series finales.  —Frazier

Standout episodes: "Here Was A Man," "Suffer the Little Children"

Moral ambiguity has less currency on television than it once did. Rather than a stamp of quality, our obsession with the gray areas has given rise to mediocrities in recent years. But while The Sopranos and The Wire are eternally praised, if there is a third television show that begot the era we’re in now, it’s Deadwood.

The beauty of the show is down in the muck with the hogs. Al Swearingen’s world is a hard one, and not hard in the way that Walter White’s is hard. Walter’s life is hard because he has to bend the rules to afford health insurance. Swearingen’s is hard because he has to worry about catching a lead ball in the back of his neck if he lets his guard down for a second to pass a bloody kidney stone on to the worn hardwood floor. The story of Deadwood is the story of civilizing the frontier. And Season 1 is Deadwood at its dirtiest.—Brenden

Standout episodes: "Fortunate Son;" "Pine Barrens; "He is Risen"

There are no bad seasons of The Sopranos, but of the five eligible for this list, Season 3 is the show at the height of its powers, namely its hold on popular culture. This is The Sopranos at peak reputation, with high-level drama from both of Tony's families, but a scant edge to The Family side of things via the likes of Ralph Cifaretto and Jackie Aprile. In the face of Nancy Marchand's death, the show reassuringly moved past Tony and Livia (which is not to say Tony's mom issues didn't hang over the rest of the series) and continued to surpass the hype. The following seasons ramped up on the existential, but Season 3 boasts a perfect combination to appeal to all of the show's varying demographics.—Frazier

Standout episodes: "Walkabout;" "White Rabbit;" "Exodus"

It doesn't matter how it ended, nor how you felt about it. The beginning of one of TV's most thrilling, engrossing and yes, at times, frustrating journeys is timelessly immaculate. Flashbacks have never been a more lit narrative device anywhere on television than here on this weird crockpot of genre mashups and textbook character studies. All the best cowboys have daddy issues, apparently. And they all crash-landed together on a new frontier to finally unpack their issues while evading polar bears, smoke monsters, and mysterious people in the jungle. Coming in just before the halfway mark of the decade, Lost Season 1 would go on to definitively impact the final half to follow, breaking boundaries while inevitably inspiring more envelope-pushers as well as pale imitations. Ten years later, the original blueprint is still the most exciting. —Frazier

Standout episodes: "Unto Others"; "Final Grades"

The Wire is so good that the people who worked on the show are asked for their opinion on real world events like they're an enlightened order of monks because they made a TV show a decade ago. That doesn’t change the fact that the show is amazing.

Choosing the best season of The Wire is incredibly difficult. Once you toss out Season 5, you have four equally compelling looks at a broken system. Season 3 offers the dramatic high of the series. Season 2 digs deeply into the soul of a man that fell backwards into doing wrong. Season 1 introduces us to the pain of life in Baltimore and the very real human cost that comes with it. But, the sheer despair you feel as you come to terms with the fact that these kids never had a chance makes Season 4 the most compelling. Though the fates assigned to the boys by the final episode are unavoidable, we scour every scene for signs of hope.

If television is supposed to be an escape, I don’t know what the hell we’re doing watching The Wire. But, damn, if it isn’t one of the best things you’ll ever watch. —Brenden