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The 12 best overlooked TV shows of 2018

2018-12-14T10:43:01-05:00

At this point, it’s a cliché to complain that there’s too much television and not enough time to watch it all. But the fact that it’s a cliché doesn’t make it any less true. The stories about how overwhelming this era of “peak TV” feels began years ago, and the number of shows in production has only continued to increase. But what really hammers the point home isn’t the growing list of everything we watch in a year, but the even longer list of everything we’ve been meaning to get around to.

It’s impossible to even keep up with the existence of all the new shows, let alone actually watch them. Even as someone who literally spends two-thirds of the day in front of a TV, and obsessively tracks premiere dates on three separate calendars, I’ve still been caught off guard when logging onto Netflix and seeing a trailer for the second season of a show I’d never heard of. (Sick Note has been duly noted; I’ll get around to it in 2020.) On one hand, it’s wonderful to have so many options, especially when those options mean more diverse creators and stories. But on the other hand, it means that so much good stuff goes completely overlooked.

Did you know Facebook Watch aired a teen drama starring “lesbian Jesus” Hayley Kiyoko? Or that Audience Network has a comedy about polyamory that’s going into its fourth season? Have you checked out Cartoon Network’s utterly infectious Craig of the Creek, featuring voice actors ranging from Brooklyn Nine-Nine’s Terry Crews to My Favorite Murder’s Karen Kilgariff? Did you ever get around to YouTube’s Cobra Kai, a surprisingly good series based on The Karate Kid?

Fortunately, the holidays mean there are slightly fewer new shows airing than usual, which buys us some time to catch up (doubly true if you’re avoiding your family.) If you’re looking for a few to check out, here’s a handy list of the best overlooked shows of 2018.

The End of the F*ing World**

Despite being championed by nearly every television critic I know, The End Of The F***ing World (their stylization) is one of the shows that just prompts blank stares when mentioned. It doesn’t help that it’s tough to sell. The series follows 17-year-old James (Alex Lawther), who thinks he might be a psychopath. He goes on a road trip with his classmate Alyssa (Jessica Barden), planning to murder her by the end of it. A lighthearted romp! Of course, it goes deeper than its premise. The series, which originally aired on the UK’s Channel 4 and is based on Charles Forsman’s graphic novel of the same name, is pitch-black fun, and a twisted romance that’s both whimsical and violent. It’s a show that makes viewers care about its screwed-up, unlikable leads, and it depicts teenage misanthropy and being on the cusp of adulthood in a thought-provoking way. Plus, it’s wonderfully short: eight episodes, all under half an hour long. It’s the rare show with a perfect, satisfying ending. A second season has been ordered, but in the right hands, that could work, too.

Where to watch it: Netflix

Sorry for Your Loss

Speaking of hard sells, this one has a triple whammy: it’s a Facebook original, it has a depressing title, and it boasts an equally depressing premise. Sorry for Your Loss stars a magnificent Elizabeth Olsen as Leigh, a writer who was recently widowed and is trying to piece her life back together. The show’s primary sell is “It’s about grief,” which doesn’t sound like much fun on paper. But the result is a surprisingly engaging, remarkably well-written mediation on the different, less-celebrated ways to grieve. Leigh’s grief isn’t expressed in the typical solitary crying that TV often relies on. Instead, she’s seen through a combination of numbness and anger. She’s angry at her deceased husband Matt, at her husband’s brother, at the “perfect” widow in her grief group (who Leigh calls the Jackie O. to her own Courtney Love), at her desperate-to-help family (including The Last Jedi’s Kelly Marie Tran as her sister), and, of course, at herself. Matt’s death isn’t just explored through Leigh, but through other characters who knew him, allowing the show to trace the ripple effects one person has on the world. It’s occasionally darkly funny, and by the end of the short first season, it’s also pretty cathartic.

Where to watch it: Facebook Watch

Casual

One of Hulu’s first original series ended its four-season fun a few months ago, but that’s just a better reason to check it out. (At least you’ll be assured that it stuck the landing.) The half-hour dramedy, which began its run as a fun look at the weirdness of casual dating (especially online), quietly became one of the most interesting, introspective relationship series on TV. Anchored by siblings Alex (Tommy Dewey) and Valerie (Michaela Watkins), Casual never hesitated to dig into its uncomfortable interpersonal relationships, but it always managed to do so with humor. And it remained fully committed to having its characters grow and evolve realistically, right until the very end.

Where to watch it: Hulu

Schitt’s Creek

The buzz around Schitt’s Creek has been slowly growing as it prepares to begin its fifth season next month, yet it’s still one of the most undervalued programs on television. Granted, it’s hard to find Pop TV, where it originated, but fortunately, the first four seasons are streaming on Netflix, which is a blessed match, since the show works even better in marathon form. The key to Schitt’s Creek is to fully immerse yourself in its world and simply enjoy its fairy tale-esque approach, as the show embraces its titular weirdo town much like NBC’s underrated Trial & Error embraced its similarly weird setting. The comedy follows the Rose family (which consists of Eugene Levy, Catherine O’Hara, Daniel Levy, and Annie Murphy) as they go from riches to rags and end up in the small town of Schitt’s Creek, forced to adapt while refusing to fully compromise themselves. The show is funny, queer, and silly, but it’s also appealingly warm. The writers seem to truly love their characters and want to see them happy. That shouldn’t make a show stand out, but it does.

Where to watch it: Netflix

On My Block

Much of On My Block functions like adolescence: it’s awkward, uncomfortable, off-balance, with plenty of ups and downs. But it’s also immensely charming as it follows a group of high schoolers in South Central Los Angeles. Even in an increasingly color-conscious environment, it’s a rare showing. It’s a teen sitcom with a group of diverse kids at the forefront, rather than having a character of color lazily thrown in to round out the cast. The series deftly weaves together typical teen fare like crushes and parental expectations with the realities of everyday crime and gang violence. (Oddly, there’s also a Goonies-esque treasure hunt thrown in.) It feels lived-in from the very beginning; it doesn’t take long for the creators to warm up to the characters and root for them. By the end of the first season, when everything comes into focus, it’s clear it was worth the ride.

Where to watch it: Netflix

Detroiters

Detroiters isn’t just one of the year’s most overlooked comedies; it’s one of the year’s best comedies, period. It’s a comedy for those who rolled their eyes at the dead seriousness of Mad Men, for those who appreciate loving references to Detroit culture, for those who frequently rewatch sitcoms to catch the jokes they missed the first time, and for those who simply want to laugh about life for half an hour. The comedy follows two best friends and business partners (played by real-life BFFs Sam Richardson and Tim Robinson) as they make low-rent ads for local businesses. It’s small-stakes comedy that results in big laughs, and it’s one of the most entertaining and genuinely joyous shows out there.

Where to watch it: Comedy Central

Loudermilk

Of all the shows on this list, Loudermilk is going to be the toughest to find since Audience Network basically only exists on AT&T U-verse and DirecTV Now. That’s a shame because Loudermilk (and a few of Audience’s other shows, such as You Me Her) is a nice, weird little comedy that’s just offbeat enough to be interesting. Rob Livingston stars as Sam Loudermilk, a grumpy recovering alcoholic who now works as a substance abuse counselor. It’s yet another blend of comedy and drama, propelled by its humorous approach to bleak storylines. Even Will Sasso’s role as Sam’s best friend / roommate goes surprisingly deep, especially when their friendship takes a dark turn at the end of the first season. Loudermilk is notable for providing an honest exploration of addiction, even when it gets a little weird.

Where to watch it: Audience Network

United Shades of America

For the first two seasons of W. Kamau Bell’s brilliant comedic docuseries, the loudest reactions came when he interviewed people who hated him and his community: season 1 opened with Bell talking with members of the KKK, while in season 2, he made headlines for including an interview with white supremacist Richard Spencer. But what stands out most, especially in season 3, is when he simply talks to people who rarely get to speak for themselves, such as the people who live at the border of the US and Mexico or members of the disability community. Bell approaches each episode with a mixture of genuine curiosity and lightheartedness, frequently weaving in his signature comedic style. But most importantly, he actually listens, and he knows when to turn off his comedy instincts and get serious. It’s an insightful look at people and places outside of our familiar comfort zones, but it never gets too preachy.

Where to watch it: Hulu for seasons 1 and 2, CNN for the current season

Claws

If there were any justice in this world, Claws would be one of the biggest series currently airing, with appearances on multiple year-end best-of lists. But alas, even in its second season, it has continued to slip under most critics’ radar, even though it seems designed to stand out. The colorful, hilarious, absolutely addictive drama plunges viewers into a world that’s as much about a nail salon as it is about organized crime in Florida. Claws is funny and violent, ridiculous and brutal. It’s not uncommon for a choreographed dance sequence to layer upon a shocking murder. The entire show is worth it just for Niecy Nash’s pitch-perfect performance alone.

Where to watch it: Hulu for season 1, TNT for the current season

***Take My Wife, Vida, America to Me***

While Outlander and Power rightfully get all of the attention, the majority of Starz programming has been wonderful — and generally overlooked — this year. There’s Take My Wife, originally on the now-defunct comedy streaming service Seeso, which was created by and stars queer comedians Cameron Esposito and Rhea Butcher. The series takes a typical sitcom approach to love, marriage, and work / life balance but with a lesbian couple at the center. And no one dies! There’s also America to Me, a powerful docuseries that focuses on the racial inequality and the imbalance of a public school in the Chicago area by following around an outspoken group of students who candidly share their perspectives. Finally, there’s the beautiful, heartbreaking Vida, which sheds light on queer and / or Latinx communities as it follows two sisters trying to repair their relationship while also dealing with the sudden death of their mother.

Where to watch them: Starz On Demand, the Starz app

In season 2, Dear White People takes on trauma and the internet

2018-05-04T15:29:25-04:00

In April 2017, when the first season of Netflix’s acclaimed Dear White People premiered, many critics and viewers remarked on how “timely” it was. After all, the half-hour series — which deeply explored topics such as racism, black identity, and the myth of the “post-racial” society — debuted just a few months after Donald Trump was sworn into office. Season 2, which premiered on Friday, May 4th, focuses largely on the resurgence of white supremacists, alt-right trolls on the internet, and the psychological effects of racial trauma. It’s sure to be heralded as just as timely — if not more. But the “timely” description also feels a little easy: when haven’t these subjects been timely within the black community?

Created by Justin Simien and based on his own 2014 film of the same name (a few actors even reprise their roles), the Dear White People series successfully mines laughs and introspection from topics that usually aren’t prominent on television, especially as lengthy story arcs. The first season was a delight, circling Winchester University students such as biracial radio host Sam (Logan Browning), her equally engaging but oft-relegated-to-sidekick best friend Joelle (Ashley Blaine Featherson), smart and charming activist Reggie (Marque Richardson), gay introvert and journalist Lionel (DeRon Horton), and put-together Troy (Brandon P. Bell), the dean’s son who winds up frustratedly smashing a glass door with a shovel.

Dear White People resonates because it’s adept at finding those little moments that feel like in-jokes to black viewers, and the ways we use humor to cope with living in a less-than-welcoming country. It transparently featured the microaggressions that come along with being the “only one” in a classroom, the alienation of being a black student in a predominantly white university, the toils of black activism, and the push-and-pull of straddling multiple worlds at once. Its long arc looked at simmering racial tensions on campus after a blackface party, and a major, heartbreaking turning point occurs in “Chapter V,” when a white campus security officer pulls a gun on Reggie at a party. The officer didn’t believe Reggie could actually be a student, regardless of the partygoers’ assertions, while the students were surprised that campus security even carried guns. They weren’t, however, surprised at how easily and quickly the gun was whipped out.

The conflicts eventually come to a head in the season finale, during a town hall meeting (naively held as an attempt to quell campus racial tensions) and a simultaneous protest. Season 2 reveals that a dorm fire occurred during the protest and was assumed to be rioting “because, you know, black people were involved,” Giancarlo Esposito dryly explains, as the series’ unnamed narrator. That dorm’s students are moved over to Winchester’s black house, Armstrong / Parker, and this integration becomes one of the new season’s focal points.

The season 2 premiere takes place just two weeks after the protest (and about three weeks after Reggie’s incident). The campus’ wound is still open, allowing the writers to probe the students’ minds while they’re still processing. Their emotions around the event are still raw, still simmering on the surface, and for some, still being mentally replayed over and over, as they try to find a different, better ending. The approach allows for a deeper examination of past events — but it also lets Dear White People’s creators correct a few minor missteps from the first season.

For one, although “Chapter V” introduced the necessary topic of police brutality through Reggie’s awful experience with campus police, the season’s remaining episodes didn’t explore the internal aftermath as much as they could have. We got the larger picture — shocked students, predictable debates, and the ripple effect on the higher-ups (and prominent donors) of Winchester, all of which culminated at the town hall meeting — but the show only briefly, lightly touched on exactly how this dug into Reggie’s psyche. Granted, the season had a lot packed into it (there’s a similar issue at play this time around, too) and there’s certainly something to say about how trauma sneaks up on people long after the inciting event. But the show’s initial brief look at the protest was still a concern.

In this season’s second episode, “Chapter II,” centered on Reggie (many of the episodes shine individual spotlights on characters), Dear White People begins to dig into the psychological ramifications of race-specific trauma. Throughout the episode, I kept thinking of Jenna Wortham’s 2015 New York Times interview with psychologist Monnica Williams about “race-based traumatic stress injury, or the emotional distress a person may feel after encountering racial harassment or hostility.” This “link between racism and post-traumatic stress disorder” immediately felt familiar, and its symptoms (which Williams says include depression, intrusive thoughts, anger, avoidance, and more) accurately described the aftermath of not only being “directly targeted by racial discrimination or aggression,” but also watching it secondhand on social media.

It becomes clear in “Chapter II” that Reggie is experiencing this race-based PTSD, and Dear White People smartly showcases it. Reggie has to undergo mandatory counseling, but as he wryly notes, the school should’ve given the security guard a shrink instead. Throughout the episode, Reggie (played brilliantly by the talented, charismatic Richardson) continues dealing with his trauma, suffering from nightmares, having flashbacks, and sometimes having a hard time controlling his anger. He can’t escape it; students regularly pity him, or tell exaggerated versions of the story that make Reggie feel even smaller.

At the same time, a few of Reggie’s friends are dealing with similar issues. Troy, back on campus after experiencing what it feels like to be thrown into the back of a cop car, doesn’t seem to have processed either. Instead, he grapples with his identity. As the narrator puts it, he’s gone from “goody-goody to good for nothing.” Pre-protest, many of Troy’s conflicts were rooted in trying to straddle the line of being black while also trying “to disarm white people.” (The pressure from his father, the university dean, didn’t help much.) Now, he says, “my own won’t trust me.” As Reggie puts it, he’s basically “the black guy in a white sitcom.” This season, Troy can’t figure out where he belongs: he’s no longer seen as the palatable-to-white-people student body president, he’s the black dude who pulled a Mookie. And he’s never really been committed to either image.

Figuring out his next moves on campus includes some trial and error, but his identity crisis mostly manifests in a lot of drinking, drugs, and sex — activities he pulls Reggie into as well, since Reggie is on his own mission to numb his brain.

Meanwhile, Sam spends much of the season facing her own racial trauma: an ongoing troll under the moniker “AltIvyW,” attacking Sam on a Twitter-clone social network. AltIvyW’s comments are the typical racist social media abuse: saying Sam only got into Winchester due to affirmative action, commenting on black-on-black crime, refusing to identify themselves because of black people’s rush to violence, personal insults about Sam’s biracial identity. The bullying expands to IRL, too: someone leaves a bunch of bananas on Sam’s dorm door with “bitch” written on them.

Sam becomes obsessed with fighting the troll, losing entire nights — weekends, even — to sitting in the same clothes, chugging energy drinks, and clapping back on Pseudo-Twitter for hours. Friends warn her not to take the bait, but Sam can’t seem to pull herself away from the hurtful comments. “Something’s changed,” she explains to Joelle. “Logic, reason, discourse — it’s out the window.” Since the protest — and, of course, since the real-life 2016 election — these racist trolls have only become more emboldened, outspoken, and confident. Just as we’re dealing with the real-life rise of alt-right personalities and unignorable Twitter accounts, Dear White People’s characters are in similar territory — so much so that a rival radio program called “Dear Right People” pops up in the series, with its participants parroting conservative soundbites.

As Monnica Williams mentioned, race-based stress can also be the result of witnessing racism on social media, from obsessively watching videos of police brutality to having racist comments flood your Twitter feed. In Sam’s case, she’s being specifically targeted, to the point where the attacks are affecting her daily life and academic performance.

In season 2 of Dear White People, the narrator has a recurring refrain: “Watch closely.” One of the season’s longer arcs is a mystery centered on Lionel’s investigation into secret societies on campus — and the racism that has plagued the campus throughout history — so both the audience and the show’s characters are meant to watch closely for clues that are dropped. But it appears that in season 2, the creators were smart enough to take their own advice, by taking a closer look at their characters’ internal conflicts. One criticism of season 1 was its treatment of Joelle, who fell into the trope of a dark-skinned woman rarely rising above sidekick status among her light-skinned best friends. Season 2 allows her to slowly become a true co-star, giving Joelle her own stellar episode and storylines. Coco (Antoinette Robertson) also gets standout moments that force her to look closer at her life and desires.

There are still some concerns in season 2 — like the first season, it packs far too much information and plot into 10 episodes (though that may be preferable to stretching it out over a longer season). The secret-societies arc doesn’t always work, and at times, it’s at odds with the rest of the plotlines. Overall, the second season isn’t as cohesive as it could be. But even the show’s messiness is endearing. It’s an encouragement to listen to that narration, to watch it all again… this time to watch even closer.

The 10-episode second season of Dear White People is now streaming on Netflix.

Amazon’s big content shift includes more kids’ shows about science — and science fiction

2017-10-05T12:36:07-04:00

Early in September, Amazon canceled two pricey original dramas: Z: The Beginning of Everything (about Zelda Fitzgerald) and The Last Tycoon (based on F. Scott Fitzgerald’s unfinished novel). The cancellations are part of a new programming shift at Amazon Studios, bent on emphasizing television series with “global appeal” — that is, finding the next Game of Thrones hit. But while Amazon Studios seems to be almost flailing with finding a cohesive programming slate, one aspect of the service is plugging along nicely: Amazon Studios’ children’s programming.

The majority of Amazon’s children’s series have been effortlessly progressive, with female leads and characters of color abounding. Some of them even feel revolutionary, like Danger & Eggs, created by a trans woman and set in a town where the mayor is a trans woman of color. Others, like Annedroids, actively promote young girls’ interests in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics, or the STEM curriculum. The majority of these series exist in that coveted sweet spot where they’re whimsical and silly enough for children, but still charming enough to not drive parents crazy. They’re casually educational, but not full of condescending, dry lectures. They tell engaging, character-driven stories for tweens. Any sense of agenda around the LGBTQ+ storylines, genderless robots, or the messaging about self-acceptance is meant to slyly slip into viewers’ brains without overt “The More You Know” teaching moments.

During Amazon Studios’ semi-annual pilot season, the site sends out pilot episodes for potential series, so viewers can rate and review them. That’s particularly helpful for parents who want to choose what their children should watch. What stands out about the programs that continue to full series — and two of the three shows from Amazon’s fall 2017 children’s pilot season — is how often they promote and champion “nerdy” children and the STEM communities, mostly through science fiction tales. That’s most obviously at play on the four seasons of Annedroids. (With 52 episodes, it’s the longest-running series on the network.) On the show, a young scientist named Anne and her friends (including humans and her own android creations) find STEM-based solutions for problems, in fun, often comical, always educational ways. It’s no surprise that Amazon Video would promote the show, given Amazon’s STEM subscription box for children three to 13 (separated into three different age groups). The show’s aim, besides entertainment, is to help nurture girls’ early scientific interests, and let them know these subjects are fun.

A program like Annedroids is especially important for young girls, considering the underrepresentation of women in STEM professions: although women make up half the college-educated workforce, they’re only 29 percent of the science and engineering workforce. Even more pressingly, as a Microsoft European study showed, girls tend to lose interest in STEM subjects around middle school — a target age for these Amazon Video series. The survey specifically cited age 11 as when girls tend to get most interested in STEM; 15 is when they lose interest. The reasons are predictable: they lose confidence, have a lack of women role models in the field, and internalize the ideas that subjects like math or science (or anything that leans more toward building and being “hands-on”) are for boys. Through Anne — intelligent, confident, and cool — Annedroids hopes to dispel those notions, and provide a role model.

More generally, however, Amazon Video’s children’s programming trends toward science fiction elements: robots, time travel, aliens, and the paranormal. Science fiction remains a popular genre for its simultaneous escapist qualities and its mirror of current reality. (Plus, CGI advances have made eye-popping, exciting visual effects much easier to achieve.) Children are inherently curious, and they gravitate toward mystery and excitement; they’re also less cynical than adults, and more likely to buy into the strange and impossible.

That explains the appeal of Skyward, one of Amazon’s fall 2017 pilots, which is basically X-Files for Kids. Skyward opens with a young girl and her best friend spotting something strange in the sky, and bonding over it. A few years later, at age 12, they co-host an anonymous podcast dedicated to exploring aliens and unexplained phenomena. Piper (Mia Sinclair Jenness) is a die-hard believer and unwaveringly intense; Curtis (Caleel Harris) is more skeptical, but is unyieldingly loyal to Piper. Uber-nerdy Ira (Griffin Kunitz) rounds out the group as an “intern” who brings in alien-hunting gadgets.

Throughout the pilot, the three wide-eyed children investigate a mysterious alien life form who scans people’s faces and, scratches women’s arms to collect samples. The alien’s motives become a major question. Skyward touches on age-old tropes of adults not believing children; the grown-ups always have a convenient excuse for anything eerie going on. Instead, the kids find solace in each other, and the strangers who call in to the podcast. Like other Amazon Video shows, Skyward uses science fiction to tell human stories. One long arc the full show might continue is about the death of Piper’s mother, the possible mysterious circumstances surrounding it, and how it affects her and her father. But the show is still meant to appeal to children, both to their sense of discovery and their sense of junior-league community and creativity.

Amazon’s pilot for Will vs. The Future operates in the same vein: it’s another science fiction show, but it’s more straightforward comedy. Average middle schooler Will Jin (Teo Briones) is coasting along with his badass-in-training best friend Hailey (Ashlyn Faith Williams) when his life is upended by time-traveling “rebel warrior” Athena (Lexi Underwood). The series hints at Will’s importance in a future that clearly involves science and technology: Principal Rhodes (Thomas F. Wilson) seems curiously invested in Will’s science-fair project, implying that he has specific knowledge about Will’s future.

Even so, Will is pretty shocked when Athena explains that he grows up to become a cyborg who “enslaves the whole planet.” (“I’ve never even got detention,” Will protests.) They fight — Athena was sent back in time to destroy Will, who clumsily defends himself — until they come to an agreement. They will spend two months trying to make Will into a better person, keep him on the right track, and overall teach him how to control his own future. That isn’t a subtle lesson, but it stays engaging throughout the pilot. (And yes, there’s another twist at the end.) But again, this is a science fiction series built around a personal story of growing up, while learning how cool science can be.

Amazon Studios has overall made progressive choices with original adult series like Transparent and One Mississippi, so it’s satisfying — and important — to see the company doing something similar with children’s entertainment. By catering to underrepresented subsets of kids, especially those who may be discouraged from exploring their interests, they’re reaching out to one of the niche markets that most needs its own content. In an increasingly competitive field of original streaming content, this may be one way for Amazon to corner a specific market, separate itself from contenders like Netflix and Hulu, and spread a positive message at the same time.

The People vs. O.J. Simpson is a dark, addictive character study

2016-02-01T14:48:50-05:00

In the true crime genre, particularly when it’s taking on a case as popular and memorable as O.J. Simpson’s, there is always one inherent problem: how do you build suspense in telling a story when we already know the outcome? True crime can be one big spoiler: if you don’t have the patience to sit through all episodes of Making a Murderer or The Staircase, you can just glimpse the outcome through a quick Google search. When it comes to O.J. Simpson, we already know all of the basics — the white Bronco chase, the courtroom theatrics, the “if it doesn’t fit” rhetoric, the acquittal — so a series following the case has the potential to be desperate at worst, redundant at best. But with American Crime Story: The People v. O. J. Simpson, the FX series finds a way to recreate actual tension, to tell the “untold” story of a case that dominated headlines, and to delve into the deeper themes to create a dark, addictive character study.Any hesitance to jump into American Crime Story is understandable, maybe even necessary: Ryan Murphy isn’t exactly known for his nuanced depictions of non-white characters (see: Scream Queens) nor is he known for his ability to rein himself in when he could, instead, go over the top (see: American Horror Story, later seasons of Glee, Nip/Tuck, Popular). But a key to loving American Crime Story is to put Murphy out of your mind entirely — at least as a writer: he has no writing credit on any of the first six episodes, but he does direct a few — and go into it with a clear mind.

The People v. O.J. Simpson, the first installment in the planned anthology series American Crime Story, is based on Jeffrey Toobin’s smart and exhaustive book The Run of His Life. The focus is more on the lawyers, the behind-the-scenes litigations, the racial tensions both in the courtroom and on the streets, and the deep interpersonal connections and conflicts between attorneys than it is on O.J. Simpson himself. It’s a smart move, because we already know Simpson. Even those with a cursory knowledge of Simpson are aware of the major keywords (football, Hertz, Naked Gun, bronco, murder). A series that simply rehashes those touchstones would be unnecessary — and besides that, not competitive in today’s exploding true crime economy.

Of course, this built-in background knowledge does help the series by giving it an immediate interest and must-watch quality, especially to everyone who remembers halting their night’s plans to obsessively watch the infamous car chase. But what really propels The People v. O.J. Simpson are all the smaller details and themes. What especially stands out is the surprising emotional depth given to real-life lawyers like Marcia Clark, Christopher Darden, and Johnnie Cochran who, prior to now, were mostly known in caricature form: sound clips, iconic images, memorable quotes, flashy suits, and questionable hairstyles. In some ways, this character depth is bizarre; at some point during the sixth episode, I realized I was shipping two real-life prosecutors (#TeamClarkden).

The People v. O.J. Simpson puts its race cards on the table immediately. The series opens with the video of the Rodney King beating and subsequent riots in Los Angeles, establishing the tense racial climate between blacks and police officers in the early ‘90s before skipping ahead to the Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman murders. The conflict between blacks and police, a conflict that is as relevant today as it was then, remained front and center during the Simpson trial. “We’re not cheering for O.J.,” says one man on the overpass during the chase, “We’re booing the LAPD.” O.J. famously asserted “I’m not black, I’m O.J.”; one man jokes that O.J. is “black now” that he’s got the cops chasing him.

The racial tensions aren’t just with the cops. There is an internal conflict that many black people — my family included — had during the Simpson trial: on the one hand, Simpson seemed to outwardly distance himself from his race, and much ado is made about how he surrounded himself with mostly white friends. But on the other hand, the case was bigger than him; it didn’t feel like Simpson on trial, it felt like all black men on trial. The trial was a microcosm of the world in 1995, and The People v. O.J. Simpson accurately depicts that.

Ray Mickshaw / FX

It even goes one step further. Episodes remark on Christopher Darden’s role in the trial — “How can a black prosecutor contribute to black society?” — the long jury selection process that heavily involved race, Cochran’s role as being seen as Black first and Lawyer second. Yet, for a Ryan Murphy production, it’s all surprisingly low-key. There are definite moments of big stage productions — the jarring directing of a scene in which Nathan Lane as F. Lee Bailey repeatedly uses the word “nigger” is just a slam zoom short of an extreme parody; the “100 percent not guilty” plea moment is basically a music video (but a good one!) — but for the most part, the writers let the characters and performances speak for themselves.

Courtney B. Vance is positively mesmerizing as Johnnie Cochran, able to portray decades of race frustrations in a single glance or a simple enunciation, whether he’s being pulled over by a white cop or standing tall in the courtroom. Sterling K. Brown is also great and intense as Christopher Darden, and every scene in which the two black lawyers face off is a scene made of pure fire. As O.J. Simpson, Cuba Gooding Jr. is good as always, though — perhaps intentionally — he fades into the background more than you’d expect. He shines when it comes to private breakdowns vs. public composure (a recurring theme with Simpson and Robert Shapiro), acting almost solely through facial expressions rather than spoken words. John Travolta (as Robert Shapiro) and David Schwimmer (Robert Kardashian) try their best, but both come off a little wooden and desperate — though watching the latter tote around mini-Kardashians makes me crave some sort of Muppet Babies spinoff with little Kim & co.

The trial was a microcosm of the world in 1995

Extra praise must be given to Sarah Paulson for her brilliant and occasionally emotionally devastating portrayal of Marcia Clark. Clark isn’t someone I expected to feel sympathy for but throughout the series, it’s impossible not to. The People v. O.J. Simpson depicts a complicated and frustrated prosecutor, one who wants justice just as bad as she wants to go home and hang out with her children. The media destroyed the real-life Clark, harping on her looks and “bitchy” demeanor (the way most strong, outspoken women are destroyed), her ex-husband publicly attacked her, and her nude photos were leaked. The People v. O.J. Simpson deals with this delicately, never painting her as the “Can a woman really have it all?” LawyerMom we see in most TV dramas, and instead letting Paulson’s reactions do the talking: the attempt to keep her voice from wavering, the professional friendship with Darden, the quiet breakdown into a coffee cup, the disbelieving glare at a cashier who rings up her tampons and jokes that the defense is in for a tough week.

While the “trial of the century” is the biggest selling point for The People v. O.J. Simpson, it’s these smaller moments that make the series so endlessly compelling. My plan to check out the pilot quickly turned into watching all six available episodes — twice — and cursing the long wait for the seventh. It’s the binge-worthy drama that Ryan Murphy keeps trying and failing to make, though this time it actually sticks.