Twelve Films and TV Shows You Need to Stream in April

Your latest true-crime obsession is here — alongside the return of ‘Barry’, a Thai culinary thriller, plus Rachel Weisz playing twins in a stunning remake of an 80s gem.
Sarah Ward
April 28, 2023

Not all that long ago, the idea of getting cosy on your couch, clicking a few buttons, and having thousands of films and television shows at your fingertips seemed like something out of science fiction. Now, it's just an ordinary night — whether you're virtually gathering the gang to text along, cuddling up to your significant other or shutting the world out for some much needed me-time.

Of course, given the wealth of options to choose from, there's nothing ordinary about making a date with your chosen streaming platform. The question isn't "should I watch something?" — it's "what on earth should I choose?".

Hundreds of titles are added to Australia's online viewing services each and every month, all vying for a spot on your must-see list. And, so you don't spend 45 minutes scrolling and then being too tired to actually commit to anything, we're here to help. We've spent plenty of couch time watching our way through this month's latest batch — and, from the latest and greatest through to old and recent  favourites, here are our picks for your streaming queue in April.




Twin gynaecologists at the top of their game. Blood-red costuming and bodily fluids. The kind of perturbing mood that seeing flesh as a source of horror does and must bring. A stunning eye for stylish yet unsettling imagery. Utterly impeccable lead casting. When 1988's Dead Ringers hit cinemas, it was with this exact combination, all in the hands of David Cronenberg following Shivers, The Brood, Scanners, Videodrome and The Fly. He took inspiration from real-life siblings Stewart and Cyril Marcus, whose existence was fictionalised in 1977 novel Twins by Bari Wood and Jack Geasland, and turned it into something spectacularly haunting. Attempting to stitch together those parts again, this time without the Crimes of the Future filmmaker at the helm — and as a miniseries, too — on paper seems as wild a feat as some of modern medicine's biggest advancements. This time starring a phenomenal Rachel Weisz as both Beverly and Elliot Mantle, and birthed by Lady Macbeth and The Wonder screenwriter Alice Birch, Dead Ringers 2.0 is indeed an achievement. It's also another masterpiece.

Playing the gender-swapped roles that Jeremy Irons (House of Gucci) inhabited so commandingly 35 years back, Weisz (Black Widow) is quiet, calm, dutiful, sensible and yearning as Beverly, then volatile, outspoken, blunt, reckless and rebellious as Elliot. Her performance as each is that distinct — that fleshed-out as well — that it leaves viewers thinking they're seeing double. Of course, technical trickery is also behind the duplicate portrayals, with directors Sean Durkin (The Nest), Karena Evans (Snowfall), Lauren Wolkstein (The Strange Ones) and Karyn Kusama's (Destroyer) behind the show's lens; however, Weisz is devastatingly convincing. Beverly is also the patient-facing doctor of the two, helping usher women into motherhood, while Elliot prefers tinkering in a state-of-the-art lab trying to push the boundaries of fertility. Still, the pair are forever together or, with unwitting patients and dates alike, swapping places and pretending to be each other. Most folks in their company don't know what hit them, which includes actor Genevieve (Britne Oldford, The Umbrella Academy), who segues from a patient to Beverly's girlfriend — and big-pharma billionaire Rebecca (Jennifer Ehle, She Said), who Dead Ringers' weird sisters court to fund their dream birthing centre.

Dead Ringers streams via Prime Video. Read our full review.



If comedy is all about timing, then Aunty Donna have it — not just onstage. In 2020, Aunty Donna's Big Ol' House of Fun was the hysterical sketch-comedy series that the world needed, with the six-episode show satirising sharehouse living dropping at the ideal moment. While the Australian jokesters' Netflix hit wasn't just hilarious because it arrived when everyone had been spending more time than anyone dreamed at home thanks to the early days of the pandemic, the ridiculousness it found in domesticity was as inspired as it was sidesplittingly absurd. Three years later, heading out is well and truly back, as are Aunty Donna on-screen. Their target in Aunty Donna's Coffee Cafe: cafe culture, with Mark Samual Bonanno, Broden Kelly and Zachary Ruane returning to make fun of one of the simplest reasons to go out that there is. Grabbing a cuppa is such an ordinary and everyday task, so much so that it was taken for granted until it was no longer an easy part of our routines. Unsurprisingly, now that caffeine fixes are back and brewing, Aunty Donna finds much to parody.

With fellow group members Sam Lingham (a co-writer here), Max Miller (the show's director) and Tom Zahariou (its composer), Aunty Donna's well-known trio of faces set their new six-parter in the most obvious place they can: a Melbourne cafe called 'Morning Brown'. The track itself doesn't get a spin, however, with the show's central piece of naming is its most expected move. As demonstrated in episodes that turn the cafe into a courtroom, ponder whether Broden might still be a child and riff on Australian Prime Minister Harold Holt's 1967 disappearance, nothing else about Aunty Donna's Coffee Cafe earns that description. Pinballing in any and every direction possible has always been one of the Aussie comedy troupe's biggest talents, with their latest series deeply steeped — riotously, eclectically and entertainingly, too — in that approach. Think: Richard Roxburgh (Elvis) playing Rake, even though that's not his Rake character's name; Looking for Alibrandi's Pia Miranda making tomato day jokes;. stanning Gardening Australia and skewering unreliable streaming services, complete with jokes at ABC iView's expense; and relentlessly giggling at the hospitality industry again and again.

Aunty Donna's Coffee Cafe streams via ABC iView. Read our full review.



When Dom (David Jonsson, Industry) and Yas (Vivian Oparah, Then You Run) are asked how they met, they tell a tale about a karaoke performance getting an entire bar cheering. Gia (Karene Peter, Emmerdale Farm), Dom's ex, is both shocked and envious, even though she cheated on him with his primary-school best friend Eric (Benjamin Sarpong-Broni, The Secret). It's the kind of story a movie couple would love to spin — the type that tends to only happen in the movies, too. But even for Rye Lane's fictional characters, it's a piece of pure imagination. Instead, the pair meet in South London, in the toilet at an art show. He's crying in a stall, they chat awkwardly through the gender-neutral space's wall, then get introduced properly outside. It's clumsy, but they keep the conversation going even when they leave the exhibition, then find themselves doing the good ol' fashioned rom-com walk and talk, then slide in for that dinner rendezvous with the flabbergasted Gia.

It's easy to think of on-screen romances gone by during British filmmaker Raine Allen-Miller's feature debut — working with a script from Bloods duo Nathan Bryon and Tom Melia — which this charming Sundance-premiering flick overtly wants viewers to. There's a helluva sight gag about Love Actually, as well as a cameo to match, and the whole meandering-and-nattering setup helped make Before Sunrise, Before Sunset and Before Midnight an iconic trilogy. That said, as Rye Lane spends time with shy accountant Dom, who has barely left his parents' house since the breakup, and the outgoing costume designer Yas, who has her own recent relationship troubles casting a shadow, it isn't propelled by nods and winks. Rather, it's smart and savvy in a Starstruck way about paying tribute to what's come before while wandering down its own path. The lead casting is dynamic, with Jonsson and Oparah making a duo that audiences could spend hours with, and Allen-Miller's eye as a director is playful, lively, loving and probing. Rom-coms are always about watching people fall for each other, but this one plunges viewers into its swooning couple's mindset with every visual and sensory touch it can.

Rye Lane streams via Disney+.



As plenty does (see also: Rye Lane above), Beef starts with two strangers meeting, but there's absolutely nothing cute about it. Sparks don't fly and hearts don't flutter; instead, this pair grinds each other's gears. In a case of deep and passionate hate at first sight, Danny Cho (Steven Yeun, Nope) and Amy Lau (Ali Wong, Paper Girls) give their respective vehicles' gearboxes a workout, in fact, after he begins to pull out of a hardware store carpark, she honks behind him, and lewd hand signals and terse words are exchanged. Food is thrown, streets are angrily raced down, gardens are ruined, accidents are barely avoided, and the name of Vin Diesel's famous car franchise springs to mind, aptly describing how bitterly these two strangers feel about each other — and how quickly. Created by Lee Sung Jin, who has It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Dave and Silicon Valley on his resume before this ten-part Netflix and A24 collaboration, Beef also commences with a simple, indisputable and deeply relatable fact. Whether you're a struggling contractor hardly making ends meet, as he is, or a store-owning entrepreneur trying to secure a big deal, as she is — or, if you're both, neither or anywhere in-between — pettiness reigning supreme is basic human nature.

Danny could've just let Amy beep as much as she liked, then waved, apologised and driven away. Amy could've been more courteous about sounding her horn, and afterwards. But each feels immediately slighted by the other, isn't willing to stand for such an indignity and becomes consumed by their trivial spat. Neither takes the high road, not once — and if you've ever gotten irrationally irate about a minor incident, this new standout understands. Episode by episode, it sees that annoyance fester and exasperation grow, too. Beef spends its run with two people who can't let go of their instant rage, keep trying to get the other back, get even more incensed in response, and just add more fuel to the fire again and again until their whole existence is a blaze of revenge. If you've ever taken a small thing and blown it wildly out of proportion, Beef is also on the same wavelength. And if any of the above has ever made you question your entire life — or just the daily grind of endeavouring to get by, having everything go wrong, feeling unappreciated and constantly working — Beef might just feel like it was made for you.

Beef streams via Netflix. Read our full review.



In Thomasin McKenzie's breakout role in 2018's deeply thoughtful and moving Leave No Trace, she played a teen being the responsible one while living off the grid with her PTSD-afflicted father. She turned in a magnificent performance in a film that also earns the same description — one of that year's best — and a portrayal that rightly ensured that more work came her way. In Totally Completely Fine, the New Zealand actor is again excellent, as she's been in Jojo Rabbit, The Justice of Bunny King, Old and Last Night in Soho in-between; however, this six-part Australian series, which makes ample use of its Sydney setting, casts McKenzie as the least responsible among her siblings. Vivian Cunningham's elder brothers John (Rowan Witt, Spreadsheet) and Hendrix (Brandon McClelland, Significant Others) are conscientious and family-focused, respectively, while she has internalised her bad decisions to the point of thinking that she ruins everything. But then her grandfather passes away when she's at a particularly low moment, wills only her his cliffside house and also leaves a note saying that she'll learn what to do with it.

When Totally Completely Fine begins, Vivian is close to saying goodbye. Soon, she discovers that her inherited home is a destination for others feeling the same way. Creator Gretel Vella (a staff writer on The Great, and also a scribe on Christmas Ransom and Class of '07) doesn't shy away from a a tricky topic, as her definitely-not-totally-completely-fine protagonist becomes an unofficial counsellor to strangers — like runaway bride Amy (Contessa Treffone, Wellmania) — who step into her yard planning to commit suicide. This character-driven series doesn't ever reductively posit that only struggling people can help struggling people. Instead, it sees life's difficulties everywhere, the many ways that folks attempt to cope and don't, and the parts that others can have in that journey. McKenzie's performance is pivotal, selling the deep-seated grief that has defined Vivian's life, the chaos she's embraced as an escape, and how telling others that they have something to live for is both complicated and crucial.

Totally Completely Fine streams via Stan.



Let's call it the reality TV effect: after years of culinary contests carving up prime-time television, the savage on-screen steps into the food world just keep bubbling. The Bear turned the hospitality industry into not just a tension-dripping dramedy, but one of 2022's best new shows. In cinemas, British pressure-cooker Boiling Point and the sleek and sublimely cast The Menu have tasted from the same intense plate. Now Hunger sits down at the table, giving viewers another thriller of a meal — this time focusing on a Thai noodle cook who wants to be special. When Aoy's (Chutimon Chuengcharoensukying, One for the Road) street-food dishes based on her Nanna's recipes get the attention of fellow chef Tone (Gunn Svasti Na Ayudhya, Tootsies & the Fake), he tells her that she needs to be plying her talents elsewhere. In fact, he works for Chef Paul (Nopachai Jayanama, Hurts Like Hell), who specialises in the type of fine-dining dishes that only the wealthiest of the wealthy can afford, and is as exacting and demanding as the most monstrous kitchen genius that fiction has ever dreamed up.

There's more to making it in the restaurant trade than money, acclaim and status, just like there's more to life as well. As told with slickness and pace, even while clocking in at almost two-and-a-half hours, that's the lesson that director Sitisiri Mongkolsiri (Folklore) and screenwriter Kongdej Jaturanrasamee (Faces of Anne) serve Aoy. She's tempted by the glitz and recognition, and being steeped in a world far different from her own; however, all that gleams isn't always palatable. Plot-wise, Hunger uses familiar ingredients, but always ensures that they taste like their own dish — in no small part thanks to the excellent casting of Chuengcharoensukying as the film's conflicted but determined lead. A model also known as Aokbab, she proved a revelation in 2017's cheating heist thriller Bad Genius, and she's just as compelling here. The two movies would make a high-stakes pair for more than just their shared star, both sinking their teeth into class commentary as well. Yes, like The Menu before it, Hunger is also an eat-the-rich flick, and loves biting into social inequity as hard as it can.

Hunger streams via Netflix.




Since HBO first introduced the world to Barry Berkman, the contract killer played and co-created by Saturday Night Live great Bill Hader has wanted to be something other than a gun for hire. An ex-military sniper, he's always been skilled at his highly illicit post-service line of work; however, moving on from that past was a bubbling dream even before he found his way to a Los Angeles acting class while on a job. Barry laid bare its namesake's biggest wish in its 2018 premiere episode. Then, it kept unpacking his pursuit of a life less lethal across the show's Emmy-winning first and second seasons, plus its even-more-astounding third season in 2022. Season four, the series' final outing, is no anomaly, but it also realises that wanting to be someone different and genuinely overcoming your worst impulses aren't the same. Barry has been grappling with this fact since the beginning, of course, with the grim truth beating at the show's heart whether it's at its most darkly comedic, action-packed or dramatic — and, given that its namesake is surrounded by people who similarly yearn for an alternative to their current lot in life, yet also can't shake their most damaging behaviour, it's been doing so beyond its antihero protagonist.

Are Barry, his girlfriend Sally Reid (Sarah Goldberg, The Night House), acting teacher Gene Cousineau (Henry Winkler, Black Adam), handler Monroe Fuches (Stephen Root, Succession) and Chechen gangster NoHo Hank (Anthony Carrigan, Bill & Ted Face the Music) all that different from who they were when Barry started? Have they processed their troubles? Have they stopped taking out their struggles not just on themselves, but on those around them? Hader and his fellow Barry co-creator Alec Berg (Silicon Valley, Curb Your Enthusiasm) keep asking those questions in season four to marvellous results. Barry being Barry, posing such queries and seeing its central figures for who they are is an ambitious, thrilling and risk-taking ride. When season three ended, it was with Barry behind bars, which is where he is when the show's new go-around kicks off. He isn't coping, unsurprisingly, hallucinating Sally running lines in the prison yard and rejecting a guard's attempt to tell him that he's not a bad person. With the latter, there's a moment of clarity about what he's done and who he is, but Barry's key players have rarely been that honest with themselves for long.

Barry streams via Binge. Read our full review.



In the late 70s, when Texas housewife, mother of two and popular church choir singer Candy Montgomery had an affair with fellow congregation member Allan Gore, commenting about her being a scarlet woman only had one meaning. If anyone other than Elizabeth Olsen was stepping into her shoes in true-crime miniseries Love & Death, it would've remained that way, too; indeed, Jessica Biel just gave the IRL figure an on-screen portrayal in 2022 series Candy. Of course, Olsen is widely known for playing the Wanda Maximoff aka the Scarlet Witch in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, as seen in WandaVision and Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness most recently. So, mention 'scarlet' in a line of dialogue around her, and it calls attention to how far she is away from casting spells and breaking out superhero skills. And she is, given that Montgomery keeps fascinating Hollywood (see also: 1990 TV movie A Killing in a Small Town) due to the fact that she was accused, arrested and put on trial for being an axe murderer. The victim: Betty Gore, Allan's wife, who was struck with the blade 41 times.

It's with pluck and perkiness that Olsen brings Candy to the screen again, initially painting the picture of a perfect suburban wife and mum. She keeps exuding those traits when Candy decides that she'd quite fancy an extra-marital liaison with Allan (Jesse Plemons, The Power of the Dog) — slowly winning him over, but setting ground rules in the hope that her husband Pat (Patrick Fugit, Babylon) won't get hurt, nor Betty (Lily Rabe, Shrinking) as well. For viewers that don't know the outcome when first sitting down to the seven-episode series, that bloody end is referenced in the first instalment. With restraint, sensitivity and a suitably complicated lead performance, Love & Death then leads up to it amid local scandals over a beloved pastor (Elizabeth Marvel, Mrs Davis) leaving and being replaced (by Keir Gilchrist, Atypical). It also explores the legal proceedings that follow (with She Said's Tom Pelphrey as Candy's lawyer). Olsen is terrific whether she's in bubbly, dutiful, calculating or unsettling mode, and the show itself slides in convincingly alongside writer/producer David E Kelley's recent slate of twisty tales with Big Little Lies, The Undoing and Nine Perfect Strangers (Nicole Kidman is also an executive producer).

Love & Death streams via Binge. Read our full review.



Sometimes Apple TV+ dives into real-life crimes, as miniseries Black Bird did. Sometimes it mines the whodunnit setup for laughs, which The Afterparty winningly achieved. The family feuds of Bad Sisters, Servant's domestic horrors, Hello Tomorrow!'s retrofuturistic dream, the titular take on work-life balance in Severance — they've all presented streaming audiences with puzzles, too, because this platform's original programming loves a mystery. So, of course The Big Door Prize, the service's new dramedy, is all about asking questions from the outset. Here, no one is wondering who killed who, why a baby has been resurrected or if a situation that sounds too good to be true unsurprisingly is. Rather, in a premise isn't merely a metaphor for existential musings, they're pondering a magical machine and what it tells them about themselves. Everyone in The Big Door Prize does go down the "what does it all mean?" rabbit hole, naturally, but trying to work out why the Morpho has popped up in the small town of Deerfield, where it came from, whether it can be trusted, and if it's just a bit of fun or a modern-day clairvoyant game are pressing concerns.

When the machine arrives, it literally informs residents of their true potential. Crowds flock, but not everyone is initially fascinated with the mysterious gadget. Turning 40,  and marking the occasion with that many gifts from his wife Cass (Gabrielle Dennis, A Black Lady Sketch Show) and teenage daughter Trina (Djouliet Amara, Devil in Ohio), high-school history teacher Dusty Hubbard (Chris O'Dowd, Slumberland) is nonplussed. Amid riding his new scooter and wondering why he's been given a theremin, he's baffled by all the talk about the Morpho, the new reason to head to Mr Johnson's (Patrick Kerr, Search Party) store. As school principal Pat (Cocoa Brown, Never Have I Ever) embraces her inner biker because the machine said so, and charisma-dripping restaurateur Giorgio (Josh Segarra, Scream VI) revels in being told he's a superstar, Dusty claims he's happy not joining in — until he does.

The Big Door Prize streams via Apple TV+. Read our full review.



It was back in March 2022 that the world first learned of Mrs Davis, who would star in it and which creatives were behind it. Apart from its central faith-versus-technology battle, the show's concept was kept under wraps, but the series itself was announced to the world. The key involvement of three-time GLOW Emmy-nominee Betty Gilpin, Lost and The Leftovers creator Damon Lindelof, and The Big Bang Theory and Young Sheldon writer and executive producer Tara Hernandez was championed, plus the fact that Black Mirror: San Junipero director Owen Harris would helm multiple episodes. Accordingly, although no one knew exactly what it was about, Mrs Davis existed months before ChatGPT was released — but this puzzle-box drama, which is equally a sci-fi thriller, zany comedy and action-adventure odyssey, now follows the artificial intelligence-driven chatbot in reaching audiences. Indeed, don't even bother trying not to think about the similarities as you're viewing this delightfully wild and gleefully ridiculous series.

There's also no point dismissing any musings that slip into your head about social media, ever-present tech, digital surveillance and the many ways that algorithms dictate our lives, either. Mrs Davis accepts that such innovations are a mere fact of life in 2023, then imagines what might happen if AI promised to solve the worlds ills and make everyone's existence better and happier. It explores how users could go a-flocking, eager to obey every instruction and even sacrifice themselves to the cause. In other words, it's about ChatGPT-like technology starting a religion in everything but name. To tell that tale, it's also about nun Simone (Gilpin, Gaslit), who was raised by magicians (Love & Death's Elizabeth Marvel and Scream's David Arquette), and enjoys sabbaticals from her convent to do whatever is necessary to bring down folks who practise her parents' vocation and the show's titular technology. She also enjoys quite the literal nuptials to Jesus Christ, is divinely bestowed names to chase in her quest and has an ex-boyfriend, Wiley (Jake McDorman, Dopesick), who's a former bullrider-turned-Fight Club-style resistance leader. And, she's tasked with a mission by the algorithm itself: hunting down the Holy Grail.

Mrs Davis screens in Australia via Binge. Read our full review.




Every project by Chilean director Pablo Larraín is always cause for excitement, and Ema, his drama about a reggaeton dancer's crumbling marriage, personal and professional curiosities, and determined quest to be a mother, rewards that enthusiasm spectacularly. It's a stunning piece of cinema, and one that stands out even among his impressive resume. He's the filmmaker behind stirring political drama No, exacting religious interrogation The Club, poetic biopic Neruda, and the astonishing Jackie and Spencer — with Natalie Portman earning an Oscar nomination for the former, and Kristen Stewart for the latter — so that's no minor feat. For the first time in his career, Larraín peers at life in his homeland today, rather than in the past. And, with his six-time cinematographer Sergio Armstrong (Tony Manero, Post Mortem), he gazes intently. Faces and bodies fill Ema's frames, a comment that's true of most movies; however, in both the probing patience it directs its protagonist's way and the fluidity of its dance sequences, this feature equally stares and surveys.

Here, Larraín hones in on the dancer (Mariana Di Girólamo, La Verónica) who gives the feature its name. After adopting a child with her choreographer partner Gastón (Gael García Bernal, Werewolf by Night), something other than domestic bliss has followed. Following a traumatic incident, and the just as stressful decision to relinquish their boy back to the state's custody, Ema is not only trying but struggling to cope in the aftermath. This isn't a situation she's simply willing to accept, though. Ema, the movie, is many things — and, most potently, it's a portrait of a woman who is willing to make whatever move she needs to, both on the dance floor and in life, to rally against an unforgiving world, grasp her idea of freedom and seize exactly what she wants. Di Girólamo is magnetic, whether she's dancing against a vivid backdrop, staring pensively at the camera or being soaked in neon light, while Larraín's skill as both a visual- and emotion-driven filmmaker is never in doubt.

Ema streams via SBS On Demand. Read our full review.



When She Dies Tomorrow splashes Kate Lyn Sheil's face across the screen, then bathes it in neon flashes of pink, blue, red and purple, it isn't easily forgotten. It's a vivid, visceral, even psychedelic sight, which filmmaker Amy Seimetz lingers on, forcing her audience to do the same as well. Viewers aren't just soaking in trippy lights and colours, though. They're staring at the expression beneath the multi-hued glow, which seethes with harrowing levels of shock, fright, distress and anxiety. That's understandable; this is the look of someone who has just had the most unnerving realisation there is: that she is going to die tomorrow. In her second stint directing a feature after 2012's Sun Don't Shine, Pet Sematary, Lean on Pete and Alien: Covenant actor Seimetz serves up a straightforward concept that's all there in the title. Her protagonist — who is also called Amy (Swarm's Sheil) —  believes that her life will end the next day, plain and simple. But it's how the on-screen Amy copes with the apocalyptic news, and how it also spreads virally from person to person, that fuels the movie. Initially, she responds by searching for urns, researching how leather jackets are made and roaming aimlessly around the new home she has recently purchased, and by brushing off her worried but sceptical friend Jane (Hacks' Jane Adams).

If Amy is merely being paranoid, that persecution-driven delusion soon proves contagious, with the feature's cast also including Katie Aselton (Bombshell), Chris Messina (Air), Josh Lucas (Yellowstone), Tunde Adebimpe (Marriage Story) and Jennifer Kim (Dr Death). Among of the joys of She Dies Tomorrow is that it's never one for obvious or easy answers, or for explaining any more than it needs to. Indeed, how it morphs from exploring one woman's fears to cataloguing a shared nightmare that spreads like a pandemic is best discovered by watching; however, Seimetz crafts a gloriously smart and unsettling thriller that toys with surreal Lynchian moments yet always feels disarmingly astute. The film was made prior to COVID-19, so it pre-dates our coronavirus-afflicted world — but, as it ponders humanity's reaction to life-shattering news both on an individual and collective basis, the way that panic and doubt spreads oh-so-quickly, and how one idea can soon overtake entire communities, it's hard not to think of the real-life parallels.

She Dies Tomorrow streams via Stan from Saturday, April 29. Read our full review.


Need a few more streaming recommendations? Check out our picks from January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November and December 2022 — plus January, February and March 2023.

You can also check out our list of standout must-stream 2022 shows as well — and our best 15 new shows of last year, top 15 returning shows over the same period, 15 shows you might've missed and best 15 straight-to-streaming movies of 2022.

Published on April 28, 2023 by Sarah Ward
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