Overview
It might seem as if there's something shiny and brand new hitting the small screen all the time — and there is — but flicking through your streaming queue isn't just about finding something that you've never heard of before to watch. Among the non-stop array of television at everyone's fingertips, beloved favourites keep proving why they're must-see TV. Some even inspire menu choices, too.
2024's returning cohort so far has had us all shouting "yes chef!" again, welcoming back one of the best detective shows there is, and stepping into the worlds of stand-up and late-night comedy. Getting ridiculously catchy (and funny) girl-group tunes stuck in our heads, adoring an Aussie rom-com and embracing superhero satire have also been on the agenda — as has saying a pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty great goodbye to an iconic series.
With 2024 halfway through, we've made our picks of the top returning television shows of the year's first six months — aka the established delights that have splashed another ace new season our way, and also made us want to go back and rewatch past seasons. Your future binges will thank us.
The Bear
Serving up another sitting with acclaimed chef Carmy Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White, The Iron Claw), his second-in-charge Sydney (Ayo Edebiri, Inside Out 2) and their team after dishing up one of the best new shows of 2022 and best returning shows of 2023, the third season of The Bear is a season haunted. Creator and writer Christopher Storer (Dickinson, Ramy) — often the culinary dramedy's director as well — wouldn't have it any other way. Every series that proves as swift a success as this, after delivering as exceptional a first and second season as any show could wish for, has the tang of its prior glory left on its lips, so this one tackles the idea head on. How can anyone shake the past at all, good or bad, the latest ten episodes ruminate on as Carmy faces a dream that's come true but hasn't and can't eradicate the lifetime of internalised uncertainty that arises from having an erratic mother, absent father, elder brother he idolised but had his own demons, and a career spent striving to be the best and put his talents to the test in an industry that's so merciless and unforgiving even before you factor in dealing with cruel mentors.
Haunting is talked about often in this third The Bear course, but not actually in the sense flavouring every bite that the show's return plates up. In the season's heartiest reminder that it's comic as well as tense and dramatic — its nine Emmy wins for season one, plus four Golden Globes across season one and two, are all in comedy categories — the Faks get to Fak aplenty. While charming Neil (IRL chef Matty Matheson) is loving his role as a besuited server beneath Richie aka Cousin (Ebon Moss-Bachrach, No Hard Feelings), onboard with the latter's commitment to upholding a Michelin star-chasing fine-diner's front-of-house standards and as devoted to being Carmy's best friend as ever, he's also always palling around with his handyman brother Theodore (Ricky Staffieri, Read the Room). They're not the season's only Faks, and so emerges a family game. When one Fak wrongs another, they get haunted, which is largely being taunted and unsettled by someone from basically The Bear equivalent of Brooklyn Nine-Nine's Boyles. For it to stop, you need to agree to give in. In Storer's hands, in a series this expertly layered as it picks up in the aftermath of sandwich diner The Original Beef of Chicagoland relaunching as fine-diner The Bear, this isn't just an amusing character-building aside.
The Bear streams via Disney+. Read our full review.
True Detective: Night Country
Even when True Detective had only reached its second season, the HBO series had chiselled its template into stone: obsessive chalk-and-cheese cops with messy personal lives investigating horrifying killings, on cases with ties to power's corruption, in places where location mattered and with the otherworldly drifting in. A decade after the anthology mystery show's debut in 2014, True Detective has returned as Night Country, a six-part miniseries that builds its own snowman out of all of the franchise's familiar parts. The main similarity from there: like the Matthew McConaughey (The Gentlemen)- and Woody Harrelson (White House Plumbers)-led initial season, True Detective: Night Country is phenomenal. This is a return to form and a revitalisation. Making it happen after two passable intervening cases is a new guiding hand off-screen. Tigers Are Not Afraid filmmaker Issa López directs and writes or co-writes every episode, boasting Moonlight's Barry Jenkins as an executive producer. True Detective creator Nic Pizzolatto remains in the latter role, too, as do McConaughey, Harrelson and season-one director Cary Joji Fukunaga (No Time to Die); however, from its female focus and weighty tussling with the dead to its switch to a cool, blue colour scheme befitting its Alaskan setting, there's no doubting that López is reinventing her season rather than ticking boxes.
In handing over the reins, Pizzolatto's police procedural never-standard police procedural is a powerhouse again, and lives up to the potential of its concept. The commitment and cost of delving into humanity's depths and advocating for those lost in its abyss has swapped key cops, victims and locations with each spin, including enlisting the masterful double act of Jodie Foster (Nyad) and boxer-turned-actor Kali Reis (Catch the Fair One) to do the sleuthing, but seeing each go-around with fresh eyes feels like the missing puzzle piece. López spies the toll on the show's first women duo, as well as the splinters in a remote community when its fragile sense of certainty is forever shattered. She spots the fractures that pre-date the investigation in the new season, a cold case tied to it, plus the gashes that've carved hurt and pain into the earth ever since people stepped foot on it. She observes the pursuit of profit above all else, and the lack of concern for whatever — whoever, the region's Indigenous inhabitants included — get in the way. She sees that the eternal winter night of 150 miles north of the Arctic Circle come mid-December isn't the only thing impairing everyone's sight. And, she knows that not everything has answers, with life sometimes plunging into heartbreak, or inhospitable climes, or one's own private hell, without rhyme or reason.
True Detective: Night Country streams via Binge. Read our full review.
Hacks
Sometimes you need to wait for the things you love. In Hacks, that's true off- and on-screen. 2024 marks two years since the HBO comedy last dropped new episodes, after its first season was one of the best new shows of 2021 and its second one of the best returning series of 2022 — a delay first sparked by star Jean Smart (Babylon) requiring heart surgery, and then by 2023's Hollywood strikes. But this Emmy- and Golden Globe-winner returns better than ever in season three as it charts Smart's Deborah Vance finally getting a shot at a job that she's been waiting her entire career for. After scoring a huge hit with her recent comedy special, which was a product of hiring twentysomething writer Ava Daniels (Hannah Einbinder, Julia), the Las Vegas mainstay has a new chance at nabbing a late-night hosting gig. (Yes, fictional takes on after-dark talk shows are having a moment, thanks to Late Night with the Devil and now this.)
At times, some in Deborah's orbit might be tempted to borrow the Australian horror movie's title to describe to assisting her pitch for a post-primetime chair. That'd be a harsh comment, but savage humour has always been part of this showbiz comedy about people who tell jokes for a living. While Deborah gets roasted in this season, spikiness is Hacks' long-established baseline — and also the armour with which its behind-the-mic lead protects herself from life's and the industry's pain, disappointments and unfairness. Barbs can also be Deborah's love language, as seen in her banter with Ava. When season two ended, their tumultuous professional relationship had come to an end again via Deborah, who let her writer go to find bigger opportunities. A year has now passed when season three kicks off. Ava is a staff writer on a Last Week Tonight with John Oliver-type series in Los Angeles and thriving, but she's also not over being fired. Back in Vanceland, everything is gleaming — but Deborah isn't prepared for being a phenomenon. She wants it. She's worked for years for it. It's taken until her 70s to get it. But her presence alone being cause for frenzy, rather than the scrapping she's done to stay in the spotlight, isn't an easy adjustment.
Hacks streams via Stan. Read our full review.
Girls5eva
One of the funniest TV comedies of the 2020s is back with its third season, and as hilarious as ever. So what are you waiting five? If that question doesn't make any sense, then you clearly haven't yet experienced the wonder that is Girls5eva. It starts with a numerical pun-heavy earworm of a theme tune that no one should ever skip, then bounces along just as catchily and sidesplittingly in every second afterwards. A move to Netflix for season three — after streaming its first and second seasons via Peacock in the US and Stan in Australia — deserves to see the Tina Fey-executive produced music-industry sitcom switch from being one of the best shows that not enough people are watching to everyone's latest can't-stop-rewatching comedy obsession. In other words, this a series about a comeback and, thanks to its swap to the biggest player in the streaming game, now it's making a comeback itself. If it becomes a Netflix smash, here's hoping that it'll be famous at least one more time.
Two years have passed for longterm fans since Girls5eva last checked in with Dawn Solano (Sara Bareilles, Broadway's Waitress), Wickie Roy (Renée Elise Goldsberry, She-Hulk: Attorney at Law, and also a Hamilton Tony-winner), Summer Dutkowsky (Busy Philipps, Mean Girls) and Gloria McManus (Paula Pell, Big Mouth), but the gap and the change of platforms haven't changed this gem. Consider the switch of streamer in the same way that Dawn and the gang are approaching their leap back into their girl group after two decades: as an all-in, go-hard-or-go-home, whatever-it-takes relaunch. Now firmly reunited, the surviving members of Girls5eva have taken to the road. So far, however, their big Returnity tour has been happy in Fort Worth. In the Texan city, their track 'Tap Into Your Fort Worth' keeps drawing in crowds, even if that's all that concertgoers want to hear. Also, the Marriott Suitelettes for Divorced Dads has become their home away from home, but resident diva Wickie isn't content just playing one place. Always dreaming huge, massive and stratospheric, she sets the band's sights on Radio City Music Hall, booking them in for a gig at a fee of $500,000. Cue a six-month timeline to sell it out — a feat made trickier by the fact that the show is on Thanksgiving — or risk ruin.
Girls5eva streams via Netflix. Read our full review.
Curb Your Enthusiasm
A quarter of a century is a long time to spend with Larry David, even with gaps along the way. Friends and acquaintances of the fictionalised version seen in Curb Your Enthusiasm might have some not-so-positive things to say about investing that chunk with TV's great curmudgeons. If you're a fan of the satirical series that's been airing since 2000, however, 12 seasons isn't enough. But David has called time on his second small-screen smash. CYE hasn't beaten Seinfeld's episode count, but it has been on-screen on and off for far longer than the famous show about nothing. And as the ending approached, of course the inimitable force behind both started Curb Your Enthusiasm's final season with the series' version of Larry going where Seinfeld's characters closed out their story: jail. He's there not due criminal indifference, though, but rather thanks to the opposite. In Atlanta to attend a rich fan's (Sharlto Copley, Beast) birthday party, on a paid gig courtesy of the success of Young Larry — CYE's in-show show about David's childhood — he gives a bottle of water to Leon's (JB Smoove, Office Race) Auntie Rae (Ellia English, Blood Pageant) while she's in line to vote. That's illegal, the cops pounce immediately and one of the season's key threads is born.
Larry being Larry, of course he wasn't really trying to make a stand against ridiculous voter-suppression laws. Larry still being Larry, he's also content to capitalise upon being seen as a hero, complete with droves of media attention. And, Larry never able to be someone other than Larry, he's still his petty normal self regardless of how much praise flows from Bruce Springsteen. Before Beef was winning Golden Globes, Emmys and other awards for trivial squabbles, David got there first — and before The Rehearsal and The Curse's Nathan Fielder was inspiring cringing so vigorous that you can feel it in your stomach, David was as well. The show's swansong season is vintage Curb Your Enthusiasm, including when a lawyer who looks like one of David's many enemies, overhearing golfing lessons, throwing things at CODA Oscar-winner Troy Kotsur, getting disgruntled over breakfast menus cutting off at 11am and bickering with the late, great Richard Lewis (Sandy Wexler) are involved. As always, it continues to be fascinated with whether someone as set in his ways as David, who was the inspiration for George Constanza, can and will ever change. He won't, and watching why that's the case only stopped being comedy gold when the ten-episode 12th season said farewell.
Curb Your Enthusiasm streams via Binge. Read our full review.
Colin From Accounts
When Colin From Accounts arrived for its first season in 2022 with a nipple flash, a dog and strangers committing to take care of a cute injured pooch together, it also began with a "will they, won't they?" story. Ashley (Harriet Dyer, The Invisible Man) and Gordon (Patrick Brammall, Evil) crossed paths in the street in Sydney when she gave him a random peek, then he was distracted behind the wheel. Thanks to the titular pet, the pair were soon intricately involved in each other's lives — and a delightful small-screen Aussie rom-com was the end result as they endeavoured to work out what that actually meant. In season two, which picks up after the duo gave Colin From Accounts to new owners and then immediately regretted the decision, a couple of things are different from the outset: Gordon and Ashley are on a quest to get their pup back and they'll stop at almost nothing for their family to be reunited, and this award-winning series is now in "should've they or should've they not?" territory about its central romance.
Falling in love is easy. Being in the honeymoon period, whether or not you've actually tied the knot — Colin From Accounts' protagonists haven't — is clearcut, too. Taking a relationship further means peeling away the rosy and glowing surface, however, which is where the series follows its medical student and microbrewery owner in its second season. Accordingly, through surprising news, meeting family members, historical baggage and more, Ashley and Gordon are still trying to navigate the reality of intertwining their lives, and also who they are as a couple. Creators, writers and stars Dyer and Brammall keep performing their parts to perfection; given they're married IRL and no strangers to working together (see: No Activity), the chemistry and naturalism isn't hard to maintain, but they're not just playing themselves. They're also particularly gifted with dialogue, ensuring that everything that the show's characters are saying — be it amusing, heartfelt, acerbic, insightful or all of the above — always feels authentic.
Colin From Accounts streams via Binge. Read our full review, and our interview with Harriet Dyer and Patrick Brammall.
Outer Range
It was true of season one of Outer Range and it doesn't stop proving the case in season two: thinking about Twin Peaks, Yellowstone, Lost, The X-Files, The Twilight Zone and primetime melodramas while you're watching this sci-fi western series is unavoidable. In its second go-around, throw in Dark, too, and also True Detective. Here, an eerie void on a Wyoming cattle ranch sends people hurtling through time, rather than a cave beneath a nuclear power plant — and that concept, time, is dubbed a river instead of a flat circle. The idea behind Outer Range, as conjured up creator Brian Watkins for its debut season in 2022, has always been intriguing: what if a tunnel of blackness topped by a mist of floating energy suddenly opened up in the earth? Also, where would this otherworldly chasm lead? What would be the consequences of taking a tumble into its inky expanse? What does it mean? It isn't literally a mystery box Dark Matter-style, but it also still is in everything but shape — while contemplating what effect such a phenomena has on a rancher family that's worked the land that the ethereal cavern appears on for generations, as well as upon the broader small-town community of Wabang.
Getting trippy came with the territory in season one, in an entrancing blend of the out-there and the earthy. Season two doubles down, dives in deeper and gallops across its chosen soil — a mix of the surreal and the soapy as well — with even more gusto. Just like with a vacuum that materialises on an otherwise ordinary-seeming paddock, no one should be leaping into Outer Range's second season unprepared. This isn't a series to jump into with no prior knowledge, or to just pick up along the way. It isn't simply the premise that Outer Range takes its time to reveal in all of its intricacy, a process that remains ongoing in season two; the characters, including Abbott patriarch Royal (Josh Brolin, Dune: Part Two), his wife Cecilia (Lili Taylor, Manhunt), their sons Perry (Tom Pelphrey, Love & Death) and Rhett (Lewis Pullman, Lessons in Chemistry), and stranger-in-their-midst Autumn (Imogen Poots, The Teacher), receive the same treatment.
Outer Range streams via Prime Video. Read our full review.
Loot
Across ten extremely amusing initial episodes in 2022, Loot had a message: billionaires shouldn't exist. So declared the show's resident cashed-up character, with Molly Wells (Maya Rudolph, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem) receiving $87 billion in her divorce from tech guru John Novak (Adam Scott, Madame Web), then spending most of the sitcom's first season working out what to do with it (and also how to handle her newly single life in general). That she had a foundation to her name was virtually news to her. So was much about everything beyond the ultra-rich. And, she was hardly equipped for being on her own. But Loot's debut run came to an entertaining end with the big statement that it was always uttering not so quietly anyway. So what happens next, after one of the richest people in the world decides to give away all of her money? Cue season two of this ace workplace-set comedy.
Created by former Parks and Recreation writers Alan Yang and Matt Hubbard, in their second Rudolph-starring delight — 2018's Forever was the first — Loot splices together three popular on-screen realms as it loosely draws parallels with Amazon founder Jeff Bezos and his philanthropist ex-wife MacKenzie Scott. At her charity, as Molly's staff become the kind of friends that feel like family while doing their jobs, shows such as 30 Rock and Superstore (which Hubbard also has on his resume) score an obvious sibling. As its protagonist endeavours to do good, be better and discover what makes a meaningful life, The Good Place (which Yang also wrote for) and Forever get company. And in enjoying its eat-the-rich mode as well, it sits alongside Succession and The White Lotus, albeit while being far sillier.
Loot streams via Apple TV+. Read our full review.
The Boys
"Superheroes, they're just like us" has been an unspoken refrain humming beneath on-screen caped-crusader tales in recent decades. Possessing great powers doesn't mean knowing how to wield power, or greatness, or how to navigate the daily elements of life that don't revolve around possessing great powers, as movies and TV shows in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the DC Extended Universe and beyond have kept stressing. Even as it dispenses a much-needed antidote to superhero worship's saturation of big- and small-screen entertainment — even as it has made distrusting the spandex-clad and preternaturally gifted its baseline — The Boys has also told this story. Across the entire extent of human history, what's more recognisable than power and dominance bringing out the worst in people? As adapted from Garth Ennis and Darick Robertson's comics series of the same name by showrunner Eric Kripke (Supernatural) since 2019, this series has stared at the grimmest vision of a world with tights-adorned supposed saviours. It's a show where murder at the hands of supes, which is then covered up by the company profiting from elevating them above the masses, is an everyday reality. It's a dark satire. It's gleeful in its onslaught of OTT violence and sightings of genitals.
What it means to grapple with the struggle to hold onto humanity has firmly been at The Boys' core since its first episode, however, making it a mirror. It has never been hard to see where art imitates life in this account of its namesake rag-tag crew (Thor: Ragnarok,'s Karl Urban, Oppenheimer's Jack Quaid, Wrath of Man's Laz Alonso, One on One's Tomer Capone and Bullet Train's Karen Fukuhara) saying "enough is enough" to the US' downward spiral. With flying, laser-eyed, super-strong, supernaturally speedy and otherwise-enhanced beings commercialised by a behemoth of a company called Vought International, The Boys has never been subtle at pointing its fingers at the many ways in which pop culture and the corporations behind it hold sway. The show's parallels with American politics in its portrait of a factionalised nation torn apart over a polarising leader who considers himself above the law are equally overt. Of course, the series is just as blatant in unpacking the consequences of letting the pursuit of power run riot. In its narrative, in chasing supremacy above all else, humans and supes really are just like each other — a truth season four doesn't ever let slip from view.
The Boys streams via Prime Video. Read our full review.
Breeders
Sitcoms about raising a family are almost as common as sitcoms in general, with the antics of being married with children up there with workplace shenanigans as one of the genre's go-to setups. Thanks to the OG UK version of The Office, Martin Freeman knows more than a little about employment-focused TV comedies. Courtesy of The Thick of It and Veep, actor-turned-director Chris Addison and writer Simon Blackwell also fall into that category. But Breeders, which the trio created and thrusts them into the world of mining parenting for laughs, isn't your standard take on its concept. As became immediately evident when the British series began in 2020, and remains the case now that it's wrapping up with its current fourth season — which aired overseas in 2023 but only hit Down Under in 2024 — this show does't subscribe to the rosy notion that being a mother or a father (or a son or daughter, or grandmother or grandfather) equals loveable chaos. There's love, of course. There's even more chaos. But there's also clear eyes, plus bleakness; again, this is largely helmed and scripted by alumni of two of the best, sharpest and most-candid political satires of the 21st century, and always feels as such.
Season four begins with a time jump, with Breeders' overall path tracking Paul Worsley (Freeman, Secret Invasion) and Ally Grant's (Daisy Haggard, Boat Story) journey from when their two kids were very young — including babies, via flashbacks — to their teenage and young-adult years now. Consequently, five years on in the narrative from season three, another set of actors play Luke (Oscar Kennedy, Wreck) and Ava (debutant Zoë Athena) in this farewell run as the first is moving in with his girlfriend and the second explores her own love life, as well as grappling with the inescapable reality that her elder brother's ups and downs have always monopolised her family's attention. Paul and Ally also have the ailing health of Paul's parents Jim (Alun Armstrong, Tom Jones) and Jackie (Joanna Bacon, Benediction) to manage, in addition to the ebbs and flows of their own often-fraught relationship, plus just dealing with getting through the days, weeks, months and years in general (Ally turning 50 is one of this season's plot points). That this all sounds like standard life is part of the point; watching Breeders is like looking in a mirror, especially in its unvarnished and relatable all-you-can-do-is-laugh perspective. Freeman's knack for swearing will be especially missed.
Breeders streams via Disney+.
Abbott Elementary
The Parks and Recreation comparisons were there from the start with Abbott Elementary. This Emmy- and Golden Globe-winning comedy charts the hustle and bustle at the titular underfunded school in Philadelphia, rather than a government department in Pawnee, but the similarities have always been glaring. Janine Teagues (Quinta Brunson, Miracle Workers) is the eager-beaver second-grade teacher keen to do everything she can for her students. Ava Coleman (Janelle James, Monsters at Work) is the principal content with coasting by on the bare minimum. There's even a newcomer in substitute Gregory Eddie (Tyler James Williams, The United States vs Billie Holiday), with whom sparks fly on Janine's part. It might seem a bold move to use one of the greatest-ever — warmest-ever, too — sitcoms as a template, or even just follow closely in its footsteps, but Abbott Elementary is up to the task. Those awards, which Parks and Recreation also deserved but rarely received, are well-earned by a series that is all heart, kindness and affection for one of the most-important careers there is, as well as appreciation for the obstacles facing US public-school teachers today.
In its third season, Abbott Elementary knows that even a winning formula that's been proven elsewhere needs shaking up. So, it does the equivalent of Parks and Recreation sending Leslie Knope (Amy Poehler, Inside Out 2) to Washington by having Janine work for the school district to attempt to bring about change for her pupils at a higher level. It's a move that brings in the always-welcome Josh Segarra (The Big Door Prize) as her new boss, and also Keegan-Michael Key (IF) as the Superintendent that's his boss — and disrupts the status quo at the educational institution that she adores, including for her idol Barbara Howard (Sheryl Lee Ralph, Ray Donovan), plus colleagues Melissa Schemmenti (Lisa Ann Walter, The Right Mom) and Jacob Hill (Chris Perfetti, Sound of Metal). The idea that one person can and does make a difference, no matter the recognition they do or don't receive, beats strongly in this good-natured series, which Brunson created and co-writes. So does a sense of humour about grappling with whatever the day throws your way, be it professional or personal chaos.
Abbott Elementary streams via Disney+.
The Big Door Prize
If there was a Morpho machine IRL rather than just in The Big Door Prize, and it dispensed cards that described the potential of TV shows instead of people, this is what it might spit out about the series that it's in: "comforting". For a mystery-tinged dramedy filled with people trying to work out who they are and truly want to be after an arcade game-esque console appears in their small town, this page-to-screen show has always proven both cathartic and relatable viewing. Its timing, dropping season one in 2023 as the pandemic-inspired great reset was well and truly in full swing, is a key factor. Last year as well as now — with season two currently upon us — this is a series that speaks to the yearning to face existential questions that couldn't be more familiar in a world where COVID-19 sparked a wave of similar "who am I?" musings on a global scale. The difference for the residents of Deerfield in this second spin: their journey no longer simply involves pieces of cardboard that claim to know where the bearer should be expending their energy, but also spans new animated videos that transform their inner thoughts and hopes into 32-bit clips.
When the Morpho first made its presence known, high-school teacher Dusty (Chris O'Dowd, Slumberland) was cynical. Now he's taking the same route as everyone else in his community — including his wife Cass (Gabrielle Dennis, The Upshaws) and daughter Trina (Djouliet Amara, Fitting In) — by letting it steer his decisions. But whether he's making moves that'll impact his marriage, or his restaurant-owning best friend Giorgio (Josh Segarra, The Other Two) is leaping into a new relationship with Cass' best friend Nat (Mary Holland, The Afterparty), or other townsfolk are holding the Morpho up as a source of wisdom, easy happiness rarely follows. Season two of this David West Read (Schitt's Creek)-developed series still treats its magical machine as a puzzle for characters and viewers to attempt to solve, but it also digs deeper into the quest for answers that we all undertake while knowing deep down that there's no such thing as a straightforward meaning of life. As well as being extremely well-cast and thoughtful, it's no wonder that The Big Door Prize keeps feeling like staring in a mirror — and constantly intriguing as well.
The Big Door Prize streams via Apple TV+. Read our full review, and our interview with Chris O'Dowd and Josh Segarra.
The Tourist
Same cast, new location, similar-enough scenario: that's the approach in The Tourist's second season, which brings back what was meant to be a once-off series from 2022. In its debut run, Jamie Dornan's (A Haunting in Venice) Elliot Stanley awoke in the Aussie outback with zero memory and his life in danger. When the first six episodes ended, he'd uncovered who he was, complete with a distressing criminal past, but was en route to starting anew with Helen Chambers (Danielle Macdonald, French Exit), the constable who helped him get to the bottom of his mystery. After the show worked so swimmingly to begin with, swiftly earning its renewal, screenwriters Harry and Jack Williams (Baptiste, The Missing, Liar) switch part of their initial setup for its next spin. The story moves to Elliot's homeland, while Helen is the tourist (as is her grating ex Ethan, as played by Aunty Donna's Coffee Cafe's Greg Larsen). Remaining in the compellingly entertaining thriller-meets-dramedy's return is the lack of recollection about Elliot's history, even as he actively goes looking for it.
The Tourist first rejoins its main couple on a train in southeast Asia. While not married, they're firmly in the honeymoon phase of their relationship. But the now ex-cop has a revelation: Elliot has received a letter from one of his childhood pals who wants to meet. Quickly, off to the Emerald Isle they go. Trying to shave off his bushy holiday beard in a public toilet leads to Elliot being kidnapped, plus Helen playing investigator again. As he attempts to flee his captors (Outlander's Diarmaid Murtagh, Inspektor Jury: Der Tod des Harlekins' Nessa Matthews and The Miracle Club's Mark McKenn), she seeks help from local Detective Sergeant Ruairi Slater (Conor MacNeill, Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre), but any dreams that The Tourist's globe-hopping couple had about happy reunions or relaxing Irish getaways are sent packing fast. Disturbing discoveries; feuding families led by the equally formidable Frank McDonnell (Francis Magee, Then You Run) and Niamh Cassidy (Olwen Fouéré, The Northman); again bringing Fargo and TV adaptation to mind: they're all influential factors in The Tourist's easy-to-binge (again) second season.
The Tourist streams via Stan. Read our full review.
Heartbreak High
When Heartbreak High returned in 2022, the Sydney-set series benefited from a pivotal fact: years pass, trends come and go, but teen awkwardness and chaos is eternal. In its second season, Netflix's revival of the 1994–99 Australian favourite embraces the same idea. It's a new term at Hartley High, one that'll culminate in the Year 11 formal. Amerie (Ayesha Madon, Love Me) might be certain that she can change — doing so is her entire platform for running for school captain — but waiting for adulthood to start never stops being a whirlwind. Proving as easy to binge as its predecessor, Heartbreak High's eight new episodes reassemble the bulk of the gang that audiences were initially introduced to two years ago. Moving forward is everyone's planned path — en route to that dance, which gives the new batch of instalments its flashforward opening. The evening brings fire, literally. Among the regular crew, a few faces are missing in the aftermath. The show then rewinds to two months earlier, to old worries resurfacing, new faces making an appearance and, giving the season a whodunnit spin as well, to a mystery figure taunting and publicly shaming Amerie. The latter begins their reign of terror with a dead animal; Bird Psycho is soon the unknown culprit's nickname.
Leaders, creepers, slipping between the sheets: that's Heartbreak High's second streaming go-around in a nutshell. The battle to rule the school is a three-person race, pitting Amerie against Sasha (Gemma Chua-Tran, Mustangs FC) and Spider (Bryn Chapman Parish, Mr Inbetween) — one as progressive as Hartley, which already earns that label heartily, can get; the other season one's poster boy for jerkiness, toxicity and entitlement. Heightening the electoral showdown is a curriculum clash, with the SLT class introduced by Jojo Obah (Chika Ikogwe, The Tourist) last term as a mandatory response to the grade's behaviour questioned by Head of PE Timothy Voss (Angus Sampson, Bump). A new faculty member for the show, he's anti-everything that he deems a threat to traditional notions of masculinity. In Spider, Ant (Brodie Townsend, Significant Others) and others, he quickly has followers. Their name, even adorning t-shirts: CUMLORDS.
Heartbreak High streams via Netflix. Read our full review and our interview with Thomas Weatherall.
House of the Dragon
It's a chair made out of swords. So notes Daemon Targaryen's (Matt Smith, Morbius) description of the Iron Throne. Not one but two hit HBO shows have put squabbles about the sought-after seat at their centre so far, and the second keeps proving a chip off the old block in a fantasy franchise where almost everyone meets that description. If the family trees sprawling throughout Game of Thrones for eight seasons across 2011–19 and now House of the Dragon for two since 2022 (with a third on the way) weren't so closely intertwined in all of their limbs, would feuding over everything, especially the line of succession, be such a birthright? Set within the Targaryens 172 years before Daenerys is born, House of the Dragon keeps the black-versus-green factionalism going in season two, to civil war-esque extremes over which two offspring of the late King Viserys the Peaceful (Paddy Considine, The Third Day) should wear the crown and plonk themselves in the blade-lined chair. The monarch long ago named Rhaenyra (Emma D'Arcy, Mothering Sunday) as his heir. But with his last breaths, his wife Alicent Hightower (Olivia Cooke, Slow Horses) claims that he picked their eldest son Aegon II (Tom Glynn-Carney, Rogue Heroes) instead. In King's Landing, the response was speedy, with Rhaenyra supplanted before she'd even heard over at Dragonstone that her father had passed away.
Based on George RR Martin's Fire & Blood, House of the Dragon has also long painted Rhaenyra as the preferred type of chip off the old block. She too wants peace, not war. She also seeks stability for the realm over personal glory. If Viserys spotted that in her as a girl (Milly Alcock, Upright) when he chose her over Daemon, his brother who is now Rhaenyra's husband, he might've also predicted the dedication that she sports towards doing his legacy, and those before him, proud. Conversely, Aegon, also the grandson of Viserys' hand Ser Otto Hightower (Rhys Ifans, The King's Man), sees only entitlement above all else. Martin's tales of dynasties trade in the cycles that course through the bonds of blood, especially in House of the Dragon. Everyone watching knows what's to come for the Targaryens in Daenerys' time, right down to an aunt-nephew romance as the counterpart to Daemon and Rhaenyra's uncle-niece relationship. (No one watching has started this prequel series, the first spinoff of likely many to Game of Thrones, without being familiar with its predecessor). Ice-blonde hair, ambition that soars as high as the dragons they raise and fly, said flame-roaring beasts of the sky, the inability to host happy reunions: these are traits passed down through generations. Some are a matter of genes. Martin continues to explore why the others persist.
House of the Dragon streams via Binge. Read our full review.
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