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Marie Antoinette
If you think you’ve had enough of royals railing against their gilded cages, Marie Antoinette, an eight-part period drama now available on BBC iPlayer (and debuting on PBS this spring), might just change your mind. Penned by The Favourite scribe Deborah Davis, the series is less arch and more earnest than 2019’s Queen Anne biopic, opening with “Toinette” (Emilia Schüle) leaving her severe Habsburg mother behind in Austria and traveling to France to meet her betrothed: the future Louis XVI (Louis Cunningham), then a cripplingly shy teenager, who can barely meet her eye and prefers to spend his free time hunting rather than bedding his fiancée, much to everyone’s chagrin. So far, so Sofia Coppola, but over the course of eight hours, the Canal+ program develops the nuances of Marie Antoinette’s character in a way that’s never been done before—reframing her as a feminist, and taking more than a few liberties with history. (Take the storyline that sees Louis XV, played by a carousing James Purefoy, attempt to sleep with “the little Dauphine” when his son refuses to.) The political intrigue and sexual tensions that dominate the rigidly hierarchical French court are, of course, gripping, but it’s worth watching Marie Antoinette for the production and costume design alone. A veritable army of craftspeople, from locksmiths to upholsterers, were assembled to recreate the royal apartments of Versailles in Bry-sur-Marne studios, while more than 140 haute couture costumes were made for the cast, with the House of Dior even contributing a number of gowns.—H.M.
The Year of Miracles by Ella Risbridger
Yes, you could do a punishing new year cleanse—or you could make Ella Risbridger’s Quadruple Carb Soup, the food equivalent of a weighted anxiety blanket. For those not familiar with the author’s story, she first turned to cooking following a suicide attempt (as chronicled in her bestselling debut, Midnight Chicken), with the stove-side guidance of her long-term partner The Tall Man. Her follow up, released in 2022, sees her back in the kitchen once more—this time in the wake of The Tall Man’s tragically young death from cancer. If that sounds bleak, it’s—remarkably—not; The Year of Miracles is essentially a list of reasons why it’s worth getting out of bed in the morning, no matter what tragedies have befallen you in life, disguised as an (excellent) cookbook. Among the weirdly comforting recipes it contains? Marmite Crumpet Cauliflower Cheese and Salt & Vinegar Crisp Omelette.—H.M.
Hacks
In lieu of beating myself up about failing, yet again, to become someone who enjoys yoga this January, I’m hunkering down with a hot water bottle and Hacks until the first daffodils come out. (Goblin mode—look into it.) This HBO comedy is criminally under-watched in the U.K., and includes vicious Ab Fab-esque humur while also, somehow, being oddly inspiring (there’s a montage set to the Kiki Dee Band’s “I've Got the Music in Me” in the most recent season which did not make me roll my eyes even once). Its tart brilliance is largely down to Jean Smart, who deserved to be given a role like Deborah Vance eons ago (and whom I could frankly watch renewing her driver’s licence with rapt fascination). A gaudy midlife comic with a Hearst Castle-esque mansion, a shopping-channel empire, and an ego to match, she goes into a tailspin when her decades-long residency at a major Las Vegas casino is unceremoniously cancelled. Enter Ava (Hannah Einbinder), a 20-something professional oversharer whose short-lived career as a Hollywood comedy writer comes to a grinding halt after a non-P.C. tweet gets her cancelled—leaving her no option but to take a job churning out one-liners for Deborah as the latter attempts to rework her act. Both are narcissists, both are whip smart, and the insults they hurl at each other are on a par with Veep’s finest. Take the scene in which Deborah asks Ava in front of a crowd, “Which landscaping company did your hair?”—H.M.
Wintering by Katherine May
First published just before the pandemic brought the world to a halt, much of the coverage of Katherine May’s memoir Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times focused on its timeliness, but I’ve found myself going back to it every few months since I first devoured it during lockdown 1.0. Like Tricia Hersey’s Rest Is Resistance, Wintering brings the pitfalls of hustle culture into focus through May’s account of her own 40th year, in which her carefully constructed existence came crashing down thanks to a combination of illness, parental worries, and the fact that she had just quit her job without a back-up plan. Rather than seeing this period of misfortune as unique, though, May argues that every life includes these fallow stretches—and that expecting to be able to outmaneuver them through constant “self-improvement” is a capitalist ruse. “We like to imagine that it’s possible for life to be one eternal summer, and that we have uniquely failed to achieve that for ourselves,” she writes in the introduction to a redemptive narrative that ranges from October to March. “We dream of an equatorial habitat, forever close to the wintering sun; an endless, unvarying high season. But life’s not like that.” The perfect antidote to every variation on the #newyearnewyou hashtag this January.—H.M.
I Hate Suzie Too
I’ve been evangelical about I Hate Suzie since it premiered, and I’m in good company: Phoebe Waller-Bridge is a superfan of Billie Piper’s darker-than-dark (and quasi-autobiographical) comedy about a teen pop idol turned sci-fi franchise heroine whose picture-perfect Cotswolds existence is upended when naked photos of her with a lover leak online. Cue—spoiler alert—a spectacularly messy separation from her narcissistic husband, Cob (Daniel Ings); the loss of the Disney contract she’s only just signed; and a painful break with her long-time manager (and even longer-time best friend) Naomi (Leila Farzad). If anyone assumed that showrunner Lucy Prebble would give Suzie’s second outing this December a soothingly redemptive arc, they were sorely mistaken; Prebble’s anti-Christmas special shadows Piper’s protagonist over three breathless episodes as she attempts to rehabilitate her image on celebrity talent competition *Dance Crazee Xmas—*while making still more catastrophic mistakes in between mime rehearsals and meetings with her custody lawyers. If you’re looking for reassurance that you’re not the only one losing your mind in our patriarchal society, watch this.—H.M.
Abbott Elementary
If you’ve yet to binge Quinta Brunson’s side-splitting, Emmy-winning sensation, do it now. It centers on the eternally optimistic second grade teacher Janine (the infinitely loveable Brunson herself) as she tries to help her students at a severely underfunded Philadelphia public school. Lending support is the masterful Sheryl Lee Ralph as a jaded veteran of the system; Janelle James as the utterly hopeless, TikTok-obsessed principal; and Tyler James Williams as a delightfully awkward substitute teacher who catches Janine’s eye. As they fight to secure funding and basic resources, there are raucous set pieces involving disruptive kids, an ill-fated gifted program, and a renegade art teacher, with the big laughs perfectly balanced with quieter, more poignant moments that nod to the real-life crises in the American education system without ever becoming preachy or schmaltzy. The 20-minute episodes make for such an easy watch, in fact, that I didn’t realize how much I’d invested in these characters until one sequence, in which Janine’s boyfriend Tariq (Zack Fox) performs at the school, completely floored me. It’s probably the hardest I’ve laughed in a year.—R.S.
Everything Everywhere All At Once
As awards season gets underway, Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert’s absolutely batshit comedy-drama-action blockbuster is emerging as the dark horse in the best picture race, meaning it’s the perfect time to stream it if you failed to catch it on the big screen—or rewatch, given it’s stuffed full of Easter eggs that are better appreciated on a second viewing. Michelle Yeoh is spectacular as Evelyn, a laundromat owner who is struggling to do her taxes when she’s swept off into a multiverse-spanning adventure alongside her beleaguered husband (Ke Huy Quan), demanding father (James Hong), misunderstood daughter (Stephanie Hsu), and the latter’s extravagantly dressed, supervillain alter ego. The final product is a confetti-filled tornado of kung-fu battles, hot dog fingers, butt plugs, and a Ratatouille-inspired raccoon—in short, an outlandish, invigorating jolt to the system that is guaranteed to puncture through the January gloom.—R.S.
Keyboard Fantasies by Beverly Glenn-Copeland
If you’re fighting against the seasons, desperate to skip forward to summer, take a moment to listen to Keyboard Fantasies by Beverly Glenn-Copeland and see if you don’t fall in love with the way of the world again. Softly cyclical, it starts with “Ever New,” a gentle, lyrical tonic that looks to spring rebirth, followed by the yang of “Winter Astral,” which feels like a reminder to enjoy the light you only get to see once darkness falls. Then there’s the coda, “Sunset Village,” which often makes me cry. It brings the beauty of the world into sharp focus—I’ll suddenly notice the grace of the gulls in the sky, the fluid shapes that the sun, as it peeks through the clouds, casts on buildings. Its simple vocals—coming after a beautiful instrumental—also make me think of how often we need permission, or cues, to be loving to ourselves, or to others, with thoughts and acts that are available to us at any time. A goosebump-raising, healing album that beams with love, its story is just as magical: This 1986 record went without fanfare for almost three decades, until a Japanese collector discovered and repromoted it in 2015. Now 79, Glenn-Copeland—a trans man who was one of the first Black students at his Canadian university—has found an audience for his four albums, which are on their way to being recognized globally as the pioneering New Age masterworks they are. We are ever new.—A.M.
Eighty-Sixed
You know what is so underrated? A good comedy web series. In my teen years I could not get enough of duo *Jake and Amir—*I actually had a document where I ranked their more than 700 episodes for personal use—and Clark and Michael (during an equally long fixation on Michael Cera). I must have watched Issa Rae’s Awkward Black Girl at least four times (a proto-Insecure that made the world stand still on its 2011 release and, honestly, tops the show). Then there’s the kind of sad but juicy behind-the-scenes glimpse into Hollywood in Jennette McCurdy’s satirical What’s Next for Sarah? and the campy brilliance of The Gay and Wondrous Life of Caleb Gallo. There’s just something about the sometimes grainy, shaky, DIY gusto—the low-budget freedom to go with gut instincts. It makes for the easy, perfect combination between TV and TikTok, and is often funnier than anything on either. This January, I have been itching to rewatch Eighty-Sixed, written by and starring Cazzie David (daughter of Larry David and just as hilariously neurotic—a nepo baby to cherish) as a girl reckoning with a break-up. Particularly for any Curb fans, it’s impossible to watch and not cry laughing—or at least feel better about yourself, comparatively.—A.M.
Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata
Over the holidays, while browsing a bookstore, I picked up a copy of Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata on a whim. I finished it the same day. Short, funny, unexpectedly poignant, it follows Keiko, a 36-year-old single woman in Tokyo who has never fit in anywhere except the corner shop she’s worked in for half of her life. She feels no pressure to change, except that everyone else seems to want to fix her. Around the new year, when all these ideas of the person you “should” be go into overdrive, it’s a palate cleanser to view the world through Keiko’s idiosyncratic lens. It’s not that she sees things any better, but her strangeness helps show up the equal absurdity of the norm. When half of our resolutions are related to the things we’re told to want to do or be, it pushes you to step back and ask whether you want to change because you’re unhappy with yourself, or in pursuit of acceptance and validation from others.—A.M.