The 100 Greatest TV Performances of the 21st Century
When one thinks of the defining TV performances of the past 25 or so years, what comes to mind? For Variety staffers, some of the answers included a teacher-turned-drug kingpin, spies working both for and against the U.S. government — and perhaps the defining comedy character of this long political moment, in part for how dark her will to power becomes.
Quantifying greatness is a tricky thing. Any ranking like this one — which sets out to list the 100 greatest performances of the century so far — is going to make some fans feel slighted. How, for instance, can we compare the work an actor does on a drama to that of the work on a comedy? Is it unfair to place shows long off the air, and thus either burnished or faded by memory, to shows that are still dropping new episodes? And who, in the end, should rank No. 1?
Suffice it to say that this list is meant in the spirit of fun, but it was undertaken with seriousness; Variety staffers debated first the performances we might want on the list and then their placement over the course of many months. We started with certain parameters. In order to define the pool of shows we were working with, we limited ourselves to scripted series that began on or after January 1, 2000. (The years we list on each entry are the years the performance were given, not the years the show ran.) Simon Cowell, for instance, may have given the performance of a lifetime over his seasons of “American Idol,” but scripted TV, it seemed apparent to us, is just a different beast. And Sarah Jessica Parker, James Gandolfini and Sarah Michelle Gellar may have delivered era-defining work well into the 2000s on “Sex and the City,” “The Sopranos” and “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” but — unfortunately! — there had to be a cut-off somewhere. Starting the clock in the year 2000 focused our attention on work that happened in the wake of the prestige-TV boom that those three shows helped to kick off.
Beyond that, we forced ourselves to include only one performance per show in order to boost the visibility of more series. We all know that the ensemble cast of “Succession” could bulk out most of the Top 10 on this list (at least!); what readers will simply have to imagine is how the argument over which aspirant to the Roy fortune played out over many, many emails and Zooms.
Part of the delight of a project like this is the opportunity to think expansively about what an actor’s greatness can look like. It’s by now, years after their respective hit shows left the air, hardly a surprise that Bryan Cranston and Regina King and Peter Dinklage are gifted actors (and this list wouldn’t be complete without them!). But what about Sydney Sweeney’s prestige-TV-redefining emotional explosions, Niecy Nash’s quietly serene ultracompetence, or Emma Stone’s inside-out depiction of influencer-era vanity? Is it too soon to enter Anna Sawai’s 2024 “Shōgun” performance into the pantheon? And isn’t Michael Emerson’s crucial supporting work on “Lost” as or more utterly integral to that show’s success as any of the leads?
The answer to all of these questions, happily, was “Why not?” Think of this, perhaps, as less of a ranking than a celebration of the great TV we’ve enjoyed from the Golden Age through Peak TV onward into whatever it is that’s going on now — and a declaration of hope that there’ll be more good stuff ahead.
Jeremy Allen White as Carmen Berzatto, “The Bear”
FX, 2022-present
There’s no one as tightly wound as Carmy. And the second and third seasons of “The Bear” have leaned into exploring what made White’s character the particular way he is — the abuse he suffered both in a dysfunctional family home and in the high-stakes culinary world, the loss of his brother and the gradual decision to close himself off. It’s been an amplification and exploration of one of the defining characters of the past few years, a man who seems to pulsate with coiled rage even when things at the restaurant he runs are going well. White delivers a carefully calibrated and precisely measured performance; when Carmy explodes, it’s been building for a while. And when he allows those around him, the audience and — we can only hope — himself a moment of grace, it feels like an exhalation of relief, however short-lived.
Kelly Reilly as Beth Dutton, “Yellowstone”
Paramount Network, 2018-2024
Even in a world filled with grizzled cowboys, Beth Dutton was always the alpha, unafraid to get in the face of CEOs or cops or scofflaws. After all, anyone who tested her ranch magnate family was asking for a good old-fashioned ass-whuppin’. In the soapy Western “Yellowstone,” Reilly didn’t shy away from playing the glam yet debauched businesswoman as larger than life: In grief, her wails were primal; in a fight, she was an unleashed dog; in a disagreement, barbs rolled poisonously off her tongue. But Reilly maintained an undercurrent of sadness beyond caricature — a woman fighting for her kin because she couldn’t have kids of her own, scrambling for the affection of a father who kept her at arm’s length, chasing a man whose emotions remained buried deep. Sure, her best zingers may have been plastered on sweatshirts for wine-addled fans to wear, but Reilly’s pathos made Beth three-dimensional and unforgettable.
Brett Goldstein as Roy Kent, “Ted Lasso”
Apple TV+, 2020–2023
Roy Kent would hate being a part of this list. The foul-mouthed soccer superstar turned foul-mouthed AFC Richmond team captain turned foul-mouthed TV pundit turned foul-mouthed assistant coach was never one for doling out praise. But — as Roy himself might say — too fucking bad, because Goldstein was a fucking genius in this fucking part. He matched Roy’s practiced prickliness with an interior life of quiet compassion and fierce devotion to his family and friends and teammates. On a show with a deep bench of extraordinarily lovable characters, Goldstein was the MVP.
Justin Kirk as Andy Botwin, “Weeds”
Showtime, 2005-2012
Andy came to “Weeds” a mischievous manchild, a jobless stoner who moved in with his dead brother’s widow Nancy (Mary-Louise Parker) under the guise of being a help around the house. Eventually, though, Andy became a sitcom father figure of sorts, teaching his nephews self-defense and the merits of masturbating into a microwaved banana peel. But after several seasons of following her every whim and bad idea, Andy revealed a new vulnerability, professing his unrequited love for Nancy, a heartbreaking revelation that brought his character far beyond the acerbic slacker we’d first met. Kirk gave both charm and sorrow to the character, aspects that made Andy’s journey of self-actualization a more compelling narrative in “Weeds” than the cartel wars Nancy engaged in.
Katja Herbers as Dr. Kristen Bouchard, “Evil”
CBS, 2019-2020; Paramount+, 2021-2024
In the gone-too-soon “Evil,” created by Robert and Michelle King, Herbers’ Kristen started as a disbelieving, Dana Scully-like character. A forensic psychologist and mother of four daughters, she was the voice of reason in a trio of the Catholic Church assessors who investigated possible supernatural occurrences: possessions, potential demonic activity — you know the kind. But in the finale of the show’s first season, Kristen murdered a killer who had escaped justice —— like, 100% on purpose went to his house to kill him with an ice ax! — and that shocking twist set the character on a new path: Viewers just never knew what Kristen might do. Herbers’ Kristen forged a unique chemistry with all of the other characters, whether she was evincing maternal love for her children, desire (for Mike Colter’s David, the priest in love with her) or loathing (Michael Emerson’s Leland, an aspiring — or maybe actual? — demon). Fun and smart, selfish and sometimes cruel, Kristen as the show’s central character elevated “Evil,” and we are shaking our collective fist that this clever, topical horror drama ran for only four seasons.
Kelly Bishop as Emily Gilmore, “Gilmore Girls”
The WB/The CW, 2000-2007; Netflix, 2016
While the mother-daughter bond between Lorelai and Rory Gilmore at the show’s center was roughly a pairing of equals, Bishop’s Emily Gilmore reigned supreme. A woman of a particular class and generation, Emily had a composed viciousness that was often barely contained, primarily when directed toward the perceived flaws of her daughter, Lorelai (Lauren Graham). Still, Emily was not always cold and uncompromising. Glimmers of her inner softness emerged in her burgeoning relationship with her granddaughter, Rory (Alexis Bledel). Their bond allowed Emily to relax, showcasing quirks and even elements of humor that she had long buried under the guise of respectability and self-control.
Matt Berry as Laszlo Cravensworth, “What We Do in the Shadows”
FX, 2019-2024
If you’ve watched even a single episode of “What We Do in the Shadows,” you experienced Berry’s otherworldly gift for taking a simple word or phrase — like “Manhattan” or “human orgasm” — and, with a twist of emphasis or sudden vocal trill, turn it into an aria of comic eccentricity. As the baroquely louche vampire Laszlo, Berry was a one-of-a-kind hoot, whether he was playing oblivious nursemaid to a rapidly aging energy vampire (Mark Proksch) or masquerading as worldly-wise bartender Jackie Daytona — from “Tucson, Ari-zon-ia.”
John Early as Elliott Goss, “Search Party”
TBS, 2016-2017; Max, 2020-2022
As the hideously dressed and attention-starved Elliott, Early nailed a specific type of urban-dwelling millennial: One who is always thinking about himself but has zero self-awareness, who views even something as dramatic as the search for a missing peer and a subsequent murder trial as an opportunity for self-promotion, who has the misguided impulse toward seeming charitable and the lack of follow-through that results in a nonprofit donating water bottles to Africans — sans water. Five escalatingly absurd seasons of “Search Party” gave Early a lot to play with, like a secret Southern upbringing and a “Crossfire”-like talk show in which Elliott painlessly abandoned his moral core for a pay raise. But what made Elliott the most engrossing character on “Search Party” was Early’s distinctive comedic voice, a knowingly performative timbre that legions of short-form internet comics are indebted to, yet none have quite matched.
Cate Blanchett as Phyllis Schlafly, “Mrs. America”
FX, 2020
This underrated series was a cross-section of the feminist movement in its second wave, as its leaders tried and failed to pass a constitutional amendment barring sex-based discrimination in the early 1970s. But the show’s center of gravity, and insurmountable obstacle, was Phyllis Schlafly, a fire-breathing crusader and walking contradiction who empowered herself by opposing women’s empowerment. Just five years prior, in the film “Carol,” Blanchett’s Carol Aird showed a softer, subversive side to mid-century suburban womanhood. In “Mrs. America,” Schlafly pitted herself against Rose Byrne’s Gloria Steinem, Margo Martindale’s Bella Abzug and Uzo Aduba’s Shirley Chisholm, among others. Thanks to her ferocity and charisma, we believe Blanchett’s Schlafly not just as their cumulative equal, but their tactical superior.
Himesh Patel as Jeevan Chaudhary, “Station Eleven”
Max, 2021-2022
The characters on “Station Eleven,” the moving limited series based on Emily St. John Mandel’s novel, have lived through the end of the world. And perhaps no other actor on the show’s deep bench made you feel that more sharply than Patel. Thrown by chance into guarding an abandoned child (Matilda Lawler) as a deadly pandemic closes in, Patel’s Jeevan opened the series in a state of sheer survival mode, stockpiling food and keeping a watchful eye on his charge. The exhaustion and frustration of living through the end times wore on Jeevan, and Patel showed us the reluctance within this hero. Landing as it did in late 2021, with COVID lockdowns fresh in memory, the series was both jarring and humane, and Patel’s work lent it real charge and emotion.
Cristin Milioti as Tracy McConnell, “How I Met Your Mother”
CBS, 2013–2014
The main cast of “How I Met Your Mother” is up there with “Cheers,” “Friends” and “Living Single” as a perfect network sitcom ensemble, an alchemy of smart casting and unexpected chemistry that shined brightest when all of the actors shared the same scene. Which made Milioti’s impact as the long, long, loooooong-awaited Mother in the final season that much more of a miracle. She took a character who’d existed as an abstracted plot device for eight seasons and transformed her into a vibrant, funny, heartfelt person with such disarming charm that she somehow exceeded fans’ impossibly high expectations. Milioti was so captivating as the Mother, in fact, that the decision to kill her off in the series finale — so that Ted (Josh Radnor) could end up with Robin (Cobie Smulders), which had always been the producers’ plan — still lives in infamy as one of the most ill-conceived endings ever for a beloved show. Instead, let’s say this finale’s legacy was launching Milioti into a career of superlative, scene-stealing work, from the “USS Callister” episode of “Black Mirror” to her ferocious performance on “The Penguin.”
Tichina Arnold as Rochelle Rock, “Everybody Hates Chris”
UPN, 2005-2006; The CW, 2006-2009
In truth, everybody loved Chris (Tyler James Williams). But when there’s always another bill to pay, dysfunction makes love look different, and no one on Chris Rock’s semi-autobiographical sitcom embodied the strains of domestic life more than Arnold’s Rochelle. As the Rock family matriarch, Rochelle had it the hardest; she was expected to cook, clean and keep everyone’s shoes on their feet on top of having a job of her own. Rochelle delivered on those responsibilities without fail and without thanks, so her constant threats and orders felt justified. Still, Arnold found ways to strip back the performance — not only in quiet moments sitting at the edge of Chris’ bed or at the kitchen table with Julius (Terry Crews) after the kids were asleep, but with a surprising core of tenderness buried within her admonishments. She may have had a harder edge than other TV parents, but Rochelle’s this-hurts-me-more-than-it-hurts-you sentiments always felt true, and shot through with love.
Julia Garner as Ruth Langmore, “Ozark”
Netflix, 2017-2022
To be clear, Ruth Langmore — the brilliant, dirt-poor teenager whose talents Marty Byrde (Jason Bateman) discovered as he began his criminal career in a resort town in Missouri — was a pretty absurd, thoroughly unrealistic creation. But boy, did she liven up “Ozark.” Marty and Wendy Byrde (Laura Linney) were grim and humorless, and Ruth, with her foul mouth (“I don’t know shit about fuck”) and pithy insults (“I wouldn’t fuck you if your dick were made out of gold”) was both the Netflix crime drama’s comic relief and its heart. Marty and Wendy were cold people, but Ruth ran hot all the time — and once she finally figured out that they’d never be loyal to her, her days were numbered. Garner deservedly won three drama supporting actress Emmys for “Ozark,” and she created a truly unforgettable character that lifted the show up from miserabilism.
Kyle MacLachlan as Special Agent Dale Cooper, Dougie Jones and others, “Twin Peaks: The Return”
Showtime, 2017
MacLachlan served as a muse for the late, great American director David Lynch, whose 18-part opus “Twin Peaks: The Return” marked the culmination, and eerily apt conclusion, of a decades-long creative partnership. On the original run of “Twin Peaks,” MacLachlan played Special Agent Dale Cooper, a Boy Scout of a G-man confronting the forces of darkness in rural Washington State; more than a quarter-century later, he played a Cooper reduced to babbling incoherence by interdimensional travel, but with his fundamental decency still intact. Cooper’s doppelgänger, Dougie Jones, in his signature lime-green suit, was a slapstick turn for the ages, while Cooper, who returns to himself in a scene of shattering emotion, packed pathos into a precious few episodes of agonizingly delayed screen time. MacLachlan’s haunting delivery of the series’ final line — “What year is it?” — still echoes in one’s subconscious.
Renée Elise Goldsberry as Wickie Roy, “Girls5eva”
Peacock, 2021-2022; Netflix, 2024
A pop group isn’t a pop group without a diva. And Wickie Roy was that diva. Goldsberry, a Tony winner for the utterly earnest “Hamilton,” proved she could handle arch and often surrealist humor, as Wickie endured all manner of petty slights as she and her bandmates attempted to reclaim their 1990s glory. The years out of the spotlight had done little to dim Wickie’s self-belief: Like a Norma Desmond whose glory days were on MTV’s “TRL,” she knew she was still big. The subtle balancing act of Goldsberry’s work here, though, was that Wickie’s enduring sense of her own stardom, while hilarious, was never mocked. Indeed, listening to her crisp diction and watching the steel in her spine as she prepared to conquer another stage, one almost believes that she’ll make it.
Stellan Skarsgård as Luthen Rael, “Andor”
Disney+, 2022–present
On this exhilaratingly intelligent — and eerily well-timed — “Star Wars” series about building a revolution against fascism, Skarsgård plays a man fueled by his rage against the Galactic Empire who cannot ever let himself fully express it. Instead, Skarsgård betrays Luthen’s feelings in finely calibrated micro-expressions, as he manages the fragile factions of the nascent rebellion and recruits disillusioned thief Cassian Andor (Diego Luna) to join it. It’s only when one of Luthen’s moles in the Empire demands to know what he has possibly sacrificed that Skarsgård finally takes the lid off. “I’m condemned to use the tools of my enemy to defeat them,” he says, his eyes burning with pain and regret and anger. “I burn my decency for someone else’s future. I burn my life to make a sunrise that I know I’ll never see!” It’s a monologue for the ages, proving that the Force is clearly with Skarsgård.
Ilana Glazer as Ilana Wexler, “Broad City”
Comedy Central, 2014-2019
Sexually aggressive, perpetually stoned and irrationally confident, no one personified the id of Obama-era millennial women like the co-protagonist of webseries-turned-basic cable hit “Broad City.” Broke New Yorkers Abbi and Ilana, named for Glazer and their creative partner Abbi Jacobson, were a Laverne and Shirley for the post-recession age. But within this partnership of comedic equals, it was Glazer’s Ilana who helped “Broad City” break into the zeitgeist. Her arrested development (“I’m 27, Lincoln — what am I, a child bride?”), perpetual quotability (“In da clerb, we all fam!”) and occasional offensiveness (“Sometimes you’re so anti-racist that you’re like, really racist”) made Ilana an accessible kind of aspirational being. Maybe that’s why “Broad City” has had such an extended afterlife of its social media, despite being so clearly of its time and place: We can’t all live as loud and proud as Ilana, but we can carry her with us as a patron saint of libidinous enthusiasm.
Steven Yeun as Danny Cho, “Beef”
Netflix, 2023
“Beef,” about a feud that destroys two lives, required two great performances. And together, Yeun and Ali Wong delivered an acting duet par excellence, but it was Yeun’s Danny who undertook the greater journey. His subterfuges, as he tried to destroy his archenemy (Wong, whose character had the audacity to flip him off in a road-rage incident early in the premiere), were more extreme, and his engagement with the Korean evangelical church provided the show its meatiest thematic elements. In all, the most intriguing aspect of the series was something that Yeun in particular illuminated: The idea that deep enmity is not about hatred but about one’s own pain. Danny, dealing with money troubles and a fundamental aimlessness, found in Amy a place to project all his self-loathing.
Lamorne Morris as Winston Bishop, “New Girl”
Fox, 2011-2018
The ensemble of “New Girl” was greater than the sum of its parts — the chemistry the characters shared enabled abject absurdity, even if each individual character felt like someone you could meet in real life. All except one. As the only resident of apartment 4D who wasn’t present in the pilot, Morris’ Winston flew slightly under the radar in the earlier seasons, which allowed him to wear certain quirks — still believing in Santa as an adult, for example — with ease. But by Season 3, he had become a vehicle for the writers’ wildest whims, constantly expanding the jokes the show could pull off. A man who doesn’t discover his colorblindness until his 30s and may or may not perceive his own skin as green? Sure. Morris played Winston, believably, as always a beat behind, meaning that anything was possible.
Michelle Williams as Gwen Verdon, “Fosse/Verdon”
FX, 2019
Over the course of its run, “Fosse/Verdon” bloomed into an examination of what it means to live a theatrical life, and Williams brought such an existence into vibrant, colorful reality. Her Gwen Verdon — the real-life stage performer in a lifelong personal and creative entanglement with the director Bob Fosse (Sam Rockwell) — felt so deeply that she could not help expressing herself through movement. It was as though she was bursting: with heartbreak, with thwarted love, with art that she was desperate to make.
Al Pacino as Roy Cohn, “Angels in America”
HBO, 2003
The HBO adaptation of Tony Kushner’s epic two-part play was a capital-E Event of the sort that TV too rarely makes anymore. The series’ stellar cast, tasked with bringing to life a phantasmagorical exploration of the AIDS crisis in this country, included heavy hitters like Meryl Streep and Emma Thompson and emerging stars like Patrick Wilson, a pre-“Weeds” Mary-Louise Parker and Jeffrey Wright. Calling any one performer best in show here feels ludicrous, but it’s Pacino’s rageful, embittered power attorney who sticks, spikily, in memory, both as an elegant way to harness Pacino’s particular bigness as an actor and for the journey Cohn takes from resentment to a kind of far-too-late remorse.
Allison Williams as Marnie Michaels, “Girls”
HBO, 2012-2017
In the years since “Girls” left the air, its stature has only grown. Removed from the heat of media glare that accompanied its first run, many viewers seem to be discovering that it’s not just a meme — it’s an excellent show. And perhaps no actor gleams more brightly upon a rewatch than Williams. Taken in full, her work as alpha gallerina Marnie reveals itself as a shrewdly calibrated and wickedly funny dissection of what, back in the 2010s, we called the “girlboss.” Keenly attuned to the failings of others and yet utterly blind to her own vanities and delusions, Marnie was buoyed through life by heedless self-confidence. And when — as happens throughout one’s 20s — she was confronted with reality, as when her attempt to restage an old relationship for one magical night fell apart, we saw a big performance shrink into quiet sorrow.
Naya Rivera as Santana Lopez, “Glee”
Fox, 2009-2015
The William McKinley High School Glee Club’s members tended to go either full camp (Lea Michele) or utterly, sympathetically earnest (the late Cory Monteith). But Rivera’s Santana could do it all. She relished the art of a bitchy bon mot inserted to add chaos every time the show’s conflicts wrapped up in too neat a bow, but she also made sure the character never appeared unfeeling. Case in point: In the show’s tribute episode to Monteith, who died in 2013, Santana landed a cruel dig at his character’s weight before launching into a note-perfect rendition of “If I Die Young” that ended in hysterical tears. It was a harrowing and moving scene, even before Rivera’s own untimely passing in 2020 lent new resonance.
Penn Badgley as Joe Goldberg, “You”
Lifetime, 2018; Netflix, 2019-present
The secret of Badgley’s performance at the center of the stalker thriller “You” is that Joe Goldberg barely speaks with anyone, but his interior monologue — delivered in Badgley’s baritone voice-over — lets the viewer in on his demented thoughts. Badgley’s Joe is the constant in “You,” which became a phenomenon on Netflix after Lifetime canceled it after its first season. The show works only because Badgley’s layered charms and likeable nature play against Joe’s madness; with just one season left, Joe’s sick mind is further deteriorating, not healing. Which is saying something, because he’s been a stalker and murderer since Season 1!
Michaela Jaé Rodriguez as Blanca Evangelista, “Pose”
FX, 2018-2021
Rodriguez was the first transgender woman to receive a major acting nomination at the Emmys and even won a Golden Globe; the honors came as a result of one of this era’s most soulful and sweet performances. As Blanca, the mother of the House of Evangelista in the New York ballroom scene of the 1980s and 1990s, Rodriguez took a tough-love approach with her charges, pushing them to be their best and to stay safe. Rodriguez is a Berklee-trained musician, and showed her chops in one indelible early scene in which she and Pray Tell (Billy Porter) serenaded the residents of an AIDS hospital floor with Diana Ross’ “Home,” a song about seeking and finally finding a sense of belonging. Rodriguez’s vocals soared, and conveyed the message with a simple, easy clarity: Blanca worked, each day, to create a home in a hostile world.
Nicole Kidman as Celeste Wright, “Big Little Lies”
HBO, 2017-2019
The Nicole Kidman pulp-prestige series is by now a subgenre unto itself. And the template was set with the very best example of her small-screen work. In this adaptation of Liane Moriarty’s novel, Kidman — bolstered by a fantastic ensemble that included Reese Witherspoon and Laura Dern, among others — pushed herself to astonishing extremes. This was true both in scenes where Celeste is experiencing domestic violence and in moments where, as a therapy patient, she is justifying to herself why she is to blame for the ongoing assault. While the show’s second season represented a significant step down in quality, Kidman’s work remained precise, as her Celeste began to find her footing in the wake of her late husband’s death. Celeste, as written, was a fundamentally intelligent person in an impossible situation; Kidman’s great achievement was showing us the way she tries to think herself out of her marriage and her grief. Gifted though she is, Kidman can’t always elevate the TV material she chooses to the status of great art — but she did so here.
Kaitlyn Dever as Marie Adler, “Unbelievable”
Netflix, 2019
Dever would go on to deliver a masterful, painfully wrought performance as an opioid addict in 2021’s “Dopesick” and will, later this year, appear on “The Last of Us.” But the first of her major TV turns was on this Netflix limited series, where she played a displaced young woman whose allegation of sexual assault ends up wildly backfiring, as she becomes a social-media pariah and is criminally charged with making a false report. Toni Collette and Merritt Wever are also excellent as the police detectives seeking to aid Marie, but this series — based on real-world reporting — is Dever’s tour de force. She beautifully conveys just how destabilizing it is to tell the truth, and then to have no one believe you.
Rami Malek as Elliot Alderson, “Mr. Robot”
USA, 2015-2019
Malek played a paranoid vigilante who delivers justice only to those he deems deserving: In an era of superhero narratives, this warps and refracts our understanding of the genre. Perhaps his superpower was a sort of hyper-vigilance: Behind his stoic, unimpressed appearance, Elliot, a hacker who undertook no less than a complete restructuring of society, was constantly assessing what was in front of him, analyzing others for lies and inconsistencies as a way to slither into the cracks in their facades. The canny trick of “Mr. Robot” was how it contrasted Elliot’s inner monologue, which revealed his surprisingly vulnerable self, with his flat and bland exterior. The performance had a quiet but building intensity, one that compelled us to root Elliot on even as he crossed into what, when we’re not under his spell, we can concede looked a lot like madness.
Patricia Clarkson as Adora Crellin, “Sharp Objects”
HBO, 2018
Amy Adams’ journalist character Camille Preaker — alternately playing clear-minded horror at the story she’s investigating and a sort of mad delirium — is this show’s agent of chaos. But Clarkson’s Adora provides its backbone. A rigid-minded socialite who’s perpetually scandalized by her daughter Camille’s addiction, her self-destructiveness and most of all her reportorial nosiness, Clarkson plays Adora as if in possession of iron fists within lace gloves. Camille broke free of her small town but finds herself drawn back to it to investigate a crime; Adora, by contrast, sits at the town’s very center, in utter control of all that surrounds her. The second of two collaborations between the late director Jean-Marc Vallée and HBO, after “Big Little Lies,” “Sharp Objects” has a shrewd, nasty understanding of what makes us tick, and Clarkson’s depiction of Adora’s cunning and her cruelty is among the show’s great achievements.
Antony Starr as Homelander, “The Boys”
Amazon Prime Video, 2019-present
On “The Boys,” Starr plays Homelander as Superman with a psychotic, sadistic streak; he’s Captain America, if Cap had been bred in a lab to be a serial killer. He’s also a stand-in for Donald Trump, as demonstrated by his desire for absolute power and fealty, and the deep well of insecurity that fuels his violent temper and nihilism. In another actor’s hands, Homelander — who likes nursing from the women in his life, as if he’s their baby — would be a joke, a caricature. He’d be ridiculous. But Starr projects Homelander’s brilliance more than anything else. He’s cunning, and he can see through people: right before he incinerates them with his laser eyes, that is.
Ty Burrell as Phil Dunphy, “Modern Family”
ABC, 2009-2020
The clueless sitcom dad has existed as long as there have been TV comedies, but Burrell brought the form to new heights. His Phil was painfully desperate for approval — from his children (Sarah Hyland, Ariel Winter and Nolan Gould), whom he tried to approach as equals; from his father-in-law (Ed O’Neill), who disdained him; and from his wife (Julie Bowen), with whom he had a tense relationship. The cleverness of Phil as a character, and the aspect that seemed near impossible to sustain for 11 seasons, was the degree to which he was oblivious to it all. Each new episode represented another opportunity to win over his family, to prove that he really was a cool dad. Phil helped justify the show’s title: Parenting as an attempt to impress one’s kids was a 21st-century invention, and Burrell portrayed Phil’s insecurity with tactical, sharp wit.
Issa Rae as Issa Dee, “Insecure”
HBO, 2016-2021
Unsurprisingly, given the series’ title, Rae’s character on “Insecure” spent a lot of time psyching herself up. Work, relationships and — crucially — friendships were a struggle for Issa Dee, and, looking in the mirror and rapping at herself to find some semblance of confidence, Rae provided a master class in contrast. Suddenly, the meek and soft-spoken Issa was gone — only to return a scene later. Rae, who co-created the show (and based it, in part, on her web series “The Mis-Adventures of Awkward Black Girl”), turned Issa Dee into an avatar for the entire micro-generation who graduated college into late-aughts precarity. But the character is a woman all her own, too. Special mention, when considering the show and its legacy, should go to Rae’s frequent scene partner Yvonne Orji; the season in which the best friends experience a profound estrangement makes painfully clear just how natural their friendship had been to that point.
David Harbour as Jim Hopper, “Stranger Things”
Netflix, 2016-present
“Stranger Things” has made stars out of many members of its junior ensemble, but the grown-ups deliver the performances most worth sticking around for. Harbour gives Jim, a police chief seemingly outmatched by the supernatural forces tormenting Hawkins, Ind., a lived-in intensity and grit that adds dimension without feeling out of place on a show that centers precocious kids. (His backstory, as a grieving father who, for a time, medicated his pain with alcohol, is felt throughout the show. But, through Harbour’s refusal to go too big in the performance, this sorrow is treated with a delicacy and even grace.) And as “Stranger Things” continues, the depth of Jim’s bonds with Eleven (Millie Bobby Brown) and Joyce (Winona Ryder) keep the series grounded, even as surreality reigns.
Kaitlin Olson as Deandra Reynolds, “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia”
FX, 2005-present
Everyone who watches “It’s Always Sunny” will have their favorite performer, and there are arguments for each — the riotous mania of Charlie Day, the sociopathic sangfroid of Glenn Howerton, the acerbic ringleader energy of Rob McElhenney. Yet it’s Olson whose go-anywhere-for-the-joke instincts have lent the venerable sitcom some of its finest moments. Her Dee is that perfect comic combination of egotistical and deeply ignorant — all carried across by a star who, without ever winking at the audience, makes clear that she is in on the joke.
Angela Bassett as Marie Laveau, “American Horror Story: Coven”
FX, 2013-2014
“You dealing with the HBIC now.” Though Bassett has portrayed different characters over several seasons of “American Horror Story,” her Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, remains the most enduring. Bassett brought her own commanding tone to the Senegalese twist-wearing character, based on a real-life 19th-century voodoo practitioner and always more than willing to spill blood, torture or enact revenge when it suited her goal of climbing to the top of the supernatural heap. Bassett toggled between anguish and self-assurance; the audience sided with Marie even when she was dead wrong. The immortal, vengeful Marie was timeless, and she was vicious.
Marcia Cross as Bree Van de Kamp, “Desperate Housewives”
ABC, 2004-2012
“Desperate Housewives” was an instant breakout, and much of its early success was owed to perhaps the most desperate of its cast — and certainly the one who felt the most like a prototypical Stepford housewife. Cross played Bree as an unhinged perfectionist, aiming for demure Martha Stewart elegance but often landing in gun-toting mania. Though Bree presented herself as perfect, Cross offered glimmers of cracks in her pristine image; Bree’s obsession with appearances devolved, often and revealingly, into mania. Bree could have been depicted as a one-dimensional creature of suburbia, but she slowly freed herself of the expectations that had left her caged for so long. With her red hair always elegantly styled, she eventually lightened up, letting us see glimpses of the heart, humor and self-awareness beneath the facade.
Elizabeth Olsen as Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch, “WandaVision”
Disney+, 2021
In her initial film appearances in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Olsen’s Wanda Maximoff struck a memorable but tertiary presence — powerful and distinct, but little seen. She finally took center stage in “WandaVision,” in which Wanda processed the death of her beloved Vision (Paul Bettany) by transforming a small New Jersey town and its residents into a television fantasyland steeped in the tropes of family sitcoms from the past 70 years. Olsen nimbly embodies a catalog of heightened comedic acting styles stretching from “The Dick Van Dyke Show” to “Modern Family” while also channeling Wanda’s profound sorrow — while also playing the most powerful witch in the world. As if by magic, she conjures a singular portrait of how grief can overwhelm our sense of ourselves.
Janelle James as Ava Coleman, “Abbott Elementary”
ABC, 2021–present
For some, it’s when Ava — the clout-chasing, fashion-forward principal of the titular Philadelphia primary school — is laughing so hard at second grade teacher Janine Teagues (Quinta Brunson) that she tumbles out of her chair. For others, it’s when Ava expresses her disbelief that sixth-grade teacher Jacob Hill (Chris Perfetti) has a boyfriend by saying, “So he knew you and then was like, ‘More.’” But no matter when it happens, James wins you over utterly. The actress takes a character who is, on paper, one of the worst principals ever on TV and remolds her into an irresistibly vivacious comic presence. That has come with some real growth. Over the seasons, Ava has flourished into being a dedicated educator without losing an ounce of her iconoclastic charisma — thanks to the fusion of the show’s A-plus writing and James’ extra-credit performance.
Frances Conroy as Ruth Fisher, “Six Feet Under”
HBO, 2001-2005
Later one of the most reliable players in the “American Horror Story” franchise, Conroy emerged as a TV star on “Six Feet Under,” bringing a tremulous, haunted energy to the show’s dysfunctional funeral home-owning family. As they recovered from their father’s death, Ruth Fisher’s three children barreled forward, pursuing distraction at all costs; Conroy showed us, in Ruth, what it looks like to be truly lost. Dowdy and downbeat, Ruth felt out of place and out of time; having built her life around her identity as a mother and wife, she had to find a way to reinvent herself with her husband gone and her children grown. Her coming into her own happened gradually, in fits and starts; a scene in which, somehow invited to an upscale Hollywood party, she made the faux pas of bringing homemade potato salad lives on in lurid memory as much as any of the show’s episode-opening death scenes. “Six Feet Under” was about mortality, and the passage of time; in Ruth, the show depicted a character beginning to realize that it was not too late for her to experience life.
Michael Emerson as Ben Linus, “Lost”
ABC, 2006-2010
It’s hard to believe, in retrospect, that Emerson didn’t appear on “Lost” until the 14th episode of Season 2, given how instrumental he and his character ultimately were to the show’s mythology. Emerson was originally slated only to appear in a handful of “Lost” episodes — but once he hit the screen, the producers embraced his presence and changed the show’s destiny. As Ben Linus, the leader of the “Others,” Emerson portrayed a villain whose actions were often diabolical even when his motives were ambiguous. He could be cold and calculated — then switch on a dime to be irrational, petty and jealous. No “Lost” character goes through more of a transformation than Ben, whose childhood trauma turned him into a mass murderer (he helped kill the entire Dharma Initiative population, after all) and then a cult leader before ultimately helping save the island. The fact that Emerson could pull off such a complex, rich contradiction of a character was enough to earn him the Emmy for supporting drama actor in 2009.
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