The Moments That Defined TV In 2022

In many ways, "The Kids in the Hall" sketch "Doomsday DJ" is the perfect embodiment of 2022's general vibe. Perhaps that's why it was the breakout moment from the "The Kids in the Hall" revival series — much to the surprise of Dave Foley, who plays the titular "Motormouth in the morning" post-apocalyptic radio DJ. The premise of the sketch is simple: the world has ended, but hidden in a bunker somewhere, a lone disc jokey — perhaps the last of his kind — continues his show, speaking to an unseen, perhaps nonexistent audience with manufactured upbeat affability. Reduced to a single vinyl 45, he plays Melanie's 1971 hit "Brand New Key" on repeat, his dead eyes reflecting a grim acceptance of his hopeless, unending despair. 

We all know that stare — we've seen it in the mirror. 

On a basic level, the sketch is funny because of the extreme contrast in tones between the happy-go-lucky "Brand New Key" and the dark, grimy, leaking bunker. It's the kind of experimental, absurdist comedy that the original "Kids in the Hall" was known for, and that later surrealist sketch shows like "Mr Show" and "I Think You Should Leave" would perfect. "Doomsday DJ" stands out though, feeling particularly apt for 2022. Many of us now know the isolation of quarantine, and the growing dread that an apocalyptic event — whether caused by climate change or nuclear war — could be just around the corner. We see you Motormouth — and we feel seen. (Sarah Milner)

Paddy Considine, you will be missed in "House of the Dragon" season 2. King Viserys was not a good king, but he was a pretty good dad — at least to his beloved daughter, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.

"House of the Dragon" was a cultural moment for 2022. After the rushed ending of "Game of Thrones" in 2019, many were left wondering what juggernaut TV series would take its place. Articles speculating about "the next 'Games of Thrones'" were common — and yet, nothing ever lived up to the hype. Perhaps that's why the "House of the Dragon" premiere was so huge, drawing in just under 10 million viewers. This was a series I knew I had to watch every Sunday night because the next day, it was all anyone was talking about. 

There are a number of breakout moments from "House of the Dragon" — the horrible birthing scenes, the exploits of Matt Smith's Daemon Targaryen, the "Junior Targaryen Family Fight Club" brawl, etc. — but the most meaningful is King Viserys' reclaiming the Iron Throne to support his daughter in the eighth episode, "The Lord of the Tides." Weak and decrepit beyond his years, the long-suffering king appears as just a whisper of his former self, kept heavily sedated with "milk of the poppy" (i.e. fantasy morphine). It was a shock when, in the midst of Lucerys' claim to Driftmark being questioned, the king himself dramatically entered the throne room to support his daughter and denounce rumors of her children's illegitimacy. Even under heavy makeup and that gold mask, Considine's performance is striking, communicating a depth of pain, sadness, determination, and love underlying the king's final appearance on the throne. It's a haunting yet, in a way, triumphant scene — and easily one of TV's greatest in 2022. (Sarah Milner)  

You may not recognize the image above: it is neither Nathan Fielder, the creator and star of HBO's "The Rehearsal," nor is it Kor, the trivia-loving subject in the premiere. Rather, this is the actor hired to play Kor Skeete, whom Nathan "practices" on at the end of that first, hilarious yet unsettling episode. 

"The Rehearsal" is, on paper, a docu-drama in which Nathan helps people "rehearse" challenging life experiences, giving them the tools to succeed at the real deal. Yet, the series is also not that at all. It's a surreal comedy rooted in concepts of futility, reality, and identity. Partway through the series, it folds in on itself, with Nathan essentially abandoning the premise to focus on his own self-development. It's funny because it's so weird, but it's also a refreshing, surreal show unafraid to ask questions with no set answers.

While it was a few episodes before "The Rehearsal" really shifted to focus on Nathan himself, the first episode foreshadowed what was to come with the end scene between Nathan and Kor. Initially, audiences see the two chatting outside after the confrontation they planned for ended successfully; however, feeling guilty for manipulating Kor with the correct trivia answers, Nathan confesses. A twist reveals he isn't really confessing: He's practicing with the actor, and when that conversation goes poorly, Nathan abandons the idea in the real-life conversation. It's the first really mind-melting moment in the series, and perfectly set the stage for what "The Rehearsal" would become. (Sarah Milner) 

Arguably the most talked-about aspect of James Gunn's "Peacemaker" was that gosh darn opening dance. The opening credits are set to Wig Wam's "Do You Wanna Taste It," a contemporary song that feels ripped from the hair metal heyday — which was 40 years ago (sorry). It's great because the song's got a real hook and the kind of clean, cool licks that would comfortably fit alongside Bon Jovi or Mötley Crüe, but since it's not an established throwback hit, it also gets to be uniquely "Peacemaker." That, with the opening dance, creating the perfect environment for a viral hit. 

The sequence is kooky and self-serious — exactly what you'd want for "The Suicide Squad" spin-off series. It's also just another example of how director James Gunn likes to use dance to great effect in his works. According to choreographer Charissa-Lee Barton, the "Peacemaker" opening dance reflects Gunn's vision:

"Well, it started with what James wrote in the script ... He wrote very clearly that if we open on Peacemaker standing in the middle of the space and he starts to do this weird dance and then Vigilante and Adebayo fold in. And then it became a little more general like 'and then other people fold in' and so on ... they all do this weird dance with a straight face, no emotion. And then at the end, Eagly flies in and joins the group. So all of that was spelled out."

There's something undeniably infectious about that "weird dance." Maybe it's the contrast of straight, humorless faces against the casual, fun music. Maybe we've just been stuck in our homes too long. Either way, we have our own "Peacemaker" step-by-step dance guide if you want to try at home. (Sarah Milner) 

The Disney+ series "She-Hulk" was one of the most talked-about shows online in 2022, and not always for good reasons. The comedy series was intentionally provocative, taking aim at not just the toxic corners of internet, but even the Marvel Cinematic Universe itself. The finale was the natural climax of this, with Jennifer Walters in Hulk form smashing out of her paint-by-numbers MCU battle to metatextually confront the audience about the franchise's overly formulaic narrative structures. Given the comic's own meta tone, it fit perfectly with the character — and was refreshing to see the MCU loosen up from its often self-serious (if quippy) tone.

This brings us to probably the show's best moment: the Kevin Feige robot. The K.E.V.I.N. design alone was hilarious. Clearly alluding to the antagonistic AI in the video game "Portal," this imagined version of the MCU head honcho was a good-natured dig at the Feige's role as the mastermind behind the MCU, and the franchise's reputation for repeating basic story structures and relying too heavily on big CGI-created fight set pieces, even when that approach feels inappropriate for the content (like in "WandaVision"). It was a nicely self-deprecating moment, and helped elevate the finale from "good" to "great." The robot even had a baseball cap built into its design, nodding to the real Feige's signature affectation. A baseball cap. Genius. (Sarah Milner)

The "Star Wars" franchise has rarely been a go-to destination for extraordinary dialogue, valuing functional exchanges that bridge the gap between memorable acts of sci-fi derring-do. And then "Andor" came along and decided to change that. The tenth episode of the series, titled "One Way Out," features not one, but two monologues that are among the absolute best writing seen in all of "Star Wars."

The first is delivered by prisoner Kino Loy (Andy Serkis), who finds himself the unlikely leader of a mass escape attempt by the inmates of a brutal Imperial prison. Commandeering the comm station that oversees the entire facility, he finds his groove, transforming from a man who has kept his head down to survive into a brave leader of men in matter of sentences. By the time he's chanting "One way out!" as the show intercuts with action across the prison, it's impossible to not be swept up in the action, the emotion, and the catharsis of it all. For the first time, "Star Wars," a franchise that started as a story about a rebellion, feels as raw and angry as, well, an actual rebellion.

If the prison subplot is a rebellion as a fresh, bleeding wound, the story of Luthen Rael (Stellan Skarsgård) is about a messy, tough scar that has healed over out of necessity. When asked by one of his double agents what he has sacrificed, Luthen, a hardened rebel operative, barely hesitates: "Calm. Kindness. Kinship. Love. I've given up all chance at inner peace. I've made my mind a sunless space. I share my dreams with ghosts." And that's just the start. Luthen's rage simmers beneath his composed exterior as he lays it on the table — he has become what he hates, because it is the only way to destroy what he hates. And he knows he's doomed. He can't predict Luke Skywalker, but he knows he's burning his life "to make a sunrise" he will never seen. "So what do I sacrifice?" he spits. "Everything!"

It's easy to imagine actors as good as Serkis and Skarsgård making even a perfunctory "Star Wars" scene memorable. But when you put dialogue in their mouths that verges on the extraordinary, that taps into the vicious poetry of rebellion, that exudes the anger of the repressed so eloquently, you're left with not only two incredible scenes, but two scenes that make "Star Wars," in its entirety, better. (Jacob Hall)

In its final moments, "Better Call Saul" lingered on the beating, broken heart of an often bleak and unforgiving show: the love shared by Jimmy McGill (Bob Odenkirk) and Kim Wexler (Rhea Seehorn). Deeply and permanently in the black and white "modern" timeframe, the super-sized series finale, cleverly titled "Saul Gone," tied off every plot thread, gave every surviving character closure, and even found time to enrich "Breaking Bad" with a few new details and Easter eggs. But the show wisely knew that it all had to come back to Jimmy and Kim, the unlikely pairing that somehow felt so perfect, so wrong and so right, a couple destined to find each other, love each other, and destroy each other.

After giving up his chance at escaping prison to secure a future and freedom for Kim (a scene that is fascinating and shattering in its own right), Jimmy finds himself behind bars, a bonafide celebrity amongst his fellow crooks. But he has a visitor. It's Kim. They don't say much, but they do lean against the wall of the visitor room and share a cigarette, an echo of the silent smoking breaks that have low-key defined their affection for each other since the earliest episodes of the series. As they share this one final cigarette, the embers glow orange, a tiny flash of color in a monochromatic finale. A reminder of what once was. What was lost. What these two still, somehow, after all the chaos, violence, and heartbreak, still share. It's a tiny spark of happiness, a spark of literal color, in a life that has lost everything.

The episode ends with Kim and Jimmy sharing one final glance, and it's up to us to wonder if these two will ever see each other again or if this is truly and definitively the end. The question lingers, an ellipsis meant to dangle over an abyss. But the love between these two, the hopeful little orange pinch of cigarette ash, will never be forgotten. (Jacob Hall)

A rousing performance of "Holding Out For A Hero," the humiliation of Nate Jacobs, a treasure trove of reaction shots, and some much-needed catharsis for Rue? Sign me up! Lexi's play may have destroyed her relationship with her sister, but it was still a bonafide masterpiece.

In the dark pit of despair that was most of "Euphoria" season 2, it was a huge relief to pause the heart-racing, drug-induced trauma fest and bask in the chaos of, among other things, a PG simulated gay sex orgy. Lexi's play is magical, musical, and oddly therapeutic, doubling as a chance to see everyone's trauma through a new lens, processed through the eyes of East Highland's most artistic observer. Stylized, musical, campy, and traumatizing, she managed to capture "Euphoria" in a nutshell — all while finally giving Austin Abrams his hilarious moment in the spotlight.

Then, of course, there's the singular moment that took the internet by storm: when it finally dawns on the audience — and Maddy, in particular — that Lexi's play isn't simply a work of fiction but a biographical account of their own lives, she utters the line that still endures as a timeless meme template: "Wait, is this f****** play about us?" Indeed it is, which later gives her the license to shatter the theatrical fourth wall by yes, committing onstage assault. Oh, "Euphoria," never change! (Shania Russell)

The HBO Max series "Harley Quinn" is a crass, hilarious take on Gotham city and its inhabitants, focusing on the adventures of Harley Quinn (Katey Cuoco) and Poison Ivy (Lake Bell). The series is violent, filthy, and full of adult content, but it also occasionally dips into some pretty emotional territory as it handles how various vigilantes and villains deal with their trauma.

If anyone in Gotham could use a short stay at Arkham Asylum, it's probably Batman himself. Bruce Wayne has never fully recovered from seeing his parents murder, and every version of the character save for the 1960's series has shown him contending with their deaths. In the third season of "Harley Quinn," Bruce does something pretty unheroic to try and heal his grief, and in order to undo the damage, Harley must go inside his mind to serve as his therapist. 

What happens next is an animated journey through Bruce's psyche, and it's the most interesting thing anyone's done with the character in years. In his mind, Bruce is still that scared little boy who asked to walk instead of taking a limo that fateful night, and he's been blaming himself for his parent's death ever since. It's haunting stuff, and this chaotic cartoon takes it as seriously as it needs to be taken. In the end, Bruce feels that being Batman is his "Bat-shaped cross to bear," giving the character genuine pathos and reason for being so intense. (Danielle Ryan)

Sheryl Lee Ralph made Emmys history this year as she became the first Black woman to win the Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series award in 35 years, and the second ever in history. Ralph took home the statue for her role as Barbara Howard on the smash-hit ABC series, "Abbott Elementary," where she plays a seasoned kindergarten teacher who often serves as the biggest role model for the newer staff. She's poised, no-nonsense, beloved by her students, and often provides some of the biggest laughs of the show. It was clear from the pilot episode that "Abbott Elementary" was something special, but it was episode 11, "Desking," that solidified Barbara Howard as one of the great, new sitcom comedy characters.

The episode sees the entire school plagued by a new viral trend that has the student body of Abbott Elementary recording themselves running across the room on top of the desks without their teachers seeing. With every desk in school covered in footprints, Barbara spends most of the episode bragging about how her classroom has gone untouched. Of course, her kids eventually get in on the act, inspiring Barbara to burst into the teachers' lounge exclaiming, "Sweet baby Jesus and the grown one too! My desks have been desked!" The moment, which was improvised by Ralph has become the unofficial catchphrase of "Abbott Elementary," and spawned plenty of viral memes. Ralph's performance as Barbara Howard in season 1 was more than deserving of an Emmy, but she deserves every award in the book for that line delivery alone. (BJ Colangelo)