The Best Miniseries of All Time
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
I’ve reached the final massive television based list I will be writing: the best miniseries of all time. In case you didn’t notice, there is no set number to this list like I typically have on my usual articles. There is a reason for this. I initially was going to set this list to fifty entries, which, as you can see (if you are reading this upon the release of this ranking), there are in fact fifty entries. I didn’t feel like one hundred would have worked out nicely, but I also saw that fifty wasn’t quite enough, and I’ll tell you why: I believe we are actually in the prime years of the miniseries medium. I can only imagine that they will keep getting better and better, or that we will have a consistent influx of great miniseries from here on out. That is already the case; you’ll notice how many 2010’s entries are here. I’ve been blown away by Pachinko whilst completing this list, and even then I feel like that there may be a spot for it on this list once my high settles.
That’s kind of the point. More than any list I’ve written so far, I feel like there is room for so much fluctuation on this list. So I start off with fifty, but I want this list to be a fluid one that I can keep adding to here and there. I’ll be updating every list when I notice something I’ve missed before (for retrospective lists) or watch something newer that feels fitting, but I purposefully want this miniseries list to progressively evolve over time, especially since I feel like there is a great chance that it will (and soon, too). One other note I should bring up is the first bits of crossover you’ll notice on any of my lists, and I must explain myself. When I first started Films Fatale, I intended on covering films and films alone. I’ve clearly branched out and have begun covering television contents (in big enough doses, too). There are a number of TV “films” that have made my films list that you will find here. Instead of pulling them out of my previous lists, or updating my other lists with a plethora of miniseries, I just figured that some crossover is fine. I didn’t think this far ahead. Whatever. It’s fine.
Back on the topic at hand, I must say that this is the perfect way to round up all of my lists, which have taken two and a half years (!) of work, as I began with film content, branched out into television analyses, and now have bridged the two with the closest amalgamation they can possibly ever have (outside of TV movies): the miniseries. What stories are best told in a medium-length art form (not film-length short or long form series extremities). Additionally, if a series started off as a miniseries but kept going, I’ll consider these first seasons. If they’re anthological miniseries in the guise of one overall show, they will be considered as well (and the specific “seasons” I want to include will be highlighted). Here are the best miniseries of all time; be sure to keep in touch with this list, as it will be growing from time to time.
50. Top of the Lake (Season 1)
Jane Campion seemed to have distanced herself from the big screen in the 2010’s (at least for a little while), but that’s because she was targeting the land of television instead with her hypnotic miniseries Top of the Lake. In the first iteration, we follow a series of minimalist tales and are engrossed in a differently told crime saga. The audaciousness of evil isn’t the focal point, but rather the lack of stillness that simmers around the guilty and the affected. The followup season — China Girl — was worth an attempt (and, additionally, your attention), but the first go-around is easily Campion at some of her most comfortable and commanding levels of storytelling.
49. Shaka Zulu
While Shaka Zulu has a bit of prickly elements to its legacy (some conflicting elements considering its story and source), its production-based expertise is impossible to ignore. For its time, this South African miniseries had unspeakably gorgeous sets and costumes, with the effects and scope to boot. The series starts off a little bit clunky as well, particularly the sequences involving the British colonialists, but it blossoms into something so ahead of its time, and — as a result — impossible to ignore in the conversation regarding the best miniseries: an artistic opus that helped pave the way for what could come next on the small screen.
48. Sharp Objects
Gillian Flynn’s darkly-written crime stories felt perfect for cinema, especially when you look at something like Gone Girl (or Widows, which she helped co-write specifically for film), and miniseries feel like the visual answer to novels. Sharp Objects adapts perfectly for HBO, especially the gradual brooding of the story and its steady revelation of startling information. As Sharp Objects crescendos into something truly harrowing, it feels like we’ve allowed the secrets of nearby strangers infiltrate our consciousness, and now we are living their heaviest hours vicariously through them. If anyone understands the necessity of allowing the unknown overtake the minds of key characters so we can observe them at their worst within the coldness of the real world, it’s Gillian Flynn.
47. Fishing With John
Do any of us really understand what John Lurie was trying to accomplish with Fishing With John outside of John Lurie himself? I would argue no (even his guests, ranging from Dennis Hopper to Jim Jarmusch, don’t seem to know why there are there on these “fishing” excursions). This warped mockumentary series promises the biggest fishing experiences, but we instead get absurdist vacations that make nearly zero sense (they’re damn hilarious as a byproduct of this ridiculousness). Nothing can ever top the below-zero trek of Lurie and one Willem Dafoe who allegedly die from starvation amidst ice fishing (how does Lurie show up again? Who knows?); this episode is impossible not to laugh during (I dare you). No one knows why Fishing With John exists, but I’m quite glad that it does.
46. Small Axe
Steve McQueen’s filmic anthology series Small Axe may not be solid the entire way through, but it is mostly strong at its various depictions of systemic and societal racism within the United Kingdom. Its flaws are the result of many experiments, so I cannot fault a series that also has Lovers Rock: one of the cinematic highlights of the 2020s already (and McQueen's answer to the works of Wong Kar-wai [or so it seems]). McQueen understands that television — and its episodic nature — grants the opportunity to try different things even within the same title, and Small Axe embodies so many starkly varied view points of the same subject matter (not as an essay, but as a collection).
45. Eight Hours Don’t Make a Day
Before Rainer Werner Fassbinder found his form within heightened melodrama, he was the voice of the working class. Case in point: the limited series Eight Hours Don’t Make a Day (which is appropriately named, given its nearly eight-hour duration). Seeing the evolution of character Jochen’s work and personal lives makes Eight Hours quite a special achievement, and it’s Fassbinder’s gift for character studies that serves as the foundation of this tale. The small screen is something the German auteur would perfect (you will be seeing his name pop up a few more times towards the higher end of this list), yet this run served as fantastic starting point for a filmmaker trying to find his television-based footing.
44. Big Little Lies (Season 1)
When the first run of Big Little Lies premiered, it left many households at a standstill of pure fixation. The gossip that surrounded the group of Californian moms at the forefront of this mystery is put on full blast: the juxtapositions between truth and ill-fated legacy. As the first season progresses, you can tell that relationships are being strained or strengthened, and yet you still aren't sure what will transpire until the very bitter end (especially since the aftermath is sprinkled throughout the series beforehand). Season two was not necessary, although it serves nicely enough as an extra dosage for those that can’t handle when something is well enough; the first season of Big Little Lies is pulpy melodrama done just right.
43. The Thorn Birds
This 80s miniseries felt like television's answer to something like Gone with the Wind, and the lengthy duration allows The Thorn Birds to analyze an epic romance with the scope that the Colleen McCullough’s original novel demands. We cover so many years between Ralph de Bricassart and Meggie Cleary’s on-off relationships (a lot of "will they or won't they” goes on here) that we witness the Cleary family through entire generations come and go, and it's a spectacle in and of itself. With so many iconic names attached to this series (Richard Chamberlain, Barbara Stanwyck, Jean Simmons, Rachel Ward, Christopher Plummer, Piper Laurie, et cetera), The Thorn Birds was always going to be magnetic; it additionally is lovingly made through and through.
42. The Queen’s Gambit
Miniseries feel like a medium of their own even when compared to films, but works like The Queen’s Gambit blur this line quite nicely. For many television viewers, the escapades of prodigy Elizabeth Harmon brought new life to the game of chess (which has been chastised as an uncool activity for as long as I can remember; well, who is laughing now?). For those that are more critical, The Queen’s Gambit wowed us over in other ways, particularly its aesthetic perfectionism. While its outcome can be seen from a mile away, not many moments feel as brilliantly triumphant as the finale “End Game”: the result of a gradual climb towards exaltation.
41. Over the Garden Wall
Over the Garden Wall is deceptively genius: it begins like so many other animated series on television, until it unfurls into a magnificent depiction of the modern day fable (staring two lost brothers and a handful of unknown paths that lie ahead of them). What starts off as an unrelated series of fantastical vignettes becomes a breathtaking take on longing, being lost in life, and trying to right personal guilts, all within the amusing world that Patrick McHale has sewn together. You can finish Over the Garden Wall in just one hundred minutes (not even two hours), but you will feel its humour, wisdom, and beauty for many years.
40. Edge of Darkness
The murder of a police officer’s daughter — in brutally cold blood — kicks off a chain reaction of a heartbroken father’s various vengeful pursuits. Edge of Darkness really takes you to where its title promises: the outskirts of despair, the fringes of the underworld and its hidden ways, and the fine line between nobility and insanity. Frigidly told, Edge of Darkness is lifeless (in the best way possible) and strung along by determination. By its harrowing resolution, the limited series makes us wonder what comes next (what even can come next?), and sometimes there is no followup to misery; this is just how things will forever be from here on out.
39. I May Destroy You
Michaela Coel’s stunning series I May Destroy You is so confident in its various identities; as a twenty first century observation of socialization; as a warning of abuse that still remains prevalent in the world; as a dark comedy that tries to piece together some of the most vulnerable states in a real, identifiable way. As the series continues and dips into some uncomfortable territory, we are placed adjacent to “Ego Death”: a triptych of scenarios that challenges us to decide for ourselves how this miniseries should wrap up. I May Destroy You is bold storytelling through and through, and this feels like just the beginning for Coel and her career.
38. Roots
On one hand, Roots has a lot of baggage that it has had to sadly answer for (the discovered untruths in Alex Haley’s story and not a tale that is taken majorly from real events), but it is still impossible to ignore the scope of this multi-generational look at the slavery of Gambian citizens in the United States. Kunta Kinte’s legacy is forever felt in a multitude of ways, and he is actually more recognizable than this miniseries in some ways (especially through hip hop references). Roots itself is slightly dated, but its ambitions give this epic story undeniable life; its historical focuses still feel essential to hear today.
37. The Night Of
The magic of the miniseries medium is that so many types of character development are told at the most satisfying pace; not as quickly as film; not as drawn out as long form television. In The Night Of, we see a student’s downward spiral after his arrest, and he is destined to become a misfit of society with internal demons, no matter what his final judicial verdict may be. We watch this gradual descent, and it hurts. We cannot hurry up his trial process, and we know this impending damage cannot be prevented. It’s a terribly sad state of affairs, and they all began that one cursed, titular evening.
36. Tanner ‘88
Could there be a better satirical match made in heaven than maverick auteur Robert Altman and Doonsbury cartoonist Gary Trudeau? Tanner ’88 is a mockumentary look at a Democrat politician — Jack Tanner — and his doomed campaign to become the next president of the United States. It is bafflingly awkward, and I’m not sure whose trademark traits are more prevalent here: Altman’s realistic conversational miasmas, or Trudeau’s speech-bubble sarcastic jabs. As tongue-in-cheek as Tanner ’88 is (and is it ever), it also feels a little too real at times, particularly in this day and age. Of course there was that followup Tanner on Tanner, but we don’t need to focus on that too often when ’88 was not only prophetic: it was accurate on a multi generational level.
35. The Last Dance
Perhaps The Last Dance was produced to reinstate Michael Jordan’s legacy amidst contemporary G.O.A.T. conversations (please don’t take this personally, Mike), but it still is a brilliant documentary series. It at least acts as a reminder that greatness doesn’t just come up from out of thin air, and that dynasties will forever have the excruciating amounts of work and triumph behind them in order to actually ring true (the Chicago Bulls championship runs were actually still miraculous, and not just the end result of the best team in NBA basketball). Like the actual title runs themselves (all six of them), The Last Dance is revelatory.
34. House of Cards
We all know the Netflix original (?) series that once took the world by storm, but the source material serial doesn’t get enough attention (especially considering that it sticks its landing). The British House of Cards feels much more sarcastic and smug, like this is an insider’s look into the mind of a Chief Whip and his hidden motives. It doesn’t feel like we can’t stop this corruption like the American answer series: instead, we’re playing right alongside this antihero lead named Francis Urquhart. The Netflix series is more outwardly evil, but the original House of Cards convinces you to take part, and that’s some serious manipulation.
33. When They See Us
Ava DuVernay never sits still, and it says a lot that When They See Us is one of her greatest achievements. In four short episodes, we see the fates of five erroneously accused teens as they face the scrutiny and lack of concern of a society built upon systemic racism. Whilst brisk, this series feels like entire lifetimes zipping past us; it seems so wrong to gaze upon the wasted youths of innocent kids just because of the colour of their skin. When They See Us is startlingly bleak, crucial television; you’re aware this kind of injustice exists, but to see those affected by the 1989 Central Park Jogger Case portrayed in DuVernay’s story will break you, and you’ll never forget the extent of wrongness on full display here.
32. Traffik
I adore Steven Soderbergh’s 2000 adaptation Traffic, as it is one of my favourite films of the 2000s. Nonetheless, it is safe to say that the prolific filmmaker had a great source material to work with, as Traffik is a brilliant miniseries through and through. Told much more methodically than the Oscar winner we know, Traffik makes us feel more a part of these interconnecting lives that are tethered to the war on drugs (from addicts to kingpins). While 2000’sTraffic is the strongest version of this tale, this first serial is stunning in its own right and a must-see if you are a fan of the aforementioned film.
31. More Than Life at Stake
One of Poland’s greatest television achievements is the highly compelling More Than Life at Stake: an eighteen hour spy thriller. Shown well before most miniseries that we would grow to love — even many iconic examples — this World War II epic capped off the 60s with a sense of promise for the small screen: cinematic-feeling showcasing that was granted a bit of time to gradually unfurl its calculated story. The accomplishments of agent Nikolai Kuznetsov are championed here, even if in an embellished form of narrative storytelling. With this history in mind, perhaps a focus on legacy was intended; what would come next is medium defining work, and a clear point of influence for the European limited series just around the corner.
30. P’tit Quinquin
Television will never be a fully artistic medium, but there will be the occasional exceptions. Take P’tit Quinquin, for instance. Bruno Dumont’s arthouse miniseries is so against the norm when it comes to the relaying of information, the presentation of setting, and the introduction of characters. There has never been a show like this, where the story elements may actually be more fascinating than the grim tale itself. Although it is quite short, P’tit Quinquin is so impressionable that it will leave an impact on you like many other long form films or series. Enjoy the daring television series when they pop up like this, because they don't come often.
29. Pride and Prejudice
Of the countless Jane Austen adaptations that have been released again and again, the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice has to be the best project, hands down. It transcends so many other period piece genre releases because of its bar-setting spirit. Every cast member fits perfectly. The scope and ambitions of the series make each episode liveable. The romance matched the expectation of 90s era dramas, and I would argue that it excelled past the majority of its peers. During a time where miniseries weren’t quite where they were going to be, this was a longer film that livened up a fairly stiff style, and it hasn’t really been equalled (particularly because modern period pieces have tried to stray away from this standard style).
28. L’Odissea
You would think that Homer’s Odyssey would have been cinematically transcribed at a high degree many times, but I guess it is such a difficult text to attempt to adapt. Then there is L’Odissea from 1968: an eight part series that dives deeply into the classic epic with such filmic, artistic focus. The many trials of Odysseus are put on full blast here bit by bit, and we can actually feel wrapped up in this massive journey back home. L’Odissea is quite underrated, especially since it possesses as much imagination as its peers (and it doesn’t get talked about nearly as much).
27. The Pacific
After the success of Band of Brothers (which revolutionized the miniseries once and for all), there was bound to be a follow up project. The Pacific would come next, and it would be quite the sister series. Now we’re looking at the Pacific War, and the many lives that went to battle are built into fully fledged characters once more; The Pacific plays like a living treatise. This run holds its own as a display of shocking events, deep analyses of its subjects, and a dazzling array of technical splendour. It’s tough to follow in the footsteps of a revolutionary show, but The Pacific comes closer than one would expect.
26. Cosmos: A Personal Voyage
In the age of the internet, it’s quite something to see works like Cosmos maintain longevity and life. This passion project of Carl Sagan — an astronomer/cosmologist that would end up devoting time towards educating the masses on complicated science concepts — continues to be cherished, especially because of the late scientist’s warm and loving approach towards his teachings; you could feel his adoration for these “classes” and how they came straight from his heart. For a series as technical as Cosmos — particularly A Personal Voyage — this is one documentary show that possessed some of the most earnest chemistry ever to be found on the small screen.
25. True Detective (Season 1)
The first season of True Detective actually feels untouchable. Its cinematic artistry still seems unmatched nearly ten years later (that one-shot still feels godly; you know the one). The southern gothic tale is so grim, and yet it was magnetic to watch (you had to see how everything played out, and how Detective Rust Chohle wound up where and how he is). The disturbing revelations of this Louisianan case never stop coming, and they progressively get more and more twisted. The noir as it once was is back in full force! While seasons 2 and 3 don’t come close to the obsidian magic of the original True Detective, not much television does.
24. When the Levees Broke
Hurricane Katrina was all over the news when it first began, but those affected by it would soon be left in the dark. If there was ever a filmmaker that would refuse for such a crisis to go unnoticed, it’s Spike Lee. His HBO special — When the Levees Broke — provides voices to those that were no longer being heard. With in-depth analyses and research conducted (quite literally) at the eye of the storm, Lee’s documentary is as confrontational as can be. Lee has continued observing the lives of the hurricane’s survivors (particularly with If God is Willing and Da Creek Don’t Rise), as his care for this community is true; this is documentary storytelling at its purest.
23. Generation Kill
After The Wire, David Simon finally seemed comfortable with straying away from the streets of Baltimore. One of his next assignments was depicting the American troops in Iraq with the raw series Generation Kill. It’s as visceral and real as anything else Simon has concocted, and it felt like the particular story that many viewers needed at this point in time: a representation of our loved ones away from home whilst understanding the daily dilemmas and extremities being faced. Oh, and let’s not forget the occasional enjoyment of pop tunes to help us get by. In an era where many may have felt deceived by the depictions of the Iraq war, something like Generation Kill rings pure.
22. Fargo (Seasons 1, 2, & 3)
How could anyone have the audacity to try and make a series based on the 90s classic Fargo? Well, Noah Hawley managed to make this idea work with flying colours (mostly blood red, mind you). Each miniseries of Fargo contains such idiosyncratic characters (those thick sing-song accents are back!) facing domino-effects of schemes gone awry. Seeing how much can screw up in a longer form of narrative has been quite a treat again and again, especially from the first three series (season 4 isn’t quite there in quality, but I can appreciate its efforts). I never know where Fargo will go next, but it has easily managed to defy the odds (you darn tootin’ it does).
21. Watchmen
While the 2009 Zack Snyder film is so-so, it isn’t easy to attempt to adapt Alan Moore’s magnum opus. Then there is Damon Lindelof’s gorgeous miniseries, which is more of a reimagining than anything else (it’s also easily the best take on a Moore text). With a focus on the Juneteenth (instead of the original graphic novel’s take on the Reagan era via Richard Nixon), Lindelof finds such rich commentary that is crucial to hear today; he tells his story in fragmented fashion (of course), with such a glorious payoff in its final revelations. It doesn’t need long to prove its worth: Watchmen is a phenomenal case of television mastery in the 21st century.
20. The Singing Detective
This musical dramedy is certainly one of the more inventive limited series of yesteryear, featuring stories within stories: a struggling, bed-ridden author and his pulpy, limitless alter ego (the titular singing detective). As we flash between reality and fantasy, this British masterpiece begins to blur these lines to the point of delirium. Not many projects can effortlessly combine the styles of films noir and the Hollywood musical together, and this stems from a mind that is supposedly plagued with writer’s block (sometimes, the best ideas come from a lack of ideas). The Singing Detective is like television's answer to All That Jazz: a facing of fatal mundanity extinguished by a celebration of imagination to the point of hysteria.
19. The Corner
The Wire — television’s greatest triumph — didn’t come from nowhere, and HBO was warming up the seat that David Simon would sit in once working on his opus. The trial run came in the form of The Corner: a crucial analysis of the extremities of addiction and poverty in Baltimore. Based on the writings of Simon and his close collaborator Ed Burns, The Corner feels almost like a documentary at times. The dialogue rings true with how realistically it is written (isn’t that always the case with Simon’s works?). The footage feels invasive. There are hints of brilliance here that are the biggest indications of what The Wire would be like, but The Corner also has its own moments of excellence that help it stand on its own: the birth in the finale comes to mind.
18. The Underground Railroad
I knew seconds into Barry Jenkins’ small screen experiment — The Underground Railroad — that this would be a benchmark production for the miniseries medium. It is far too early to feel its impact just yet, but I know it will come. His fixation with arthouse aesthetics blends in effortlessly with Colson Whitehead’s historical-fantasy novel; the end result is a surreal voice that contributes to the overall conversation of racism throughout America’s existence. It is a lesson you feel deeply within your core. It is as beautiful as it is devastating. The Underground Railroad is some of TV’s most spellbinding work in recent memory, and its horrors will never leave your consciousness.
17. Das Boot
The film version of Das Boot is sensational enough, but feeling the weight of being trapped in a submarine below sea level in the duration of a miniseries is something else. The slow build up of seeing naval soldiers surviving their darkest hours is nerve wracking: anything feels possible, and all seems to be going wrong. We reach the climax and can see that not giving up will always get us to where we need. It’s a real Hollywood ending, until it isn’t: a reality check is the real conclusion, and it is horrifying every time I reach it (it never gets any easier).
16. The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story
O.J. Simpson’s murder trial may never get uninteresting, because it has so many moving parts that solidify it as the case of the 90s (in fact, we will be covering it again later on in this list). Enter Ryan Murphy, whom I’m not the biggest fan of, but I feel like someone as prolific as him was bound to come up with a breakthrough at some point. That was the case with The People v. O.J. Simpson: the first season of American Crime Story. Not much had to change to make this a compelling drama, but it still possesses enough of its own signature traits (a superstar cast, even with one or two risky choices, and a manifestation of the tensions behind the scenes of the trial). You know the ending, but you have to see the whole series anyway.
15. Twin Peaks: The Return
“I’ll see you again in twenty five years” was one of the final things we hear in the Twin Peaks finale. Around that amount of time passed, and we finally got Laura Palmer’s promise: The Return. With full artistic control by series creators David Lynch and Mark Frost, this third season/miniseries/film (whatever the hell you want to call it) is beyond what most series have ever been capable of on the small screen (especially “Part 8”). This third addition to the whole series actually elevates all of Twin Peaks as one of the greatest shows, but it also stands alone perfectly as a terrifying, hopeful, decrepit version of a show that has been feasted on by pop culture for a quarter of a century: this is the corpse of nostalgia.
14. Scenes From a Marriage
Ingmar Bergman is one of the most notable directors that opted to migrate over to television to expand his films into longer stories, and he will pop up on this list again. One of his biggest breakthroughs — of any sort — is his 70s classic Scenes From a Marriage. This slow decline in what seemed like a happy marriage is painful to watch, and we can only imagine how many more fights and breakdown this couple was facing (we only see a few days in the lives of this couple). Just when you expect a final coup de grâce in the last part, Scenes From a Marriage defies your expectations one last time with the kind of humanistic relationship analysis that most other storytellers wouldn’t dare to touch.
13. Chernobyl
When people bring up the city of Chernobyl, the infamous nuclear power plant explosion — and its everlasting lingering of radiation — are all that we ever discuss. We know it was a crisis, but the Chernobyl miniseries informs us how bad it actually was. It is especially painful to watch in a post COVID-19 world, because spotting how preventable something of this magnitude was feels all too relevant. When this limited series hones in on the various characters we see, it hurts all the more to know that things will only get worse for virtually everyone (even many people we don’t see). Chernobyl is daring enough to go even too far, and it's the kind of discomfort we sometimes need when it comes to wakeup calls.
12. The World at War
One of the most definitive documentary programs is the monumental The World at War: a massive essay on the second World War. As focused on the actual events of the war (with observations of the historical goings-on) as it is an outlook on the rippling effects of war that occur long after battle (political change, trauma, and so much more), this study may be one of the most intense on television. All of this is strung together via voice narration work by one Laurence Olivier, who may very well be the most qualified person for this gig. While The World at War is not so miniature (it is twenty two and a half hours, after all), it is a groundbreaking miniseries nonetheless.
11. O.J.: Made in America
As stated previously, the O.J. Simpson murder trial is the case that keeps on giving. Easily the best thing ESPN has had any say in in the last ten years, the docuseries O.J.: Made in America is arguably the definitive take on the trial ever made. It highlights the crime and court room drama, but it also brings up Simpson as a pop culture and sports icon, the political divide in America, and even a whole episode devoted to post-trial events; did Simpson ever get properly penalized, or did America fix its systemic injustices? The answer to both is “no”, and Made in America will go deeply into why not.
10. Band of Brothers
It is impossible to discuss miniseries without going into one of the biggest turning points in television. Before the 2000s, big budgeted series of this sort were more of an anomaly. Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks teamed up after their World War II masterpiece Saving Private Ryan to have another go with Band of Brothers. If anything, this follow up limited series is even better, as you get to walk alongside soldiers during hyper real accounts of battle (this time, we follow the Easy Company through hell or high water). Suddenly — as if overnight — the limited series was a must in the twenty first century. They deserved all of the budgeting. They could compete with both films and shows. The miniseries was no longer an occasional affair in American television, but a must.
9. I, Claudius
Perhaps the greatest classics-era series there ever was, I, Claudius was incredibly forward thinking for its time. Meant to be a testimony from a personal vantage point of the many eras of ancient Rome, we get a more pure take on this infamous empire better than ever before (and arguably ever since, although Rome is quite a series in and of itself). Although the choice to shoot on videotape hasn’t aged all that well, it sometimes acts to the show’s advantage: I’m always aware that I’m watching a set containing people in makeup, wigs, and costumes, but a televised “stage” version of I, Claudius is still bloody, full of deception, and highly riveting (so nothing to worry about here). Finally, a sword-and-sandal epic that feels impressionable and not a reenactment (and this is with the setback).
8. Berlin Alexanderplatz
One of the closest depictions of a visual novel is Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s nerve wracking epic Berlin Alexanderplatz, which adapts its source material with the pacing of a cinematic text. We crawl through the daily routines and attempts at cleansing of a released murderer trying to get their life back on track in 20s Germany, and this all leads to the two hour epilogue: one of the boldest episodes in TV. All of the “present” cannot stave off the virtual hell Fassbinder carved for us, and it remains one of the most unsettling hours of anything I’ve ever seen. There’s a price to attempted catharsis when the world is driven by sin: mutual damnation.
7. Lonesome Dove
The revival of the classic western is brought up again and again, and it is often attributed to films like Dances with Wolves or Unforgiven. I think Lonesome Dove demands to be a part of that conversation, and it brought us back to another setting in which westerns really thrived: the small screen. Lonesome Dove is painfully gorgeous and connective, as we bond with rangers amidst a cattle drive (and so much more, too). In six and a half hours or so, we are reminded of what the entertainment industry was trying to squash for years, and it's so difficult to not wonder what it was all for whilst watching Lonesome Dove. Call it a resurgence or a saviour, but this limited series is proof that the western genre could not only stay afloat, but that we were missing its raw, American poetry in our lives.
6. Brideshead Revisited
One of the greatest period piece releases ever is this British serial godsend Brideshead Revisited. It accomplishes the authentic traversing through generations, pivotal moments of time (including World War II at the height of the finale), and the minds and hearts of all of its players: quests many epics have fought for for decades to no avail (here, it even feels effortless). The storytelling matches the scope of the costumes and sets (thanks to Evelyn Waugh’s classic novel), and every second watched drips into you soul; it is a pleasant kind of overwhelm. In a genre that places so much attention on the sensation of yearning, Brideshead Revisited understands nostalgia, longing, and loss amongst the best examples.
5. Heimat
Heimat is a series of limited series, but it has also been considered a sixty hour (!) film that has taken decades to finish. Whether you appreciate each portion on its own or the entire project as a whole, Edgar Reitz’ monumental achievement is staggering. Nearly every second feels riveting. Germany is captured as a country, motherland, historical capsule, and abstract idea in a myriad of ways, with one hundred and fifty years worth of story. If there was ever a release that felt like a passion project, it’s this one. Heimat is worthy of being considered a television and cinematic pilgrimage that every lover of these arts should attempt even once. Go at your own pace, but watch Heimat: you will understand ambition at its purest definition.
4. Angels in America
After Band of Brothers, HBO was set on making its next big miniseries. Angels in America — an adaptation of Tony Kushner’s play — came a few years later, and it delivered in spades. It boasts a huge cast (Al Pacino, Emma Thompson, Meryl Streep, Jeffrey Wright, Patrick Wilson, and so many more), and it has some aged effects (the CGI in some scenes is shocking, and the intentionally left in cables for the flying sequences can be distracting), but none of this matters when this is — hands down — some of the most invigorating television yet. Angels in America is raw, social art that depicts the AIDS crisis with care. It is told through fantastical lenses, so we get a huge observation of a discussion that many were quick to ignore for years. Angels in America is impossible to ignore, and it remains a must-see of television (you’ll feel it in your heart for years).
3. Fanny and Alexander
One of Ingmar Bergman’s crowning achievements is his five hour collection of all of his best tropes labeled Fanny and Alexander. Towards the end of his prime, he presented us this capsule of his traditional celebrations, fears of heavy handed treatments of religion, existential concerns, and even a slice of the unknown (in paranormal ways). If Bergman ever filmed his autobiography, this epic may be what it looked like: a retreat back to childhood, only to discover that his current concerns will haunt him there, too. This rings true with the final stretch containing my favourite twist: the realization that curses lead to trauma, and this will linger with Fanny forever (clearly a representation of how Bergman felt himself).
2. World on a Wire
For decades, Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s World on a Wire lived only within a couple of showings on television. Its impact was felt ever since mostly via theory and memory: this notion that we live inside of a simulation was visited again and again. That was one of the curses of films moving to TV: they could face temporary lifespans back in the earlier years of the medium. Luckily there has been a rediscovery of this science fiction opus, and now we can see that there is nothing quite like it, as Fassbinder’s nostalgia for the art of Germany’s yesteryear collides with his stylish version of the future (again, not able to be accurately mimicked by fans because of this disconnection). It is a project that feel truly unique, and it is here to be ingested once and for all (thank God for digitization, preservation, and the internet); World on a Wire warns us about the advancements of technology, but it is technology that saved it for us.
1. Dekalog
When I first started Films Fatale, I was only wanting to focus on motion pictures. Once I understood the importance of television on such a site, I made sure to try and rectify this. Nonetheless, I was initially including films shown on television — including miniseries “films” — in my film content, and I considered one particular example very highly. Now that I am highlighting miniseries specifically, I feel that this one run is unquestionably the best example, especially if it competes with the best films of any sort already. No contest. Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Dekalog is the greatest miniseries I’ve ever seen. It isn’t what I had in mind when I decided to make a list of this nature, but once I started writing it, it was a given.
What makes Dekalog the perfect miniseries? Its structure, firstly. Divided into ten parts to resemble then-contemporary takes on the ten commandments of the bible, Dekalog poses additional sides to these laws and makes us think about each one. “Thou shalt not kill”, but what if it feels like the only way out or like a legitimate form of defence? “Thou shalt not have other gods before me”, but where does this fall into place within the discussion of technological evolution? What if the commandment against coveting thy neighbour’s goods turned into an 80s answer to screwball comedy?
Each part carries its own universe of importance, and Dekalog is harrowing at every turn. Some episodes have been made into their own feature films, and that’s a testament to the weight and brilliance of each part. Nonetheless, these ten modern day fables together — shot exquisitely, and performed mostly with hyper realism, with spiritual spaces and pauses in between everything — are when they’re at their best: a collective whole that will push you towards facing predicaments you may have never even considered. Before miniseries became what we know them to be today, Kieślowski’s Dekalog was there ahead of the pack, and it remains the most effective instance of limited series storytelling I’ve ever seen.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from X University (formerly known as Ryerson), as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.