The Simpsons

The Simpsons has been on television for so long that Bart Simpson has technically been a cultural institution longer than some governments. And somehow this yellow family still has the nerve to show up every week. At its absolute best, the show is fucking surgical. It can take capitalism, celebrity culture, religion, politics, suburban misery, school, marriage, masculinity, consumerism, whatever—and turn it into a joke without sounding like somebody's writing an essay. The early seasons especially have that immaculate combination of sweetness and complete stupidity: one minute Homer is being an absolute walnut, the next the episode has quietly said something genuinely sad about family, work, or adulthood. Springfield's supporting cast is also ridiculous in the best way. There are enough recurring characters here to populate a small country and somehow most of them have a distinct comedic identity. But eventually the machine starts showing its age. After hundreds upon hundreds of episodes, some characterizations feel flattened into their most recognizable traits, some premises arrive with that unmistakable “we've done this, but with a different hat” energy, and the satire isn't always as nasty or surprising as it once was. That's unavoidable to a degree; keeping a sitcom alive for nearly four decades is basically asking a creative format to perform a marathon while being periodically hit with a frying pan. Yet the show's highs remain high, and its influence is basically impossible to overstate. This isn't a perfect series. It's a cultural fossil that occasionally gets up, puts on sunglasses, and reminds everyone why it became a fossil in the first place.