Parents' Guide to Shrill

It's rare enough to see a fat female lead on TV, but to see one who isn't mired in self-hatred while undertaking repeated, miserable attempts to lose weight feels downright revelatory. Though billed primarily as a comedy, Shrill has a tender sort of humor and is unique in the way it allows Annie to be a multidimensional human being—both goofy and serious, cocky and meek—while exploring the many ways society can squash a person's individuality and confidence. The series poses questions about what might happen if we were all able to shut out the world's negativity and daily micro-aggressions and figure out who we really are, what we really want.

Bryant brings a bubbly charm to her portrayal of Annie, and although she can come off a bit stilted in the show's more deeply emotional moments, this doesn't seem too out of place, considering that the character herself is only just beginning to be comfortable pursuing what she wants out of her life. She's heartbreaking in early interactions with her immature "friend with benefits" Ryan, settling for the bare minimum of consideration and reciprocity from him because she fears she has no other options. These doormat tendencies frustrate her bestie, Fran (played with great warmth and wit by Adefope), who urges her to demand the respect she deserves and "stop thinking of yourself in such a brutal way." As seasons progress, we delve into Fran's life a bit more, which brings welcome dimension and variety to a series that would otherwise be strictly focused on a straight White girl's POV—these two are at their best when they're together. Shrill was canceled midway through the third season, forcing the story to wrap up feeling unfinished, but the female friendship at the heart of it all still makes it a journey worth watching.