Over the last few months, the CAPC team has compiled a list of our favorite pop culture artifacts from the previous year. Unlike most year-end lists, we don’t claim that these are the “best.” Rather, these are the things that brought us the most joy and satisfaction throughout the last 12 months.
For 2025, our favorite TV included a sci-fi thriller, a late night talk show, a rom-com, and a return to Lumon Industries.
Andor, Season Two (Disney+)
Andor‘s first season set a pretty high bar, taking us to the galaxy far, far away but eschewing the expected Star Wars staples—there’s nary a Jedi or lightsaber in sight—to instead deliver a harrowing political thriller about Imperial tyranny and the rise of the Rebellion. When season two begins, Cassian Andor is a hardened rebel operative, willing to do whatever it takes to bring down the festering Empire. However, the nascent Rebellion operates in fits and starts, with competing factions trying to bring down the Empire with their own agendas—when they’re not squabbling with each other.
Over the course of twelve episodes, Andor‘s final season reveals the moral and ethical demands involved in battling tyranny, expanding on Luthen Rael’s powerful “Sacrifice” monologue from season one to show us characters all doing their best to survive the struggle. Mon Mothma lives luxuriously as a galactic senator, but her efforts to fund the Rebellion will cost her in ways she could never expect; Bix is wracked with PTSD from Imperial torture, escaping into drugs and schemes of revenge; and Luthen and his young protege Kleya continually operate from within the shadows even as their own side suspects them. Part of Andor‘s strength is that it also shows us how the the other side fares, and nowhere more so than Dedra Meero, the Imperial agent whose ambition and guile are both her greatest strength and weakness.
As Andor‘s second season draws closer to its end and the events of 2016’s Rogue One, its narrative strength grows. Series creator Tony Gilroy and his fellow writers deliver a series that almost feels prophetic at times as it makes crystal clear the slow, seductive nature of tyranny and the costly sacrifices necessary to combat it. As it culminates in a haunting montage that reveals the ultimate fates of its various characters, one thing is certain: Andor will stick with you long after the credits finish rolling, Star Wars fan or not.
—Jason Morehead
Dept. Q, Season One (Netflix)
Initially published in Denmark as Kvinden i buret (The Keeper of Lost Causes) in 2007, Jussi Adler-Olsen’s novel series focuses on a special cold case unit. The unit, called “Department Q” (you guessed it, Afdeling Q in Danish), centers around demoted Detective Carl Mørck (played in this series by Matthew Goode).
If you’ve seen the trailer, you’ll know that, having barely survived being murdered, Morck must simultaneously deal with PTSD and investigate a high profile missing persons case. By the end of the first episode we realize not only is this a riveting whodunit with dark-comedy aspects of an underdog assemblage, but a story told on multiple timelines. That may sound like a lot of work for us as the audience and granted, you can’t distractedly scroll on your phone through this one, but why would you want to?
The show is so good, that, much like the Dept. Q team, I can provide empirical evidence: I never binge shows, but I binged this one. I mean, if you thought Matthew Goode was goode in The Offer, just wait. And yet, there is something more, something deeper than a great plot and stellar acting, the intrigue is interpersonal.
I agree with John Power’s review that the characters are integral, but I disagree that the mysteries take a back seat. Because every crime is done by humans and solved by humans, a human audience relates to the interpersonal. That’s why 43 percent of the Bible is narrative; God is mysteriously personal and made us relational. I also believe this is why fictional crime has flourished in the streaming era, because we love great stories and solving a good mystery. But it’s no mystery whether we’ll get more Dept. Q—the series has been renewed for a second season!
—Chris Fogle
Dropout TV
Formerly known as CollegeHumor, Dropout is the scrappy streaming underdog that turned out to be a massive success thanks to its eclectic and hilarious programming. Make no mistake, though: Dropout’s various titles—which include the meta game show Game Changer, the D&D live play Dimension 20, the madcap improv of Make Some Noise, and the awkward audience interactions of Crowd Control—can get really crass and really weird.
But I’m convinced that Dropout is less a streaming platform that frequently traffics in R-rated humor, and more a community filled with people who genuinely love and respect each other. That certainly explains the fearlessness of some of their bits; you’re not going to do the sort of zany, reckless improv that you see on Make Some Noise unless you trust everyone else on the stage with you. And the show’s all the more hilarious as a result.
It also explains the grace and generosity that Dropout CEO Sam Reich and his numerous collaborators—Brennan Lee Mulligan, Josh Ruben, Zac Oyama, Vic Michaelis, Jacob Wysocki, Ally Beardsley, Lisa Gilroy, and many more—show one another. For one episode of Game Changer, Dropout took on a corporate sponsor (LinkedIn) simply so they could create an elaborate ruse to give Wysocki $100,000 as he dealt with his mother’s death. And in the season’s biggest twist, Mulligan, who’s frequently the butt of Reich’s treatment on Game Changer, kidnapped Reich and forced him to participate in his own Game Changer episode—which ultimately proved to be a delightful celebration of Reich’s life, interests, and relationships. Even Gilroy’s never-ending antagonism of Reich comes from a place of love. (At least, I hope it does.)
It’s probably too presumptuous to say that I wish the church looked more like Dropout. Nevertheless, when I watch an episode of Game Changer or Make Some Noise, I see the sort of generous community that I wish would better characterize how us Christians treat each other. When I’m not rolling around on the floor laughing, that is.
—Jason Morehead
Last Week Tonight with John Oliver, Season 12 (HBO)
One of John Oliver’s favorite jokes to make on his long-running HBO comedy show, Last Week Tonight with John Oliver, is to drag the audience for having to sit through what they think is going to be a comedy show but is in fact a very serious show about unfunny topics like politics, science, humanitarian crises, and more. It’s true, Last Week Tonight covers weighty subjects—often so weighty that my husband and I choose to watch a “fun” show afterwards to decompress—and in 2025’s 12th season, the theme of Oliver’s coverage of those subjects seemed to shift.
Unlike most late-night shows, which respond to current events and then host guests (usually promoting some upcoming movie, album, etc.), the format of Last Week Tonight does not bring on guests, but rather, gives Oliver the full time to respond to something current and then do a long segment on a big topic. Season 12’s episodes covered child incarceration, ICE detention facilities, sports betting, medicare, gang databases… you get the idea. The main theme that emerged in season 12, spoken many times by John Oliver—directly and indirectly—is that people’s lives matter. Life itself matters. Human life is precious, what we do with it matters, and how we live also matters.
Looking back on previous seasons, Oliver has long covered the same sort of topics as he did in season 12, so maybe that’s always been a theme of the show. But I have watched Last Week Tonight for half a decade now and never felt as impressed by the urgency of the message to save and promote life as I did in 2025. Perhaps most significantly, I couldn’t help thinking that John Oliver was saying what I wish Evangelical church leaders would say about human life. Last Week Tonight‘s 12th season reminded me that God is not absent in hard times in America, but sometimes we will find his voice being spoken in unlikely places.
—K. B. Hoyle
Nobody Wants This, Season Two (Netflix)
In a year when a lot of television felt either bleak, preachy, or inexplicably stressful, Nobody Wants This‘s second season offered something rare: a romantic comedy that’s genuinely romantic, genuinely funny, and (most surprising of all) incredibly thoughtful about faith. Also, it included an American Girl doll fight, which instantly won my heart. Millennial women like myself know how absolutely diabolical it would be to cut another girl’s Felicity doll’s hair at a sleepover, and the fact that the show treats this as a serious historical grievance (as it should!) is part of what makes it so sharp. (I was Felicity for Halloween last year, so naturally I took this grievance personally when I saw it.)
The premise is still irresistible: Joanne (Kristen Bell), a blunt agnostic dating podcaster, falls for Noah (Adam Brody), a rabbi who is genuinely good, genuinely handsome, and genuinely trying to live a life with moral seriousness. Which, as the show keeps reminding us, is basically the least convenient thing you can try to do while dating in 2025. Season two built on what the previous season set up so well: the real conflict isn’t whether the couple has chemistry (they do), but whether love can survive community expectations, religious pressure, and the fact that everyone has opinions—especially people who have never met you but somehow feel spiritually called to weigh in.
What I appreciated most is that the show takes faith seriously. Not in a heavy-handed “Very Special Episode” kind of way, but in a human one: faith as a formative way of life—full of beauty, obligation, and real cost. Noah’s religious vocation isn’t treated like a quirky obstacle, and Joanne isn’t required to become a different person overnight in order to be loved. The tension is allowed to remain what it really is: a question about belonging, sacrifice, identity, and what love asks of us when it’s no longer just a feeling.
In other words: it’s a rom-com, but it’s also honest.
And to tell the truth? In a culture obsessed with “doing what feels right,” I found myself weirdly moved by a show that suggests love might sometimes require discipline: patience, humility, actual growth, and the willingness to learn each other’s family traditions, create new ones, and adapt in ways that are difficult but worth it. (The Purim episode—Purim being a Jewish holiday full of costumes, storytelling, and joy—was one particularly perfect example of this.)
Anyway, Netflix, I regret nothing. I will be bingeing this show while folding laundry and calling it research for Christ and Pop Culture—as God intended.
—LuElla D’Amico
Pushers, Season One (Channel 4)
More than just gags and giggles, comedy has long been used as a gauge to measure the progression of society while pushing its bounds further still. And British sitcom Pushers is a wonderful example that this tradition truly is alive and well. Co-written by and starring popular comedian Rosie Jones, the series follows a young woman with cerebral palsy who is denied public benefits and instead turns to an unlikely gang of drug pushers to make ends meet.
The show uses quick wit and dry humor to raise an eyebrow at the assumptions made of people with disabilities, and wraps it up in an effortlessly bingeable format. Following on from the setups exemplified by previous British hits like The Office, Stath Lets Flats, and Blackadder, Pushers is motivated by a cast of characters so unique and contrasting that their interactions are nothing short of brilliant.
While great for a comedic night on the couch, this show also feels timely and important to the changes that we’ve seen in representation over the past year. Mainly, there seems to have been an increased focus not only on including diverse perspectives in the conversation, but on giving them room to write the conversation as well. The fact that Rosie Jones’ particular style of comedy is so prevalent in the series’ script and storyline is an encouraging example of stories which are not only authentic to the experiences and voices behind them but also just really well made.
—Sophie Pell
The Residence, Season One (Netflix)
The White House is arguably the most secure and private residence on the face of the Earth. Thus, it’s shocking when the White House’s Chief Usher is discovered dead during a state dinner, the obvious victim of foul play. Only, there’s absolutely nothing obvious about the case, which means you’ll need a truly unorthodox detective to solve the case. Enter Cordelia Cupp (Uzo Aduba, Orange Is the New Black), a consulting detective whose knack for navigating the inevitable twists and turns of a murder mystery is matched only by her love of birding.
As Cupp meanders through the White House, questioning everyone from the Presidential staff to the White House’s rival chefs to the President’s own family, her unorthodox methods seem to ruffle everyone’s feathers. (Sorry, no more bird jokes, I promise!) But those very same methods also expose hidden agendas and conspiracies, bringing power struggles and rivalries to the light, and making it abundantly clear that those lead the nation aren’t necessarily the best or brightest that the nation has to offer.
Mind you, The Residence never gets preachy or heavy-handed about this stuff. It remains fun and full of twists right up to the very end. Nevertheless, it does make some valid, if humorous, observations about the perils of power, and how close proximity to power can bring out the absolute worst in everyone.
—Jason Morehead
Severance, Season Two (Apple TV)
The second season of Apple TV’s provocative and mysterious show Severance arrived after much anticipation and a long wait in early 2025. Telling the story of a team of corporate workers who have volunteered to undergo a surgical procedure that divides their brains between “innies” (severed workers) and “outies” (their outside selves), Severance raises moral questions of self-determination, identity, truth vs falsehood, and corporate overreach. Severance is excellent in every way, with outstanding writing and acting, a propulsive and mind-bending mystery, immersive and stunning visuals (with use of color symbolism, as well), and evocative music and sound editing. In short, it feels like a cinematic experience.
When season two arrived in 2025, it dug deeper into the moral questions that had been raised in 2022’s first season. In a unique story that contains a lot of outrageous things, these very things allow two characters with full agency and competing needs and desires to inhabit one body that they must share, presenting high stakes to the viewer and providing a framework to consider the same moral and psychological quandary that the characters find themselves in: one that asks who gives life, what it means to be alive, and who can take it away.
—K. B. Hoyle
