Top 5 This Week — Jul 7, 2026

Marty leans into the table with a live-wire twitch, powered by indignation and self-pity. He doesn’t just play ping-pong; he vibrates. Josh Safdie’s solo effort delivers loud, relentless cinema where chaos is the language. It tosses 1950s table settings into a blender with an 80s score and refuses to put the lid on. The film tracks an arrogant narcissist through a desperation-humiliation vortex that feels less like a sports biopic and more like a prolonged panic attack.

The pacing never exhales. It is a frenetic flick that rewards the protagonist’s ego with constant punishment. Critics who find the overlapping dialogue annoying, grating, and irritating have a point. The movie values momentum over sentiment, treating characters like objects in motion. Safdie traps the viewer in a room with a man who cannot stop moving. It is exhausting. Safdie intends it that way.

Watch this if: You want a high-speed anxiety spike and crave the stress of a Safdie production. Skip it if: You need a plot that breathes or characters you actually want to spend time with.

A teenage girl stares at a positive pregnancy test while her mother—who was also a teen mom—looks on with a weary, knowing sigh. This isn't a cautionary tale; it’s a cycle TLC captures with surgical precision. Unexpected skips the glossy filters. It focuses on the "strained" relationships and the "ups and downs" of kids who still need permission to borrow the car but are now picking out cribs. The show works because the stakes are permanent. You feel the weight of a grandmother’s exhaustion and see the "entirely unprepared" father’s total cluelessness. It’s an "unvarnished" look at families buckling under the pressure of babies having babies. The cameras don't blink when the fights get ugly or the money runs out. It’s stressful, loud, and impossible to ignore.

Watch this if: You want high-stakes family drama and don't mind feeling a bit dirty for watching it.

Skip this if: You prefer scripted polish or find the reality of unplanned pregnancy too bleak for a Tuesday night.

Sarah Paulson stands in a wedding dress, looking less like a blushing bride and more like a woman who just realized she's in the wrong decade. This 2002 NBC relic tried to bottle the Sex and the City lightning for the network crowd. It didn't take. The show suffers from a crisis of identity, landing in a gray zone where the jokes aren't sharp enough to bite and the drama isn't heavy enough to matter.

Critics at the time pointed out that the series was "too derivative to be entirely successful," functioning as a toothless imitation of cable sophistication. While the cast is stacked—Jill Clayburgh and Tim Meadows do what they can—the writing leaves Faith "oddly unsure of herself," questioning every move until the audience stops caring. One reviewer even joked that Schindler’s List had more humor. It’s a shallow exercise in Manhattan lifestyle branding. NBC hoped this would fill a primetime hole; instead, it proved that being "easy on the eyes" isn't enough to sustain a series.

Who it’s for: Completionists of Sarah Paulson’s early career who want to see her before she became a prestige TV staple.

Who should skip it: Anyone looking for actual laughs or a reason to stay on the couch past the first ten minutes.

Hannah Shin stands in a neon-lit rehearsal room, her voice cracking as she tries to rap in a language she’s still reclaiming. It’s a small, sharp moment that anchors Gangnam Project in something real. Usually, these K-pop fantasies are hollow, but creator Sarah Haasz builds this from her own life. The show avoids the glossy void of most teen soaps. It follows Hannah's older brother, Leo, as he shifts from "aimless slacker to disciplined go-getter," proving the show cares about growth as much as the beat drops. It treats cultural friction with honesty. It isn't just about the glitter; it’s a "wholesome show aimed at kids" who feel stuck between two worlds. It delivers a "vibrant portrayal of a Korean Canadian" navigating Seoul without falling into generic tropes. The music works, but the family secrets and the "winning combination of drama and K-pop" keep it grounded.

Watch this if: You want a music-heavy show with actual brains and a heart for the immigrant experience. Skip it if: You think K-pop is a fad and you’re allergic to optimism.

Jack Tracy stares into his phone with a look of pure, unadulterated judgment. It's the face of a man who has seen every torso pic and bad bio New York City has to offer. Danny Will Die Alone doesn't bother with the soft-focus romance of typical sitcoms. Instead, Tracy gives us a series of cynical diatribes that cut through the noise of modern app culture. The episodes are lean—ten minutes of sharp, fast-paced comedy that refuse to trim down the rough edges of city life. This is the hellish reality of gay courtship played for laughs that actually sting. The show thrives on its judgmental energy. It doesn't want you to feel inspired; it wants you to feel seen in your most shallow moments. By ditching heavy themes for raw, unabashedly jaw-dropping honesty, Tracy creates something that moves with a frantic, desperate momentum. It’s mean, it’s vulgar, and it’s an accurate depiction of a Friday night on a dating app.

Watch if you want a sharp, bite-sized comedy that prioritizes honesty over sentimentality. Skip it if you’re looking for a sweet rom-com or can’t stomach crude, observational humor.