"I apologize. I know I left some of your favorite shows off this list. How do I know that? Because I left some of my favorite shows off this list. The happy and unfortunate fact is that there are far more than 100 great shows, and more created every year. Lists are incredibly important: they are how we define what matters to us, what we want entertainment and art to do, what we expect of our culture." —TIME TV critic James Poniewozik
If there’s one thing Hollywood has more of than self-love, it’s self-loathe. Premiering right around the King-Lear-like bloodsport over the future of Johnny Carson’s throne, Garry Shandling’s comedy cast a gimlet eye on insecure, petty late-night host Sanders, and found no shortage of takers in showbiz to send themselves up: Ellen DeGeneres, Carol Burnett, Roseanne and David Duchovny, evincing the most unsettling man-crush TV has ever seen. But the needy heart of Sanders was its supporting characters, including Jeffrey Tambor as self-promoting, self-hating sidekick Hank “Hey Now!” Kingsley, and Rip Torn as Artie, the most terrifyingly unctuous producer ever to stalk a green room. Shandling revealed Hollywood’s blemishes like the world’s funniest jar of makeup remover.
Why not CBS’s Late Show with David Letterman? Lower stakes = greater comedy, something Letterman proved in his early days as a local weatherman, predicting hailstones “the size of canned hams.” Like Ernie Kovacs (q.v.), Letterman at his best gives you the feeling of being lucky enough to watch him play with this awesome toy he’s been given. It was here that he honed many of the features he brought to CBS—Top Ten Lists, Stupid Pet Tricks—dropped watermelons off the tops of buildings, donned an Alka-Seltzer suit (in homage to Steve Allen) and had unsettling run-ins with Harvey Pekar. He also sharpened the ironic sense of humor that, far from being easy nihilism, is rooted in a good old-fashioned Midwestern distaste for phonies. David Letterman can be a ham, but he’s never canned.