It is a specific kind of heartbreak. You spend sixty hours of your life—maybe more—invested in characters that feel like family. You know their coffee orders. You know why they're afraid of the dark. Then, the finale happens. In one hour of television, the legacy of an almost perfect tv series can evaporate into a cloud of fan frustration and reddit rants.
Why does this happen so often?
Writing a show is hard. Landing the plane is nearly impossible. David Chase did it with The Sopranos, but people still screamed at their boxes when the screen went black in 2007. They thought their cable had cut out. Honestly, that's the dream reaction compared to what happened with Game of Thrones.
The Anatomy of an Almost Perfect TV Series
What makes a show "almost" perfect? It usually starts with a "lightning in a bottle" first season. Take True Detective. The first season was a transcendental piece of southern gothic noir. Matthew McConaughey and Woody Harrelson had a chemistry that felt ancient. But because it was an anthology, it had to reset. It tried to catch lightning twice and, well, it got a bit singed in the process.
An almost perfect show typically nails three things:
- Pacing that respects the viewer.
- A distinct visual language.
- Internal logic that never breaks.
When The Wire was airing, nobody was calling it the greatest show of all time. It was a struggle just to keep it on the air. It’s almost perfect because it refuses to simplify the rot within Baltimore’s institutions. It doesn't give you a hero. It gives you a system. But even The Wire has Season 5. The "fake serial killer" plotline felt like a stumble into a different genre. It’s the slight blemish on an otherwise flawless diamond.
The Curse of the Middle Seasons
Most shows die in the middle. The "sag" is real. You’ve seen it. A show has a great hook, a solid resolution to the initial mystery, and then the network orders twenty more episodes. Suddenly, the characters are just standing around in kitchens talking about their feelings because the budget for the big action set pieces ran out.
Lost is the poster child for this. It changed how we talk about TV. It invented the "mystery box" era. But by season three, the writers were literally treading water because they didn't know how long they had to keep the story going. They didn't have an end date. Without a finish line, even an almost perfect tv series starts to look like it’s just wandering in the woods.
When Great Writing Meets Bad Decisions
Sometimes the failure isn't about length. It's about ego. Or maybe just exhaustion.
Look at Succession. It’s a rare example of a show that stayed in the "almost perfect" category and actually stuck the landing. Why? Because Jesse Armstrong knew when to quit. He didn't try to milk five more seasons out of the Waystar Royco power struggle. He understood that the tragedy of the Roy children was that they could never change.
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Compare that to Dexter.
The first four seasons were incredible. The Trinity Killer arc is arguably some of the best suspense ever televised. Then, a slow slide into absurdity. By the time he became a lumberjack, the audience wasn't even mad anymore—they were just tired. The "reboot" New Blood tried to fix it, but even that finale divided fans. It’s hard to rebuild a bridge once you’ve burned it with a bad ending.
The "Must-Watch" List That Almost Made It
If you’re looking for shows that represent the pinnacle of the medium—despite their tiny flaws—you have to look at the "Short Form" era.
- Fleabag: Only twelve episodes. It is, by most metrics, actually perfect. But it’s so short it almost feels like a long movie.
- Bojack Horseman: A cartoon about a depressed horse shouldn't be the most accurate depiction of addiction on television, but here we are. It’s almost perfect, though some of the animal puns in the middle seasons get a bit grating.
- Mad Men: It’s a slow burn. It’s about the "advertising of the self." It stays consistent for seven seasons, which is a miracle.
Breaking Down the "Almost" Factor
The "almost" is usually a result of the medium itself. Television is commercial. It’s designed to last as long as it’s profitable. This is the natural enemy of art. Art needs a beginning, middle, and end. Profit needs a beginning and a middle that lasts forever.
Think about The Office. When Steve Carell left, the show became something else. It wasn't bad, necessarily. It just wasn't the same show. It became a caricature of itself. The stakes vanished. When an almost perfect tv series loses its lead or its primary conflict, it starts to feel like a cover band playing the hits.
The Social Media Echo Chamber
We also live in an era where the audience thinks they own the story. In the 90s, if you hated the end of Seinfeld, you complained to your coworkers at the water cooler. Now, you tweet at the showrunner.
This creates a weird feedback loop. Writers sometimes try to "fan-service" their way out of a corner. It never works. It makes the writing feel cheap. The best shows—the truly almost perfect ones—are the ones that are brave enough to make the audience angry.
Better Call Saul is a masterclass in this. It took a comedic side character from Breaking Bad and turned him into a tragic figure. It was slower, more deliberate, and arguably better written than its predecessor. It didn't give us a "guns blazing" finale. It gave us a quiet, cigarettes-in-the-dark moment of redemption. It was perfect because it was true to the character, not the expectations of the "I want explosions" crowd.
How to Spot Your Next Obsession
If you want to find a show that won't let you down, you have to look for the "Showrunner's Vision."
Is there a singular voice behind the camera? Or is it a "writer's room by committee"? Shows like The Bear work because they have a specific energy. They have a heartbeat. You can tell when the creators actually care about the world they’ve built versus when they’re just filling a 22-episode order for a streaming service.
The shift toward 8-episode or 10-episode seasons has actually helped. It forces tighter storytelling. It cuts the filler. We’re seeing fewer "almost perfect" shows and more "genuinely great" ones because the fat has been trimmed.
Actionable Takeaways for the Discerning Viewer
Stop finishing shows you don't like. Seriously.
If a show starts to lose its way in season three, it’s okay to walk away. You don't owe the creators your time. Some of the best almost perfect tv series are actually better if you just stop watching before the finale.
- Check the Showrunner: Research who is actually in charge. If the original creator leaves (like in Community or The West Wing), the quality will almost certainly dip.
- Ignore the Hype: "The next Game of Thrones" is a marketing tag, not a promise of quality.
- Value the Mini-Series: If you want perfection, look at limited series like Chernobyl or Band of Brothers. They have the benefit of a closed loop. They don't have time to fail.
- Revisit the Classics: If you're tired of being disappointed by new finales, go back to The Leftovers. It’s a show that started messy and became a masterpiece by leaning into the mystery rather than trying to explain it.
The reality is that perfection is a high bar. A show that provides four years of world-class entertainment and one year of "meh" is still a massive achievement. We call them almost perfect tv series because, for a moment, they managed to hold up a mirror to our lives and show us something real. Even if the reflection got a bit blurry at the end, the view was worth the price of admission.
Stick to creators who have an ending in mind from day one. Look for shows that prioritize character growth over plot twists. Most importantly, appreciate the "almost." In a world of corporate, AI-generated content, a show with a human flaw is often the most beautiful thing on the screen.