Between the revelry and the time change and flu shots making you feel weird and the crazy weather, maybe it's best just to give in and go into autumnal mode: Light some fires, layer some middle-weights, buy a SAD app for your phone that will shine light directly into your face (or, if that is not invented yet, look for me on an upcoming episode of Shark Tank, where I'll probably hit on Mark Cuban just to see what he does and then buy my app), cuff yourself to a jumpoff for the remainder, check off your plans with the Weekend Guide, and then snuggle down for some of the nearly limitless entertainments of history now at your disposal, with this week's Morning After Guide to Streaming.

Olive Kitteridge (HBO GO)
Based on the 2008 linked novel by Elizabeth Strout, which comprised thirteen short stories and won the Pulitzer. It's about some miserable people in Maine, over the course of twenty-five years leading up to the suicide attempt of their miserable queen, played by Frances McDormand in the lead role. Olive's acidic cleverness is familiar for fans of director Lisa Cholodenko, whose The Kids Are All Right and Laurel Canyon are all about the unspoken tenderness surrounding crabby families' low-key, hilarious negs. It's beautiful to see, in a story full of mental illness and stoic Yankee suicides, work so well, so far from the California where her previous work feels so comfortable.

These are people with grudges, deep scars, resentment; Dolores Claiborne's Maine by way of Osage County. While the second of the four hours is the best, the whole thing is really beautiful. Most things are either sad or happy, or try to split the difference and end up muted, but this visually inventive catalog of small-town troubles turns both up to ten. It's nice, it feels real that way.

Richard Jenkins is great as usual as Olive's husband Henry, and there's Tony-winner John Gallagher Jr. as their son Chris (played as a youth by Devin Druid, far and away the best thing about the entire last season of Louie), and of course since it's HBO Emmy-bait you have the rest of that certain tier of cable and cable-plus talent: Bill Murray, Jesse Plemons, Rosemarie DeWitt, Zoe Kazan. Martha Wainwright playing piano, singing about feelings.

Buncha white people bitching exhaustedly at each other through two and a half decades, randomly committing suicide and bank robberies in between their scheduled times to resent, rue and repent: This is what I am offering you. Or at least four hours of Frances McDormand—who optioned the book before it was ever nominated for any prizes, if that tells you how into this she is—acting like a flinty old bitch with psychic powers. Easy, right?

Broad City (Amazon Prime)
Broad City is Comedy Central's most fascinating recent hit, working against its sometimes misleading ads early on with extremely strong critical and word-of-mouth praise. Because the show hits so many polarizing buttons (like Louie, its fake-autobiography takes off into art a little bit every now and then without warning; like Girls, it is about gross hipster ladies, which is two lightning rods right up front) it has been a great comfort to watch it slide between the goalposts. I may never, from my position, understand what it is about television made by young women that so easily enrages those people most identical to them, but I do know that with genius that moves this quickly, eventually you have to give in.

The team behind the show, stars Ilana Glazer and Abbi Jacobson, are UCB alumnae, which may help explain why even the most complexly set-up plotline never feels forced or anything other than the natural, organic path of two very weird women—one a feral, earthy lazybones, the other bougie as hell but terrible at it—doing very basic things that everyone does all the time. It also contributes to the feeling, as the season progresses, that you're watching something being born. Every episode is a treasure, but by the end of the season it's the confident moves (a road trip to a cursed wedding, a visit to a creepy UPS warehouse, the cold-open lipsynch above) that really stick out. (Returns mid-January!)

BoJack Horseman (Netflix Original)
If it feels like people wouldn't shut up about this show, it's because they couldn't, for all of six seconds, so you already know the basics of this show, but on the downside of binge-watching, nobody has talked about it since then. If you missed it, you will get no second reminder to watch it any time soon, so consider this a second invitation. Especially now that there are some fun extras, which are the only part of DVDs to miss.

It's a crowd-pleaser because it serves many demographics and quadrants: You've got High Nerd signifiers like Will Arnett, Aaron Paul, and Amy Sedaris—a triumvirate missing only, like, Nathan Fillion to get people to declare their eternal allegiance before seeing a single episode—but there's also good, funny writing for Muggles like you and me. Like for example, here is how chill the nerdy creator Raphael Bob-Waksberg is: He wrote a very good episode of the Anne Heche show where Anne Heche is crazy but not like in real life, Save Me. I liked that show but it would not occur to me to write an episode of it, how about you? Also he is thirty years old, and swimmin' in Netflix money because of a high-concept horse-man cartoon, so think about what you have done with your own life to this point.

Selfie (5 episodes on Hulu+, 3 on regular: Still worth it)
Look, I don't know how else to say this: You are missing the hell out. The only thing more hypnotic to watch than Karen Gillan's performance on this show is Tim Mison's on Sleepy Hollow, and for the same reason: Every second is a new, hilarious microexpression. Given a character as alternately repulsive and heartfelt as Eliza, it takes an actor of Gillan's character and a creator like Emily Kapnek to vault past the first and second drafts of a moment, or a take, to find something new and surprising and hilarious: Only old rounds of New Girl's "True American" and some of Mindy Kaling's line readings have provided for so much five-second rewinding and rewatching, lately.

While nothing on this show reaches the ridiculous, mesmerizing heights of Dallas and Dalia Royce on Suburgatory, there is still a similar uncanny sense of the thinking-breathing people, pushing the levers inside the weird robot facades that take lead here, looking back out at you. It's a show that, like its predecessor, brings two sides of a cultural conflict into mutual juxtaposition: On the older show, obviously from its title, you're talking about suburbs and urbs; with this show, it's nothing less than the split between the pre-internet and post-internet generation gap, a split second in time that we're still trying to sort out.

Gen X says, "Why are you Instagramming your lunch?" and Millennial says, "Because nobody actually gives a shit!" Gen X says, "Why share the details of your life on the internet?" and Millennial says, "Then why share anything at all?" and Gen X says, "Get off your phone while I'm talking!" and Millennial says, "Be more interesting than my phone!" They're both wrong and they're both lonely and they're both going to be fine.

It's the most interesting part of all of life, to me, here in my relative luxury, this way that something as simple as digital connectivity can mean such drastically different things, even to people less than five years apart in age, but it's something that explains so much of the sequelae: The weird internet fights, the strange incomprehensible activity of your parents and sometimes old classmates on Facebook, the whole thing. The show would be good just for existing, and showing proper compassion for every player in the game; the fact that every scene is a comic gem and the leads are easily the most appealing of any new show this season, is quite a bonus on top. Do yourself a favor, the show is incredible.

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Previous editions of the Weekend Stream are here. You live in the future now! Almost any media you can think of, you can find from the chair you're sitting in. Even if you can't, take comfort in the fact that the amount of things you can't find online will never go up: Only down. In that spirit, Morning After asks: What are you streaming this weekend?