The Best Prison-Set TV Series Ranked

From Porridge to Prison Break, TV audiences have long had a fascination with incarceration. With bars reducing the options for action, the consequences are always amplified. A captive audience is one thing, but a captive cast is better. We love to watch how characters behave when their freedom has been taken from them; how they cope; how they plot escape; how they find the strength to carry on. And we love to wonder how we’d survive under those same circumstances, hoping never to have to convert that abstract thought or vicarious thrill into reality.

Here, then, are ten of the finest examples of the prison genre, listed in ascending order of merit, and culminating in our pick for top dog. Feel free to argue our choices in the comments, but before you react too strongly please remember this: “We’re not in here with you. You’re in here… with us!”

10. Prison Break

If Prison Break had been a one-and-done limited series it would have secured a higher placing on this list. As it stands, each successive season of the show after its first further sullied its reputation until it was lower in its fans’ estimations than the final season of a certain show about dragons would one day be to its admirers.

There are few first seasons of any show that are as compelling, compulsive and just plain fun as Prison Break’s. The central conceit is a preposterous one – Michael Scofield (Wentworth Miller) tattoos onto his body the schematics of the prison he helped design then gets himself incarcerated there to help his wrongly convicted brother Lincoln (Dominic Purcell) escape from Death Row before he’s executed – but it’s delivered with such adrenalin-spiking, fast-paced panache that you simply won’t care. Prison Break also gives us one of TV’s greatest villains, the vile, despicable, and slimy, yet utterly captivating, Theodore ‘T-Bag’ Bagwell (Robert Knepper), a character you’ll both love to hate, and hate to love.

Things quickly fall apart after that frenetic first season, though the introduction of William Fichtner as pill-popping, morally compromised FBI agent Alexander Mahone in season two is a welcome one, and season three’s Panama-based hijinks aren’t without their charm. Season four, however, marks the moment when the show’s back broke beneath the weight of its increasingly convoluted and nonsensical storytelling, and season five, the revival season, represents the nadir of not only the show itself, but quite possibly the whole concept of entertainment itself.

Prison Break needs to take a permanent break from breaking out of any more damn prisons.   

9. Wentworth

Wentworth is a reimagining of, and quasi-prequel to, the Australian soap-opera Prisoner (renamed Prisoner Cell Block H in the UK to differentiate it from Patrick McGoohan’s The Prisoner, which can also be found this on list) that ran from 1979 – 1986.

The major characters are all present and correct, albeit with new faces and in some cases tweaked backstories – protagonist and top-dog-to-be Bea Smith (Danielle Cormack); her compatriots Lizzie Birdsworth (Celia Ireland) and Franky Doyle (Nicole de Silva); villainous prison guard Joan ‘the Freak’ Ferguson (Pamela Rabe) – but gone are the small budgets and low production values that saw security gates and cell walls alike wobble as though they were made of cardboard – which in some cases they probably were. The Wentworth prison of the late 2010s is slick and modern, and the action is gritty and violent. Wentworth probably cleaves closer in tone to Oz than Orange is the New Black, but there’s a case to be made that it is closest of all to the UK’s Bad Girls (which just narrowly missed out being on this list).

Whether you prefer Wentworth or its predecessor undoubtedly comes down to personal taste, and quite possibly age.

8. Prisoner Cell Block H

Prisoner Cell Block H is to Wentworth what Classic Doctor Who is to NuWho, and we’ve got to give the edge here to the old kid on the (cell) block. Yes, the sets were so slight and shabby that a fight between two inmates could appear to show up on the Richter scale. Yes, the haircuts of the early 1980s were crimes in and of themselves. Yes, the continuous, serialised nature of the genre prevented the show’s writers from exploring themes in any great depth.

But there’s a raw, claustrophobic charm to the show, precisely because of its dark, threadbare appearance, that lends the lives of the women of Wentworth Prison an air of grit and hollow desperation that the show’s successor could never hope to replicate. The characters, particularly top dogs Bea Smith (Val Lehman), Myra Desmond (Ann Phelan) and Rita Connors (Glenda Liscott), had more time to cement themselves in viewer’s hearts, and thus more power to break those hearts once their stories came to an end.

Prisoner Cell Block H also has the edge in villainy. Pamela Rabe’s interpretation of the murderously corrupt prison guard Joan ‘The Freak’ Ferguson in Wentworth was deliciously monstrous, but there will only ever be one ‘Freak’, and that’s the original and best, Maggie Kilpatrick, who carried menace around with her as easily as some people carry mints.

On a closing note: has there ever been a more hauntingly beautiful or achingly apt closing theme than “On the Inside”? 

7. The Prisoner

There are no bars or guards in the mysterious village in which Patrick McGoohan’s intelligence agent wakes to find himself – no turrets lining the shore of the island on which the village sits – but there’s no mistaking what this place is: a penal colony.

Patrick McGoohan is the eponymous prisoner, or Number 6 as he’s more commonly – and indeed exclusively – known. We never learn his real name, nor do we ever discover who has captured him, and why. We don’t even know who on the island is a prisoner, and who is a part of the conspiracy. All we know for sure is that the people on the island, led by whomever is designated Number 2, want information from Number 6, and they’ll try every trick in the book to get it.

Those brave or foolhardy enough to tr escape from the island are pursued by a giant, bouncing, see-through ball known as Rover, that swiftly engulfs and retrieves them. If this is all starting to sound a bit mental, then that’s very much because it is. The Prisoner is a head-scratching mind-bender. At turns clever, imaginative, inventive and absurd, the audience is never actually one-hundred per cent certain what the hell is going on, which only serves to amplify the mood of paranoia and unease that follows Number 6 around like a… well, like a giant, bouncing, see-through ball.  

It doesn’t get more 1960s than this.

6. Escape at Dannemora

Escape at Dannemora tells the true story of the 2015 break-out from Clinton Correctional Facility in New York State by lifers Richard Matt and David Sweat, played by Benicio del Toro and Paul Dano respectively. To achieve their audacious aims, they co-opt the assistance of Tilly Mitchell (played by Severance stalwart Patricia Arquette – a series that’s also directed by Ben Stiller) – the prison worker in charge of the tailor shop – through means of sex, seduction and flattery. Sweat does most of the hard work: the cutting; the tunnelling. Matt is the Machiavellian plan-maker, a man who can control other people with ease, but, tragically, not himself.

At first, and especially if you have no knowledge of the real-life escape, Tilly seems like a vulnerable, downtrodden, and unhappy housewife whose only crime was to seek affection and attention from the wrong people. But as the narrative unfolds it becomes clear that Tilly is possibly a dastardlier human being than either of her two incarcerated co-conspirators combined.

A flashback sequence late in the series leaves us in no doubt as to the natures of the two men we have been cheering on in their bid for liberty. Their index crimes are brutal and violent, unspeakably so, but whereas their criminality is born of an opportunistic impulsivity, Tilly’s crimes – most of which, beyond the obvious, aren’t crimes in the legal sense – demonstrate a sustained commitment to cruel and callous manipulation, in furtherance of her own selfish and destructive appetites. She makes living ciphers of her son and husbands. It’s only panic – or perhaps the faint vestiges of a conscience – that saves her from going on the run with Matt and Sweat, an outcome that doubtless would’ve seen her dead instead of in a prison cell.

Escape at Dannemora is a well-paced tale, deftly directed by Stiller and immaculately acted by the cast (especially Arquette), a tragedy that will resonate long after the end credits have rolled.

5. Orange is the New Black

Orange is the New Black is based on the best-selling autobiographical book by former drug mule Piper Kerman, in which she recounts her time in prison, and the questionable life choices that led her there – especially her exciting yet destructive relationship with charismatic cartel worker Alex Vause (Laura Prepon), the woman largely responsible for Piper getting caught. And, of course, when Alex ends up sharing the same cell block sparks, and passions, fly. 

Taylor Schilling plays Piper (surname changed to Chapman for the show) with a wide-eyed, wet-behind-the-ears intensity, channelling an awkward innocence that occasionally borders on arrogance. Piper doesn’t feel that she belongs in prison. Not with these ‘others’, these criminals, who clearly deserve their fate. But as she adjusts to life in prison, makes connections and gets to know (and be accepted by) her fellow inmates, the fear of her fish-out-of-water scenario gradually gives way to empathy and understanding. She discovers, as we do, that most of the women in Litchfield Prison are as much victims as perpetrators: women who have been failed by familial and societal support systems in ways that most of us would struggle to fathom.  

For the first season this is Piper’s story, but as the series expands, so too does its focus and scope. It gradually moves away from its ostensibly comedic premise and allows bigger issues and darker shades to seep into the narrative, while never losing its heart or humour. Each of the large and compelling ensemble gets a proper chance to shine (especially Suzanne ‘Crazy Eyes’ Warren, arguably Uzo Aduba’s breakout role), as the writers drill ever deeper into their fates, hopes, dreams, pasts, and miseries. By the time the series ends we’ve felt the agonies and victories of most of them and experienced at least one tragic character death that’s as sad, numbing and game-changing as Lem’s exit from The Shield.

4. Black Bird

Welsh actor Taran Egerton is being touted as the next Bruce Willis, largely due to his turn in last year’s airport-based action thriller Carry On. But Egerton is no one-trick pony. A strong and versatile set of acting chops sit behind the muscles and bravura, which is plain to see in his acclaimed performances in biopics such as Eddie the Eagle and Rocketman. And those chops are certainly on display, to breath-taking effect, in Apple TV’s limited series Black Bird (which, like Escape at Dannemora, is based on a true story).

Egerton plays Jimmy Keene, a drug-runner with a surfeit of charm, a winsome grin, and a semi-functional moral compass. When he’s sent down for ten years in a low security prison without hope of parole, FBI agent Lauren McCauley (Sepideh Moafi, who most recently graced our screens as Mia in the excellent sci-fi series Scavengers Reign) approaches him with a deal: go ‘undercover’ in a maximum-security prison to get close to and successfully elicit a confession from suspected serial killer Larry Hall, and we’ll commute your sentence. It’s Jimmy’s love for his ailing father, (retired cop “Big Jim” Keene, played by Ray Liotta, in his final TV role), who may not last another year much less ten, that propels him into action. 

What follows is an exciting, edge-of-the-seat thriller that incorporates elements of Mindhunter into the mix. For every prison riot or potentially fatal dilemma Jimmy has to face there’s hours of talking between Jimmy and Larry, each moment of it imbued with tension and horror. If you’ve only ever seen Paul Walter Hauser as Stingray in Netflix’s Cobra Kai, you’ll be blown away by his unsettlingly creepy and nuanced performance as Larry Hall. If you’ve only ever seen Taran Egerton in Carry On, you’ll quickly realise why this talented actor is so much more than an action star.      

3. The Night Of

Riz Ahmed shines in The Night Of as Nasir ‘Naz’ Khan, a Pakistani American student who finds himself stuck on the wrong side of the criminal justice system thanks to a combination of bad choices, bad luck, and post-9/11 prejudice.

After stealing his father’s cab to attend a college party, he meets the troubled and beautiful Andrea (Sofia Black-D’Elia), who climbs in his cab as it’s idling. The pair hit it off and end up making a two-person party back at her place, complete with sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll. The next morning Naz wakes to find that Andrea has been stabbed to death. All signs point to his guilt, and even he isn’t sure if he’s innocent.

A more fortuitous instance of happenstance connects Naz with John Stone (John Turturro), a scruffy yet dogged attorney – think Columbo meets Monk meets My Cousin Vinny – who represents the best shot Naz has of escaping the humanity-eroding violence of prison and the corrosive clutches of jailhouse top-dog Freddy Knight (a powerful and sinister turn by the late Kenneth Michael Williams). 

The role of John Stone was originally written for James Gandolfini, then offered to Robert de Niro in the wake of Gandolfini’s tragic death. But Turturro (currently on our screens in Apple’s peerless workplace mindbender, Severance) absolutely makes the role his own, to the point where it’s hard to imagine anyone else – aforementioned Hollywood heavyweights included – doing a better job. However, It’s Riz Ahmed who steals the show with a performance that’s infused with earnestness and humanity and deservedly won him the Emmy for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Limited Series.

2. Time

Few writers can navigate the darker waters of the human soul with as much insight, aplomb, and verisimilitude as Jimmy McGovern, who in Time pits his considerable writing might against the complexities and inhumanities of the British penal system.

Series one focuses on the intersecting fates of a newly arrived inmate and a long-serving prison guard at a particularly bleak men’s prison. Mark Cobden (Sean Bean), a former teacher, is jailed for vehicular manslaughter – killing a man whilst drunk. He tries to keep his head down and do his ‘time’ quietly, but the other inmates sense his vulnerability and target him. Before long he finds himself inveigled into the prison’s drug-smuggling ring, and he’s forced to make a choice between his survival and his moral principles. Prison guard Eric McNally (Stephen Graham) faces a near-identical dilemma to Mark’s, though it’s not Eric’s survival, but his freshly incarcerated son’s, that hangs in the balance. The conclusion to the first season is at once surprising and inevitable, depressing and hopeful, eliciting sighs of despair alongside tears of hope, like the best of McGovern’s work.

Season two – co-written with Helen Black – follows the fortunes of three new inmates as they adjust to life in a women’s prison. It’s no less powerful and affecting; more harrowing in the social oblivion it chronicles but bookended with a more hopeful denouement. Jodie Whittaker, Tamara Lawrance and Bella Ramsey give arguably the performances of their careers across these three episodes as their characters learn hard lessons about motherhood, poverty, addiction, acceptance, retribution, and redemption.   

1. Oz

Oz isn’t just the best prison series of all time. There’s an argument to be made that it’s one of the best dramatic series of all time. It’s certainly one of the most important and seminal, helping to kickstart the second golden age of television, after which TV would start to supplant cinema as the preferred prestige medium of the masses. HBO was at the forefront of this revolution, providing a funding model that removed creatives from the burdens of advertising and network interference, allowing them to put the story first, and to take more risks.

Oz tells the story of life in “Emerald City”, ad experimental wing in the Oswald State Penitentiary, a place where there’s a perpetual battle between the forces of rehabilitation and restorative justice on one hand, and vote-winning retribution and punishment on the other. It’s a battle between two ideologies, but, ultimately, it’s a battle for the inmates’ souls. The show is bleak, brutal, and gripping. Death isn’t just a reality on the wing: he’s almost a cellmate.

Before Oz arrived in 1997 there had never been a show quite like it. It’s a sprawling, Shakesperian tragedy painted in blood and despair over the dark underbelly of the dying American dream. Even today, in a televisual landscape that’s packed with death, darkness and destruction, it still packs a powerful and uncompromising punch. To the head. To the gut. To the heart.

Oz is a gem of the genre, albeit one that shines very darkly indeed.

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