Abbott Elementary remains one of my favorite television shows today precisely because it understands something many comedies seem to have forgotten over the last few years: making people laugh does not mean sacrificing intelligence, sensitivity, or social observation. There is even a certain irony in the fact that it — much like Only Murders in the Building — continues to be overlooked during awards season while competing against productions that, deep down, function far more as dramas with humor than as actual sitcoms.

Hacks and The Bear are excellent series, but something is fascinating about the contemporary industry’s difficulty in recognizing comedies that do not need to transform suffering into prestige to appear “important.” Abbott Elementary does the opposite. It embraces humanity, warmth, classic comedic timing, and deeply lovable characters without abandoning sharp commentary about public education, inequality, professional burnout, and institutional neglect.

Maybe that is why Quinta Brunson’s series continues to receive such rare affection from both critics and audiences even as it enters its fifth season. At a moment when traditional sitcoms have nearly disappeared from American television, Abbott has become a kind of comfort TV for many viewers. And not in a dismissive sense. There is something genuinely reassuring about returning every week to that school, those hallways, and characters whose rhythms and personalities we already know so well.

In Brazil, the closest comparison would probably be imagining Escolinha do Professor Raimundo meeting Rebelde, but without the broad slapstick or exaggerated caricatures. Because Abbott understands that schools are chaotic, funny, exhausting, and emotional spaces all at once. The humor comes precisely from watching those teachers constantly trying to function inside a system that is clearly failing them every single day.

And that remains the show’s greatest strength. Even when certain plots become exaggerated or weaker than others, Abbott maintains a humanity that is incredibly difficult to find on television today. Critics continued to highlight that balance between humor, sweetness, and social commentary as the key reason the series still works so well after the initial excitement of its early seasons. The show can still comment on institutional failure without sounding preachy while also finding room for surprisingly precise emotional observations.

At the same time, season 5 may have been the first year in which more consistent criticism about creative fatigue started to emerge. Not because the series suddenly declined in quality — almost nobody genuinely believes Abbott has “fallen apart” — but because it has entered that delicate phase all beloved sitcoms eventually reach, where they need to evolve without losing the very identity that made audiences fall in love with them in the first place.

And honestly, it is hard to completely disagree with that criticism.

There is an inevitable comfort in already knowing those characters so deeply. Viewers can practically anticipate Ava’s reactions, Melissa’s morally questionable solutions to every problem, Barbara’s attempts to preserve elegance amid chaos, or Janine’s constant anxiety. That familiarity has become part of the experience itself. But it can also create a feeling of repetition whenever episodes fail to introduce particularly compelling conflicts.

A few episodes this season genuinely felt like filler, especially the mall episode and the April Fool’s Day one, both of which gave the impression of stories designed mainly to occupy space between larger arcs rather than emerging organically from the characters. They are not bad episodes because the cast remains immensely charismatic and the comedic timing still works beautifully, but they may be the first moments where Abbott occasionally felt as though it was operating on autopilot.

The biggest divide among critics, however, centered on Janine and Gregory. The show has officially entered that classic “will they/won’t they” stage where writers need to figure out how to maintain romantic tension after the relationship finally becomes real. And the attempt to temporarily separate them genuinely felt more like a “we need to create conflict somehow” decision than an organic emotional problem between the characters.

After spending multiple seasons building their relationship so delicately, the temporary breakup ended up feeling artificial for part of the audience and critics alike. Quinta Brunson even mentioned that fans started approaching her in airports asking for the couple to get back together. And honestly? The reaction makes sense. The issue was never that Janine and Gregory lost chemistry. It was simply that the show suddenly seemed aware of the structural pressure to prolong romantic tension.

Still, perhaps the biggest compliment I can give Abbott Elementary is that none of this truly damages the experience. The series remains so warm, charming, and genuinely funny that even its weaker moments pass quickly. Very few contemporary shows manage to create this kind of weekly companionship without feeling artificial or emotionally manipulative.

And maybe that is exactly what some award bodies still do not fully know how to recognize: there is intelligence in making audiences leave an episode simply feeling happy that they spent thirty minutes with those characters.