Feel Good T.V. Is Great. But Lonely T.V. Gives Us What We Need.

Masa is a hikikomori — a shut-in or hermit of sorts — who has been holed up in his room for years. His dirty dishes are piled into towers. His mother is so worried about him that she calls his estranged father, Hiromasa, who offers for Masa to stay in his empty cabin on Lake Biwa, northeast of Kyoto. Masa will still be alone, but at least he will get a change of scenery.

In the cabin, Masa retreats even further into his sullen isolation — until he meets Sho the trashbot. Sho is short and squat and looks like a glorified garbage can on wheels, complete with a claw arm to grab trash. He has been programmed to pick it up, but he is not very good at picking it out: Sho can’t quite tell why a KitKat wrapper goes in the garbage but Masa’s electronics don’t.

Trained as an engineer, Masa suddenly has a passion project on his hands: He is determined to teach Sho the difference between trash and not-trash. When Hiromasa stops by to drop off groceries, he pauses at the doorstep, pleased by the scene unfolding behind the window: A gleeful Masa fist bumps Sho’s claw arm, pouring out a shot of whiskey to celebrate Sho’s finally figuring it out. The cabin floor is strewn with litter — remnants of countless trial runs — but Masa is grinning for the first time in years.

This scene, from a recent episode of Apple TV+’s “Sunny,” is a rather pointed instance of something TV has been telling us for a while now: Mess brings meaning; people forge genuine connections in the midst of disorder. A spate of recent shows — “The Bear,” “Big Mood,” “Beef” and “This Is Going to Hurt” — pairs that somewhat saccharine sentiment with black comedy. Along with slightly older series like “Fleabag” and “I May Destroy You,” these shows stand in stark contrast to their relentlessly upbeat counterparts: “Ted Lasso,” “Abbott Elementary,” “The Good Place,” “Brooklyn Nine-Nine” and “Parks and Recreation,” to name a few. In a world that’s bleak enough already, feel-good, heartfelt comedy feels like more of a salve; earnest sitcoms seem to counteract the vitriol of the real world. But the dark comedies, by their very nature, feel truer to life than their more wholesome peers. Rather than building worlds from novel, even quirky premises — an American football coach dispatched to lead an English soccer team, philosophy lessons set in an off-kilter heaven, musical theater in an exuberant precinct — these new shows settle into grittier worlds. Dark comedies accomplish what classic sitcoms like “All in the Family,” “Good Times,” “Maude” and “Roc” did: They plumb humor from everyday tragicomedy.

Sometimes the subject of a dramedy leads to category confusion. “The Bear” has spawned a debate over whether it is, in fact, a comedy at all, because it deals so often with such heavy themes: the punishing atmosphere of restaurant kitchens, family dysfunction, alcoholism, addiction, trauma. The dramedy follows Carmen Berzatto, known as Carmy, in the aftermath of his older brother Michael’s suicide. Carmy interrupts his prestigious culinary career to come home to Chicago and run the family’s Italian-beef sandwich shop, inherited from Michael. Under Carmy and his sous chef, Sydney, the original no-frills sandwich shop evolves into a high-end restaurant, hungry for a Michelin star. “The Bear” is at its best in episodes like the critically acclaimed “Fishes,” bursting with the sheer chaos of the Berzatto family. In the show’s third, most recent season, the episode “Ice Chips” opens on Carmy’s sister, Natalie Berzatto, who goes by Sugar, sweating on a Chicago highway, en route to the hospital. She is in bumper-to-bumper traffic, and she is going into labor. Sugar has called every person she can think of, and no one is picking up. She grits her teeth and, as a last resort, calls her mother.

Donna Berzatto is an alcoholic with mood swings and a fiery temper — she drove a car through the wall of the Berzatto family home at Christmas in “Fishes.” And right now, she is getting on Sugar’s last nerve. Donna insists that Sugar use a specific breathing technique (“hee, hee!”) and scares her off of delivering without drugs. But as the episode progresses, the “hee, hee!” starts to help, and when Donna suggests that ice chips might be soothing, something between mother and daughter starts to soften.