The Proud and The Pitiful of SUCCESSION (Patreon)

Note: If you've never seen, this is technically a non-spoiler essay, so it's safe to read - I just talk more about the show's function and dynamics.

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“Can we just try to act nice?”

At first, Succession seems the unlikely choice for “best prestige drama” of the moment. After all, it’s about a family of callous, egocentric, dye-in-the-wool conservative billionaires who spend all their time trying to one up each other. In short, they’re everything wrong with the world and everything we hate. And yet, week in and week out, people tune in to see those Armani-clad, jaw-clenchers bare their teeth at one another and threaten to bite. Hell, we eat it up to the point that I have a group chas where we go over the episodes’ various barbs and big moments. It’s even the rare show where I actually get together with folks to watch it when we can… The big question is why? Why is this show so compelling?

The answer itself is not that simple.

“Nothing is a line. Everything, everywhere is always moving.”

Let’s get this out of the way now because there is perhaps no opinion more tired than the belief that you shouldn’t be able to make art about awful people (especially when it comes to comedy). Depiction does not mean endorsement. We know this. Because we’ve all had this discussion hundreds of times about hundreds of different movies or shows. Now, that being said I feel like we have to hedge in the other direction and also remind people that “depiction is not endorsement” is not a blanket shield from criticism, either. Because there are so many ways an artist can aim to criticize something and end up either sidelining it or just plain ignoring some problematic aspects of their own depiction. Meaning, yes, we can unintentionally endorse. But one person's reading of that is probably going to be different than someone else’s, no? So where’s the actual line, then? What storytelling approach best works? Which doesn’t?

Well, there is no line, nor a set way to do it. I’ve seen plenty of well-meaning preachy films completely bungle their point and plenty of dark, unwieldy depictions still nail their own. That’s because every movie, every show, and every depiction is unique. And when interpreting their given success, all we can do is make an argument in response. That’s all we have. And often it’s personal. So while there are some shows where the depiction of the rich and powerful could leave me with lingering questions (like I talked about with The White Lotus), there are some shows, like Succession, that I think thread the needle perfectly. You just have to look at their methods and goals.

“Even though I don’t love you, but you want me anyway.”

There was a popular sports / culture site that recently referred to Succession as a “hate watch” and I have to disagree with the framing immensely, even though it is true in a literal sense. Because you really do hate the people on this show. They’re truly awful. But they’re entertainingly awful. And for me, the term “hate watch” implies that you also hate the construction of and around the show, too. That you are therefore enjoying it in a way somewhat different than what is intended, whether it's for the insensitivity of its depictions (13 Reasons Why), the lofty pretension of its self-congratulatory aims (The Newsroom), or its abject misunderstanding of pretty much all thematic messaging whatsoever (The Morning Show). There’s a level of irony to this kind of watching, something that veers closer to camp. But hate watching is generally hard for me. Whatever it is about it, I don’t like craning my neck to see the car wreck. But that’s not a problem here because we don’t have to hate watch Succession at all. We can just watch right along with its exact aims, especially because it avoids the most common pitfalls of the genre.

To wit, the big problem with most depictions of these kinds of rich asshole characters is that you ultimately have to humanize them. Because paper-thin characterization does nothing justice. And all shows need real human beings who make the drama feel real in turn (this is especially true of heightened worlds). But this often means you will end up mining the audience for empathy whether you intend to or not. You make them step into spaces where you go, “Oh, no, I feel bad for that monster!” and this is usually where the whole depiction / endorsement issue starts to get tricky, because that empathy can get weaponized for rooting interest. But the whole key of Succession is that even though it’s inevitably humanizing people, it wants NONE of your empathy for them. It only wants your jocular contempt.

Because these characters are miserable, defensive, face-saving jerks who only know how to make each other more miserable. Heck, to even stand in the same proverbial room with them requires their blithering hatred come out in the form of verbal barbs and acerbic wit. This allows you to vicariously play in the space of your most spiteful and catty self, which feels the one indulgent aim of the show that’s permissible. And this tactic may make more sense given that the show’s writer / creator Jesse Armstrong is a veteran of Armando Iannucci’s crew (which includes folks like Chris Addison and Charlie Brooker). Meaning he was a crucial part of the murders row of talent that that brought us great works like The Thick of It, In the Loop, Peep Show, Black Mirror, Veep and so much more (you could argue that Armstrong has one of the best comedy resumes of all time). And like the best of that work, he isn’t just trying to mine his subject for laughs. He is using that acerbic wit to tell the most essential and brutal truths about the powerful, amoral people who run the world.

Here, he is staring into the id of capitalism incarnate.

“There’s things you are able to do, that I cannot.”

Now, you would think that the success of the show would therefore depend on its ability to depict big business with both accuracy and panache. You know, things like board meetings, private planes, and all the pornographic excess of luxury living. But I love how much Succession instead nails these details with relaxing ease and / or a complete lack of emphasis. Because it doesn’t want to seduce you into anything here. Because it doesn’t secretly love this lifestyle. In fact, it loathes it. So instead, it just constantly shows the glaring waste of all of it. The beautiful food that rarely gets touched. The fleets of gas guzzling travel vehicles. The immaculate clothes that appear and disappear without a single thought of those wearing. And the service people who make this all happen are often invisible, mere hands reaching in and out of frames. Even the rotating personal assistants are mere extensions, barely registering a blip of their own personhood, save to be used by the main characters. This is simply how their world works. Everyone around them is meaningless except for what they provide.

In a straight-foward drama this would seem egregious, no? Because it would seem like a show that embodies the very thing it is criticizing. But that’s where the whole “not wanting your empathy” thing comes into play with this comedy. It’s not trying to educate you or make an arc of progress. It’s not trying to show you the spectrum of the system or rub your face in the obvious victimhood of what’s happening here. Even though we constantly see the way those in the system clearly suffer in the midst of these awful people, it doesn’t dwell or try to use their suffering as props. The truth is these depictions would be easy or even smug. Instead, the show treats these behaviors as deplorable givens, then focuses so succinctly on what’s so wrong even within their insular world. Everything that actually exists gets whittled down to a series of finite people who “matter,” along with their competing goals and leverage. This is all that exists to them. Which brings us to the reason it all feels so compelling: because Succession uses this insular environment to create a masterclass in dramatic functionalism.

“All bangers all the time. That’s my thing.”

I think the reason that people might have a hard time at first with Succession is that the pilot is the worst episode of the show. Unfortunately, this gets into a discussion about whatever’s been going on with Adam McKay lately, a hilarious man who has made some of my favorite comedies of all time, but has slowly shifted into this ugly brand of smug political cinema where he yells at his audience instead of alongside them. Anyway, everything about the direction of the pilot feels wrong (especially in hindsight now that the show has course-corrected). Because it makes those missteps I highlighted above. It rubs your face in glaring points and goes to great lengths to only highlight the pain of those affected (without really bothering to give them humanity in turn). It just all screams dOnT yOu GeT iT, tHeSe pEoPlE aRe BaD. Which is something we actually get immediately. So no matter how well-written that pilot is, there’s no trust in the execution.

But by the time the show hits episode six? Hoo boy, they’ve so keyed into the dramatic modus operandi of the show and started lighting the damn fireworks with every interaction. Everything feels loaded. Everything feels like it could go one way or another at a moment's notice. And while the show’s certainly been funny the whole time, by the time you get to episode four in the second season (you know the one) you see that they’ve absolutely cracked the balance of comedic tone that makes it feel like it never gets bogged down. From then on there isn’t a single non A grade episode in the entire run. As Kendall later on says, “all bangers, all the time.” But I acknowledge that my estimation of the quality of these episodes is irrelevant. The real question is “how do they actually pull this off every week?”

The answer is because the drama is often episodically-contained storytelling. Even though the action is serialized, notice how the show doesn’t like to delay things for later. Meaning it doesn’t hint. It doesn’t tease. It doesn’t lead you on. Instead, it’s always centering you around a single location, an event, but most critically a goal. The company will need cash. Or they need this many votes. Or they simply need someone to come around and do X for them. Then we see the way that goal shifts everyone’s responses in turn (based on what they want themselves in the big old game of taking over for the man in charge) and this creates a system that feels like it’s in constant upheaval with some gaining and losing. It’s the perfect encapsulation of the old Mamet rules for drama: “1. Who wants what? 2. What happens if they don’t get it? 3. Why now?” Which gives this incredible urgency as these people scramble as fast as they can to save their own hides. Even better, every episode builds to a genuine “conclusion” to that initial problem which creates a shift or meaningful change to the perceived power within this already-corrupt system. Sometimes those changes are huge. Sometimes those changes are small. But either way, they always feel deeply personal to the characters.

Now, you may be going: “wait just one darn tootin’ minute, doesn’t that all require rooting interest?”

Nope! Remember, we’ve always watched dramas where what we “want” takes a back seat to the delicious soap operatics of the drama itself. Trashy shows are practically built on that principle. Plus, what we “want” doesn’t have to be a starkly clear thing of having one want over another. For example, a show like The Wire is constantly showcasing the tragedy of competing goals and our sadness comes from the fact we actually have empathy for everyone on screen. Here, it functions like the inverse. We’re conditioned to step back from these goals because in the end, we hate all these people. They just each happen to have ways they entertain us in their petty squabbling, whether it's Roman’s filthy jabs, Tom’s weird ego boasts, or Kendall’s cringe-worth bro speak. These aren’t “endearing” qualities, just amusing ones that feed our comedic detachment. And if the show ever feels like we’re getting too friendly with a given character, it will remind you of their naked amorality when we see one of them cozy up to an open fascist or delve into something of similar punch.

You never, ever forget that these people aren’t open collaborators in the end of the world. Which allows them to be pure targets of mockery. It’s the ultimate punching up. And the “joy” of watching them is cackling as they take each other down a peg OR fail in getting what they so desperately want inside. It all adds up to a spectacularly dumb competition best embodied in Demi Adejuyigbe’s rejected lyrics from the theme song: “Who Will Win a Kiss from Daddy?” But all of this would make for a rather glib, pure comedy in the vein of Veep, right? How is it an hour long drama, then? Well, that’s because this is only one half of the show’s storytelling equation. What really allows Succession to truly function as a dramatic offering is that it knows how to integrate this acidic side with a genuinely emotional experience in turn…

“Because you have to start taking yourself seriously, kid”

You may have noticed I spend so much damn time talking about the power of empathy in art. I talk about how the goal of art is to connect with an audience, to share the harsh lessons of the world, to open up about our worst selves, and to come to greater understandings of life itself. This is not only what resonates with us, it’s part of how the narrative itself creates an emotional and engaging experience. Because of this, it’s almost as if we’ve been conditioned to write this way for every character or story (or most certainly, view them that way on screen). But in truth, this is just one side of the artistic approach. Because some narratives thrive off a lack of empathy. By being incisive and uncompromising at staring at human behavior with unblinking fervor, all in hopes to unveil the world as it is. This has great value. But pulling it off requires some different tactics. And as I stated above, Succession doesn’t want your empathy…

Instead, it wants your pity.

The show is actually a perfect example of dramatic pathos, in that it reaches for “the feeling of sorrow caused by the suffering and misfortunes of others.” Make no mistake, these are miserable people who are seemingly incapable of actual joy. And yes, their misery drives the comedy and makes it okay to laugh, especially when we see them wall off their feelings so that the constant barbs won’t hurt them. But sometimes the pain pokes through anyway. And under all of it, these characters are so, so hurting. They’re all victims of outrageous neglect, loveless parentage, and that particular brand of cruelty that comes with the ignorances of the bored hyper-wealthy. There’s a deep, inescapable sadness within every character and the show always picks the right beats to highlight his history. They’re all so broken in their own ways. So yes, it is okay to feel pity for them. In fact, there is no more pitiable character than Kendall Roy. But thankfully, feeling pity for them does not excuse them from, nor discount the horrors of their behavior. It is just a way of showing the reality of how this all came to be.

But critically, the show never uses this as fuel to make you secretly root for something, it’s trying to show you how it propagates abusive cycles. Well, at least by the show’s design it shouldn’t make you root for something, but I admit that doesn’t stop textbook bad-fan stuff from happening anyway (for example, some people root for one of the kids, or there were some recent weird rooting expressions for Gerri, who is certainly deserving of pity and one of the least objectionable characters who deals with piles of sexism, but good granola she’s still a willing enabler of all Logan’s cosmic evil, which makes rooting for her one of those “more female guards at Guantanamo!” type things). Sorry, for the aside, but it’s important in understanding “how” the show wants us to watch it. Because if we ever end up feeling too close to or rooting for these monsters, it’s a cue for self-examination. To make us see our own pettiness or brokenness in turn. But ultimately we have to understand that the show’s intent is a zero sum game. For while the dark humor may make Succession more entertaining, and the pathos may make it more true, but there’s no such thing as victory here. The only thing we want is for this entire system to come crumbling down. And the more these characters push for what they were taught to want, the more they’re doomed to this misery of this life.

So in the end, all your “rooting” for all of them to lose the big stupid fucking game they’re playing. Or maybe, just maybe, discover some sliver of humanity that would allow them to transcend and get out of all this. But every time a character comes close to finding a way out, there’s always something that stops them…

“I can't eat shit. I just can’t do it”

Ahhhh, behold the horrors of toxic pride. Something that’s perhaps best embodied by the patriarchal Logan Roy, a man who refuses to lose in any circumstance and will try to annihilate anything and anyone in that pursuit, especially his own family. He doesn’t care if people think he is the devil incarnate. In fact, he sees such fear as a mark of respect. And as long as he wins, he can retain his critical pride. But really, all the characters are stuck with their own sins of pride. Shiv thinks herself the moral beltway liberal within her world, but will concede nothing in the way of their operation, nor her own glaring hypocrisies. Likewise, whenever Kendall’s good-guy delusions of selfhood get punctured, he’ll immediately strike back with hateful spew and never realize how much this 180 highlights his own insincerity. They constantly reveal themselves as little more than thin-skinned veneers of people, which is why it is so critical for them to hold up their veneers. So they turn these key moments of hurt into egregious wounds, even for mere slights against them, which just becomes more fuel for the fire of their own ascension. This is exactly what keeps them locked into their abusive cycles, as they’re always preventing a single instance from ever being a moment of growth, or ever finding the hope of moving on… they’re all ultimately trapped in the prison of their own pride.

Thus, the dance of power in Succession goes on. They play their little games of leverage amidst the late-stage capitalist fuck-fest of life and let everything slide into fascism around them. But what do they care? The horrors they sow into the world all exist outside their cushy homes and black transport vehicles. They’ll be fine. And because the show keeps a laser-focus on this exact myopia, it actually never missteps in its portrayal. It’s exactly what separates it from the glamorous soap operatics that has come with a lot of depictions of rich families on television before. These are not the bold and the beautiful. They are the proud and the pitiful. And the scathing words they love to hurl only reflect the venom of their world, exactly as it is. Because they can’t see outside of it. They have everything they could ever want. All the money. All the opportunities. All the freedom from burdens the rest of us face. But since those things are intrinsic for them, because they are something that could never be lost, they aren’t real. So instead, all that actually exists for them is ups and downs of status within their own little private world. There is only winning or losing the game of power. And all the while, they fail to realize the only way to win a rigged game is to stop playing… but none of them actually know how to stop… As I said, capitalism incarnate. And if one of the points of art is to unveil the world as it is, then I can think of no more accurate depiction, however unfortunate.

But it all comes back to that essential question, why?

Why are we “enjoying” the horrid accuracy of this depiction every week? Just because it’s funny? Because we want to see who is up and who is down this week, as if it’s some weekly sporting event? Isn’t that an inherent contradiction to the pain of what we’re seeing? Are we secretly rooting for some victory in this capitalist nightmare scenario?

Not really, no. But that’s because Succession is not making us more callous in turn, nor is it secretly trying to get us to want to be a part of their world. Instead, it offers something else: commiseration. It’s the same reason I’ll get some spikes of anxiety and find a few moments to disappear into TikTok, where the people I like will find ways to joke about the various apocalypses going on and how to handle the day to day problems of their lives (often revolving around mental health). We do this because shit’s pretty awful right now. And I get it, this is no substitute for therapy, nor is it characterizing the earnest and valuable ways to fix what’s broken in the world. But in a world where therapy is often unaffordable and victories feel few and far between, the moments of bluntly honest humor work as a coping mechanism, especially when its a sentiment shared with others. To put it somewhat pretentiously, we laugh together in the dark. And it helps. So with this show? There’s genuine amusement that comes with the verbal gymnastics of all the fuckity fuck fucks, but the real coup of Succession is that stares at its horrible subject matter with the same exact sense of existential dread that we do. Through pathos, it laughs at them, but understands them. And more importantly, it commiserates with us and our understanding in turn. Because it knows it might be the one way to NOT be miserable ourselves when staring starkly at these sniveling billionaires, these miserable fucks who have everything and yet feel they have nothing.

In fact, it knows this may be the one thing we have over them.

<3HULK