We’re Being Fooled Again

It’s okay if you don’t like Succession. There’s plenty to not like.

There’s a lot to say about Succession, HBO’s drama about the cutthroat business dealings of a wealthy family, and which focuses on the spoils and perils of power. And there’s plenty to like: It’s shrewd and darkly funny, it has an amazing cast, and its production value is high. Its dialogue is sharp, with the type of perpetually biting cynicism that makes you wonder if you could ever be that smart, or cunning, or diabolical.

Succession feels like the final bow for Richard Plepler, one of the “original architects of prestige TV,” the show meant to carry the baton from Game of Thrones and usher HBO into its future. And in many ways, that idea holds true: Succession began with a slow burn, then racked up a slew of awards for its second season, including a Primetime Emmy for Outstanding Drama Series. It’s grown to be the TV drama of the moment, the ending to the question people ask when we’re making small talk and looking for a culturally ubiquitous story: “Did you see the latest episode of Succession?”

And there are only two possible answers: yes or no, the latter inevitably coupled with the type of apology afforded to a TV show that has grown influential enough to become beyond reproach, the emperor who claimed the zeitgeist.

Succession is, by measure of prestige and influence, successful. But in its third season, the cracks in its dark, cynical world are beginning to show what the series lacks—something that, I would argue, a drama needs if it’s ever going to be satisfying in the end. And as anyone who watched Seasons 6 through 8 of Game of Thrones might know, being “successful” for the network doesn’t mean satisfaction for viewers.

Which isn’t to say you shouldn’t watch Succession, or that you shouldn’t love it. If you’ve been following Humans Being, you know that I believe there’s value in accessible stories, even if only for our shared cultural dialogue. But for current viewers of the show, I wouldn’t blame you if you were starting to wonder where the series is going, and for people considering starting it, I wouldn’t blame you if you’re now wondering if you should bother. And if you struggle with Succession, well, consider this an extended hand. You’re not alone.

Since becoming synonymous with prestige TV, people expect HBO—and my favorite streaming platform, HBO Max—to be full of great shows, so much that we’ve begun to conflate “prestige TV” with something brave, groundbreaking, and smart (in other words, great television). But prestige TV is more of a feel than a level of quality, which creates a sort of entertainment paradox: Just like every square is a rectangle but not every rectangle is a square, every great show is prestigious but not every prestige-TV show is great.

HBO has launched plenty of brave, groundbreaking, and very smart original series in recent years (Euphoria, Watchmen, and Hacks come to mind), with original approaches that highlight the creativity that makes most prestige TV great. That creativity highlights one of Succession’s earliest challenges: It’s a show about the futile struggle for power and the lengths that people will go to hold on to it, coming directly on the heels of Game of Thrones, another show about the futile struggle for power and the lengths that people will go to hold on to it.

Unfortunate timing aside, its lack of thematic originality is glaring. Instead of approaching a familiar theme with a unique approach, Succession feels less like it’s written by actual writers and more like it was created by an algorithm for generic HBO prestige feel: one part Newsroom political jargon, one part Game of Thrones power struggle, and one part Entourage lifestyle porn.

But my biggest frustration with the series (and my hopes for its longer-term trajectory) is based on the world that it built.

Normally, in a setting detached from our common realities, there’s a character who bridges the gap between the viewer and the fantasy—a character through whom we can see the world, learn its ways, and respond as an analogue to our sense of normalcy. In Succession, that character is Cousin Greg, a fan favorite for his hilarious awkwardness as he navigates the milieu of the uber-rich. But Greg is written as too craven a character to be anywhere close to a meaningful counterbalance to the dark nightmare world, so he can’t effectively do the job.

Nor can Gerri, another crowd favorite, who is loved for her shrewd business savvy and an ability to play the power game without the flash or desperation of everyone around her. But while Gerri can navigate the rich and powerful without yelling, humiliating, and being openly racist, she’s as knowingly and willingly complicit in the company’s horrors as any member of the Roy family. Make no mistake, Gerri is an absolutely vile human being who only looks decent in comparison to a family described as “arguably worse than Hitler” by Ewan, Logan Roy’s brother, the sole character who reflects even a hint of any recognizable morality for a regular viewer to latch onto.

Yet Ewan doesn’t get nearly enough screen time to serve that role well, either. So far, we have seen the world through Ewan’s eyes for only a few sporadic moments across the entire series. (Ewan may become the true antagonist to the Roy empire, but we’re three seasons in and the series hasn’t invested in him yet, so either it would feel rushed, or it’s a long way away.) Ewan has the fortitude to be a meaningful counterweight to wretchedness on Succession, but without the screen time; Greg has the screen time without the fortitude.

Without an anchor to reality, I’m left to wander Succession’s smarmy, horrible world, its values uncontested, with characters who are all varying degrees of human garbage monsters who only appear “likable” in comparison to each other in a bizarro world of greed, cynicism, and wealth. If I place those characters in any other context—any non-Succession world—I would loathe them, which puts me in a conundrum: A show that exclusively features villains is also asking me to root for one of them. If I can’t root for anyone, I find the show difficult to enjoy, and if I can root for one of them, I’m rooting against basic human decency for “fun.”

What’s most frustrating, though, is that it would be an easy problem to fix, if only Succession were as interested in regular people–mirrors of its audience–as it is in trying to convince viewers to feel bad for the rich and powerful. The opportunities were there from the beginning, starting with Vaulter, the tech firm that was acquired by Waystar Royco and subsequently gutted. Rather than investing attention on the real-life effects of Waystar’s corporate chess game, it dismisses a company of nameless, angry nobodies used as tools in service of Kendall’s emotional journey. From Vaulter, to the cruise staff, to the boy Kendall left to die, the people who can show the consequences of the Roy family’s playground aren’t afforded attention, even when the opportunities are right there. Instead, the world is made up only of the Roy empire and the threats that undermine it.

And even that would be fine if there were a larger, more cohesive theme to grapple with. Succession obviously isn’t the first show to feature antiheroes, and its peers have done well by choosing one of two lanes: There’s the Breaking Bad route, where characters like Jesse and Skyler are the anchors for the moral struggle, or The Shield route, replacing the moral anchors with opposing forces that represent sides of some larger ethical question. At best, there’s The Wire, which does both at the same time. Succession chooses neither.

I have little doubt that, in the end, Succession will choose one of those lanes, ramping up its redemption arc for Kendall or an alternative. But again, we’re three seasons in already, putting Succession on a route that might be longer than the welcome we have for it. In the worst-case scenario, it continues to build around the question of who will “win,” resting its stakes on the lead-up to an ultimate decision. We were fooled by that before with Game of Thrones, and I fear we’re being fooled again.

Why should I care who wins Waystar Royco? Without originality, a moral anchor, or something compelling to say, Succession might as well choose Brandon Stark. Its performative nastiness only obscures the fact that Succession isn’t actually brave, groundbreaking, or even very smart. It’s the heir to Game of Thrones, as planned. Only that’s not such a good thing, after all.

***

This is obviously going to be a contentious one, but I want to make sure I’m not just recommending a million things to read and watch. There’s so much that it can easily be overwhelming, and I want to talk about why we might not like certain things as well. If you love Succession, I hope you keep loving Succession, and I hope you email me why you love, hate, agree, disagree, understand, or don’t understand my view of it. This is where we figure it out together (and I want to love Succession, I really do).

My favorite email this week comes from one of my favorite readers, Namita, whose favorite character is Roman, and who, intentionally or unintentionally, summarizes the suspension of morality required to have a favorite character. “He’s hilarious and fierce, and I love the sexual dynamic with Gerri,” she told me. “You almost think he could become a halfway decent person but now he’s showing how bone-chilling, into-Nazi-white-supremacist-land he can be.”

The jump from “hilarious” to “Nazi white supremacist” is the best summary I can imagine for the mental gymnastics Succession requires, and highlights one of the show’s greatest strengths: It knows how important comedy is, and it’s extremely funny.

46 days until Saga returns.