The End of “Succession” Is the End of An Era in TV
The kids jockey and jostle, bully and betray to take over from their father, but their strivings often feel like distractions, minor plot points of the late era. The institution evades death in the first episode, but, make no mistake, the institution is dying.What form that death takes is an open question for the show. Does the institution luridly modernize in response to a changing media landscape? In the early seasons, this modernization looked like Waystar-Royco’s acquisition of Vaulter, a Vice-like media company that Kendall (Jeremy Strong) covets, captures, and then guts. In the show’s endgame, this modernization has looked like Waystar-Royco’s acquisition by Nordic streaming giant GoJo. In some ways these versions of the end are transformations, makeovers for a company that no longer looks like itself. But these are also potentially traps. Vaulter was probably a fine company, but, like its real-life analogues, it couldn’t produce the kind of profit Waystar-Royco needed from it, and GoJo, on the other hand, feels like a bubble ready to pop. As we witness the seemingly bimonthly shuttering of real-life Vaulters by craven investors and we watch the film and TV industry struggle to figure out how streaming even works—when it’s far too late to turn back—we realize that disaster lies down every path for the Roys.
Our entire experience of the Roys’ empire in this show is one of corruption and cover-up and abuse. There was never any moral standing to erode. But in its final days, we see it exercise what power it has in order to install a demagogue in the White House, to protect its interests by destabilizing the very society it exists to serve.
Succession is about a thing that is in the process of dying. And in this final season, that flavor of mortality is the show’s top note. It’s right, I think, to extend those mausoleum tones to the media environment in which we greet Succession.
Succession is not about succession. Not really. As the critic and editor Sam Adams succinctly tweeted, “the number of people still arguing about who is going to win Succession makes me wonder if one secret of the show’s success is that it allows people to love it without understanding it.” Rooting for, or even against, any of the particular players in this game is beside the point. Nobody wins, everybody loses; everybody is a loser. Or, perhaps, there is no winning or losing at the level of corporate leadership. Logan Roy spent three seasons hanging onto his company because none of his idiot children had the killer instinct or business acumen to keep it alive. And yet it shouldn’t go beyond our notice that Waystar-Royco’s been doing great since his death. Logan’s own vision of his romantic genius is an illusion. Money, as Kendall says in his eulogy, is life. And the money keeps moving no matter who sits in the corner office.
Succession, in a certain light, seems more like a photo negative version of Aaron Sorkin’s The West Wing. It’s swapped out Sorkin’s pious centrist liberalism with a qualitatively better, but no less pious, left anti-capitalism. And rather than fill the screen with brilliant public servants whose devotion to democracy is a kind of priesthood, it fills the screen with deviant morons whose devotion to money and power is also a kind of priesthood.
In the battle of the eulogies that played out in the show’s penultimate episode, we know that Logan’s brother Ewan (James Cromwell) carries the force of moral authority in his denunciation of the Roys, but nobody in that church claps. When Kendall responds, dissociating from his petty vulgarity and delivering a stirringly grandiose defense of greed and gluttony, the crowd cheers. Jeremy Strong is terrific, and Kendall’s fluency and inspiration in that moment are a real part of the show’s appeal. Can we applaud, not for his message but only for his performance?