The main virtue of Succession is Jesse Armstrong’s ability to build comic, dynamic and choral situations that, in formal terms, give the impression of being a turning point in the narrative: a sequence of scenes that take advantage of the chorality of the series, the most hilarious dynamics and with the dramatic conflicts always in the background, that family dysfunction that, if it weren’t for pride and money, would have them lying on the couch in a psychiatric office twenty-four hours a day.
At the start of his final season, confirmed by HBO, Logan (Brian Cox) finds himself disgusted at his own birthday party: he wouldn’t admit it but he is visibly upset that his favorite children are not there, whom he stabbed in the back with his decision to sell Waystar Royco to Lukas Mattson (Alexander Skarsgard). Not even his eldest son Connor (Alan Ruck), his nephew Greg (Nicholas Braun) or his son-in-law Tom (Matthew Macfadyen) can make up for these absences.
Shiv (Sarah Snook), Kendall (Jeremy Strong) and Roman (Kieran Culkin) are in California, away from their father, planning their next move and anticipating the capital that will come from the treasonous sale of the family business. Initially, they bet on founding their own media outlet, The 100, with the appearance of a business unicorn or straight out of smoke. But when they discover that Nan Pierce (Cherry Jones) wants to sell PGM and that her father wants to buy Waystar Royco to fatten up before the final signing, they consider doing a two for one: stay in the traditional media business. and at the same time screw his father.
This is how, voilà !, we have Succession again in the field in which Armstrong performs so well: that of business movements against the clock between cynical comments, humiliation and the characteristic toxicity of the Roys. Of course, this confrontation via phone calls should be taken with caution. How many times has Succession hinted at a change in the status quo that then came to next to nothing?
In the third season it became more evident than ever with that Kendall who, instead of breaking schemes, became a laughing stock because of some cowardly brothers, incapable of rebelling against a father who was an expert in Machiavellian games and psychological abuse. They only reacted, in fact, after the final betrayal of the patriarch, who turned the tide of the succession to end up leaving them without the promised business inheritance.
But is it relevant if Succession is renewed or not? Or, really, what is important is that the dynamics, the corrosive dialogues and the financial and comedic set-pieces remain agile? At the time I already wrote on the subject and I must admit that it is a question that would arouse less reluctance if HBO did not present Succession to the awards as a dramatic series.
Fortunately, Armstrong’s work is as immobile as it is ingenious. Is Tom and Greg’s dithering at Logan’s party almost lazy and easy by now, mostly because of the poor planning of the situation? Yes. But, to compensate, the comic timing works with precision and the script saves a couple of moments to frame: Logan’s anti-humanist (and otherwise unsurprising) reflection as he uses his fronton bodyguard before which he expose his thoughts (because, in reality, he doesn’t give a damn about that man); Nan Pierce as an example of privileged progressivism and its hypocrisy; and the drift of Shiv and Tom’s relationship as the jokes and cynicism are given a rest and the footage is suffused with deep sadness.
In summary, a remarkable return for a series that, since the middle of the first season, knows how to spin episodes with rhythm, intelligence and where to get the most out of one of the best-chosen casts on television (because you only need to read an interview with Brian Cox and Jeremy Strong to understand that the key is not only in talent but above all in the choice). But does Succession know itself too well? Ok, I’ll quit.
