SiftPop

by Robert Bouffard, Editor 

Maybe it’s because, like Roman Roy, I’ve deluded myself into thinking that I’ve pre-grieved the ending of Succession, but as I sit down now, I find it difficult to write about the final season of what has become a top-five show of all time for me. In just four short, action-packed seasons (and by “action,” I of course mean obscenity-filled dialogue being thrown back and forth in lavish settings, whether it’s the main character’s Fifth Avenue apartment or an Italian villa), I simultaneously fell in love and hate with the Roys, a family full of people who’ve endured emotional trauma resulting in a state of arrested development, and at the same time, have played major roles in the crumbling of democracy and world order as they vie for the top job at the company their father built from the ground up. That series creator Jesse Armstrong was able to walk the tightrope of making his audience deeply care about these characters, while also unrelentingly showing their true repulsiveness down to their cores, is largely why I’m in a state of disbelief that Succession is already done, but also why it’s cemented itself as one of my favorite shows ever.

Even though I could’ve watched another four or more seasons of the Roys calling each other [redacted]s or [redacted]s, Armstrong found the perfect time to end it, and he executed that ending perfectly. There was no shortage of theories for how Succession would conclude — and many of them made logical and thematic sense — but the avenue Armstrong ultimately chose is probably the best and most resonant. To avoid spoilers, the ending is both completely nihilistic and completely satisfying. Even in the case of the characters for whom it seems there’s a happy ending in store, imagining their lives in the weeks, or even days, after the finale doesn’t do them any favors. So though I could have enjoyed the banter and wit of future seasons, it does feel like a natural ending point. The characters have thrown around so many curse words in so many ways that even some of the more offensive terms in the English lexicon barely register; their power has diminished due to overuse, and their stories, at least in terms of the show itself, have run their course.

But these arcs being at their tipping points doesn’t mean there is nothing compelling left for them to do or to experience; on the contrary, each major character — Kendall (Jeremy Strong), Shiv (Sarah Snook), Logan (Brian Cox), Roman (Kieran Culkin), and Tom (Matthew Macfadyen) — is given major development. And many secondary characters — Connor (Alan Ruck), Colin (Scott Nicholson), Willa (Justine Lupe), Gerri (J. Smith-Cameron), Frank (Peter Friedman), Karl (David Rasche) Greg (Nicholas Braun), Kerry (Zoe Winters), Lukas (Alexander Skarsgård), Ewan (James Cromwell) and even Jess (Juliana Canfield) — get chances to show off their acting prowess.

Some of these secondary parts get a chance to flesh out their characters more than they ever have in the past. Connor in particular has an inflated role compared to the first three seasons. Episode Two, “Rehearsal,” has possibly the most poignant moment of a season filled with poignant moments, when he talks about how he’s learned to live without love. Lukas Matsson, meanwhile, only appeared at the end of Season Three, but made a huge mark on the show, coming in as the Elon Musk-type of brash, non-American tech tycoon who hypes himself up to be so much more than he actually is. There are so many side characters who flow in and out of the world of the leads, and the way they interact with, and react to, the main characters tells us almost as much about them as does watching their own scenes.

And that’s constructive, because since the show’s main focus is unsurprisingly on the main players, it’s important for us as an audience to take a step back when considering them. I don’t think it’s necessarily still worth it to debate the merits of “rooting for” evil, entitled billionaires, but it can be easy to get lost in in when watching the show. But part of what Season Four does so effectively is show them at their most unequivocally evil (running ATN — the show’s version of Fox News — the night of a presidential election in which a fascist is running), and at their most fundamentally human (unexpectedly finding out about the death of a loved one). Four seasons in, it still doesn’t shy away from the truths of their humanity, but it also makes it plain that they’re “bulls—t,” as a main character finally states towards the end. But because they don’t realize they’re bulls—t until much too late, they leave so much destruction in their wake. 

Each of the main actors mentioned earlier has shown their abilities throughout the prior three seasons, but with the stakes raised, and with the end in sight, they have myriad chances to display their range, intensity, and subtlety. Strong probably gives the best overall performance, fully embodying everything that Kendall is — the swagger, the drive, the addictiveness, and the brokenness; Macfadyen plays so many levels and layers of Tom, who can be despicable, endearing, and a total dope within the span of any given 10 minutes; but it’s Culkin and Snook who really take that next step in Season Four. Culkin in particular can go from terrifying to pathetic within that same amount of time — and is sometimes both at once — and Snook gives as layered and complex a performance as I’ve seen on TV in a long time.

Finally, Nicholas Britell’s score, which buttresses the themes, performances, and direction, must not be overlooked. The score’s themes and motifs have built upon itself in each successive season, and it’s perhaps the best it’s ever been in Season Four. From the track “Allegro Bellicoso,” which is more frightening and menacing than the rest of the show’s score, to “Andante Risoluto,” which plays over the show’s final moments and perfectly encapsulates everything it has been up to that point, Britell’s score is inextricable to the show itself.

But the sobering fact at the end of all of it is, even though these characters have had seemingly catastrophic arcs over the course of the (probably) two years in-universe, not much has really changed in the big picture. They’re part of a long line of successors to a corrupt throne which only breeds the aforementioned destruction. For the Roys, life-or-death means considering whether they will be billionaires or multibillionaires; they just happen to deal with personal problems similar to what the rest of us go through at the same time. But for the people impacted by the Roy’s trauma-informed actions (the 99%), life-or-death can quite literally mean life or death.

Score: 10/10

Succession is currently streaming on Max

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You can read more from Robert Bouffard, and follow him on Twitter and Letterboxd