Succession Returns, Great as Ever, With a New Threat from the Inside

During the production of the first season of Succession, HBO’s dark dramedy about the billionaire Roy family, the cast had their doubts about the show. “We were like, ‘Will anybody care about these entitled fuckheads with more money than God? Their trials and tribulations, their jerking for power, who cares?’” Matthew Macfadyen, who plays the woeful bully Tom, told GQ last November. By that point, the first season was in the books, and Macfadyen’s early doubts had been resolved. The show was a critical favorite and had attracted a cultish fanbase (its mantra: “Just get through the first four episodes”).

It took those four episodes for most people to warm to Succession because its cast of “entitled fuckheads” was a bit coarser than, say, Ross, Rachel, Phoebe, Chandler, Monica, and Joey. The show’s lingua franca—which amounts to “Fuck off”—required some immersion, too (it’s not immediately clear just how funny the refrain is). But most of all, Succession’s initial lag came from a self-inflicted handicap: In the first episode, Logan Roy (Brian Cox), the Rupert Murdoch-esque media titan whose empire the show revolves around, suffers a stroke and is reduced to a shell of himself. Without him, Succession skewed towards comic disarray. It was plain to see why it was difficult for Logan to choose a successor amongst his relatives and close confidants. Individually, these people had their virtues; together, they were a confederacy of dunces. Granted it was his own doing, but he was the only person with the power to rise above the rest.

Logan gradually regained his health, his mind, and his power through the course of the first season. And at the start of Season 2, he’s back to full force. There are still enemies—Stewy (Arian Moayed) and Sandy (Larry Pine)—at the gates, but the war with Kendall (Jeremy Strong) over the company, which comprised much of the first season, has been soundly decided. Season 2 opens with Kendall submerged in a hot pool at a spa in the desert, eyes closed, perhaps trying to sweat out his guilt (from the Chappaquiddick-like incident in the Season 1 finale) and find some semblance of inner peace. The shot, which only lasts a few seconds, is reminiscent of the final image of Don Draper in Mad Men. But Kendall doesn’t have Don’s knack for bouncing back from his own misdeeds. He’s hampered by his conscience; and, much as he strives to be, he’s not the same ruthless force of personality. When he gets out of the water, beckoned to a television interview by Logan, his eyes are glazed, and his mind is jumbled; he’s more like Theon Greyjoy after being tortured by Ramsay. “I saw their [Stewy and Sandy’s] plan, and my dad’s plan was better,” he manages to eek out, after having the line drilled into his head countless times by a Waystar assistant.

Succession is an ensemble without a point-of-view character, but if there is a Don Draper, it’s Logan. When the outstanding Brian Cox wasn’t playing infirmed in the first season, he was mostly barking, plotting, and pissing on people (figuratively) and their carpets (literally). But with Kendall’s uprising quashed and his inner sanctum back in line, in Season 2 Logan’s able to lead not just through fear, but also through charm. He at least performs caring about (some of) his children’s well-being, and the brief glimmers of conditional love make evident why his children worship him. They’re in thrall of their abuser, craving even a morsel of approval. But also, you want Logan on your side. When he’s chewing out the roof contractor because of a bag of dead raccoons in his chimney, his fire is funny (it doesn’t get much better than his mocking “No sir, no sir, three bags full sir”), even galvanizing; when you’re the roof contractor, it’s absolutely terrifying.

The magic of Succession’s first season was that it managed to make the trials, tribulations, and power jerkings of (again quoting Macfadyen) “entitled fuckheads” compelling without glamorizing said fuckheads. A viewer could empathize with the Roy clan, but you’d have to be as demented as Macfadyen’s Tom to want to be part of the Roy clan. The world of the uber rich was—and still is in Season 2—portrayed as being cold, grey, and unfulfilling. Unlike the anti-hero protagonists (Draper, White, Soprano) at the center of past eras’ marquee prestige television shows, these characters didn’t fool you into rooting for them. The parallels to an evil modern institution (Fox) and the no-good kin of the current president were pronounced enough that I instead found myself rooting for the peripheral characters. I wanted Eric Bogosian’s idealistic politician, Gil Eavis, to take down Logan’s empire; I was perversely happy to see a protestor hit Logan with a piss-filled water balloon.

Succession’s trick, I think, lies in spreading its attention around evenly, and treating its characters’ foibles with a dark, subtle absurdity. These entitled fuckheads might be our entitled fuckheads if they weren’t such ginormous fuck-ups. The one character with the potential to upend the magic, though, is Logan, who, though twisted, is sharp and can be charismatic when he’s well. In Season 2 (I’ve seen the first three episodes), Logan’s stock “Fuck off” has sounded different to my ears—more uproarious than malevolent—and I’ve found myself, against my better judgment, cheering as he’s growled it. Likewise, towards the end of the new season’s first episode, Logan appoints a successor by his own volition, and the moment verges on being tender. With his power and status secured, there’s the threat of Logan becoming an anti-hero rather than a villain, a character viewers can’t help but like. As television, Succession is more enjoyable when Logan plays that beguiling role; it’s just not as cutting, which is supposed to be the point.

Originally Appeared on GQ