Money. It's the only thing that actually moves in the world of the Roys. If you haven't watched Succession yet, you’ve probably at least heard the theme song—that jaunty, stressful piano melody that sounds like a panic attack in a tuxedo. It’s a show about a billionaire family who hates each other, yet they can't stop orbiting their monstrous father, Logan Roy.
People often ask why a show about miserable rich people became such a cultural juggernaut. Honestly? It's because it’s a tragedy disguised as a corporate thriller. You think you’re watching a show about who will take over Waystar Royco, but you’re actually watching four adult children try to buy a love that isn't for sale.
The Logan Roy Effect: Why He Never Actually Picked a Successor
Logan Roy, played by the terrifyingly brilliant Brian Cox, is the sun. His children—Kendall, Shiv, Roman, and Connor—are just planets trying not to burn up. Most viewers spent four seasons debating whether Kendall was "the guy" or if Shiv had the political chops to lead. But here is the thing: Logan never wanted a successor. He wanted a version of himself that didn't exist.
Logan built an empire from nothing. He’s a "dinosaur," sure, but he’s a dinosaur with teeth. He looks at his children and sees "NRPI"—No Real Person Involved. To him, they are soft. They grew up in the high-thread-count sheets he bought, and because of that, they lack the killer instinct he thinks is required to run a media conglomerate in a dying industry. It's a classic Shakespearean trap. If they are strong enough to beat him, he hates them for the challenge. If they are loyal, he hates them for being weak.
You see this play out most painfully with Kendall. Jeremy Strong's performance is legendary for a reason; he lives in that character’s skin. Kendall is constantly trying to "kill" the father to become the father. But every time he gets close, his own soul gets in the way. Or his addiction. Or his desperate need for Logan to just say, "You did a good job, son."
💡 You might also like: Not the Nine O'Clock News: Why the Satirical Giant Still Matters
The Writing Secret: Why the Dialogue Sounds Like That
If you’ve noticed the characters in Succession talk in circles, that’s by design. The showrunner, Jesse Armstrong, previously worked on Peep Show and The Thick of It. He brought that British "cringe comedy" sensibility to the American corporate elite. The characters use "business-speak" as a shield. They say things like "the optics are suboptimal" or "let's socialize this idea" because they are too terrified to say "I am scared" or "I love you."
The dialogue is frantic. It’s messy. Characters interrupt each other constantly. Unlike a Sorkin drama where everyone is perfectly eloquent, the Roys are often stumbling over their own egos.
- Roman (Kieran Culkin) uses filth and insults to deflect from his deep-seated trauma.
- Shiv (Sarah Snook) uses cold, calculated logic to mask her insecurity as the only daughter.
- Tom Wambsgans (Matthew Macfadyen) uses a bizarre mixture of subservience and bullying to climb the ladder.
The "Ludes" scene or the "Boar on the Floor" moment aren't just there for shock value. They demonstrate the psychological warfare that replaces actual family bonding. In Logan’s world, dinner isn't a meal; it's a loyalty test.
Tom and Greg: The Weirdest Love Story on TV
We have to talk about the Disgusting Brothers. Tom Wambsgans and Cousin Greg (Nicholas Braun) provide the show's dark heartbeat. At first, Greg seems like the audience surrogate—the "normal" guy entering this den of vipers. But the show pulls a fast one on us. We watch Greg slowly lose his morality for a few more zeroes in his bank account.
📖 Related: New Movies in Theatre: What Most People Get Wrong About This Month's Picks
Tom, on the other hand, is one of the most complex characters written in the last decade. He’s a striver. He’s from St. Paul, Minnesota, and he never lets you forget he’s "new money" compared to the Roys. His relationship with Shiv is a car crash in slow motion. He knows she doesn't respect him, so he takes all that pain and pours it onto Greg. It's a cycle of abuse that is somehow both hilarious and devastating. When Tom finally makes his big move at the end of Season 3, it’s one of the most earned "villain" turns in history. He realized that if he couldn't have Shiv's love, he would at least have Logan's power.
The Reality of Waystar Royco: It’s Not Just About Fiction
While Succession is a work of fiction, it’s heavily informed by real-world dynasties. The Murdochs are the obvious comparison. Logan Roy shares a lot of DNA with Rupert Murdoch—the right-wing media empire, the multiple marriages, the children fighting for the throne. But there are shades of the Redstones (Viacom), the Sulzbergers (New York Times), and even the Hearsts.
The show captures a very specific moment in time: the death of legacy media. Waystar is a dinosaur trying to survive in a world of tech giants like GoJo (led by Alexander Skarsgård’s Lukas Matsson). Matsson represents the new guard—unpredictable, nihilistic, and bored by the "traditional" way of doing business. The conflict between Logan’s old-school grit and Matsson’s "code-bro" arrogance is where the show gets its most biting satire about the modern economy.
Why the Ending Had to Be That Way
No spoilers here for the very final frame, but the trajectory of the series was always leading to a vacuum. Succession is a zero-sum game. For someone to win, everyone else has to lose. The tragedy of the Roy children is that they were never fighting for a company. They were fighting for the ghost of a man who didn't know how to be a father.
👉 See also: A Simple Favor Blake Lively: Why Emily Nelson Is Still the Ultimate Screen Mystery
By the time we get to the final season, the stakes have shifted from "who gets the chair" to "who can survive the fallout." The show posits a cynical view: power doesn't go to the most capable. It goes to the person most willing to cut their own throat to get it.
How to Truly Appreciate a Rewatch
If you’re going back through the series, keep your eyes on the background. The "stealth wealth" or "quiet luxury" trend started largely because of this show. Note how they never wear logos. They wear $600 Loro Piana baseball caps because they don't need to prove they’re rich—they just are.
Watch the camera work, too. The handheld, documentary-style zoom-ins aren't accidental. They make you feel like a fly on the wall in rooms where the fate of the world is being decided by people who can't even decide what to have for lunch.
To get the most out of Succession, stop looking for a hero. There aren't any. Once you accept that everyone is a villain in someone else's story, the show becomes a masterpiece of character study.
- Pay attention to the locations: The contrast between the cold, sterile offices and the lush, sprawling estates in Italy or Norway highlights how isolated these people are from reality.
- Listen to the silence: Some of the biggest plot points happen in what isn't said—the looks between Tom and Shiv, or Kendall’s thousand-yard stare.
- Track the "Number One Boy" status: It shifts almost every episode. Seeing how the siblings' alliances crumble the second Logan dangles a carrot is the core engine of the plot.
The brilliance of the show is that it makes you feel for these people. You hate them, but when Kendall is crying in a dirt parking lot, you feel a twinge of empathy. That’s the trap. That’s the genius of the writing. It reminds us that even with billions of dollars, you can still be a hollow shell of a human being.
Moving forward, the best way to analyze the series is to look at it through the lens of institutional rot. It’s not just about one family; it’s about how a specific type of power corrupts everything it touches, from local news stations to the highest levels of government. If you want to dive deeper into the themes, look up the "succession" history of the Disney corporation or the recent shifts in the Murdoch empire; the parallels are more than just a coincidence.