David Farnor | On 01, Jun 2023

Warning: This contains spoilers for Season 3 of Succession. Read our reviews of the other seasons here.

Succession. Noun: the action or process of inheriting a title, office or property. Also, noun: a number of people or things of a similar kind following one after the other. As Jesse Armstrong’s remarkable saga reaches its bitter finale, the programme leans towards that second definition. Because while the series has always ostensibly been about the inheritance of definitely-not-Murdoch-inspired-company Waystar Royco, it is more than anything a family drama – and the tragedy of a toxic legacy being passed down from one generation to the next.

After three seasons of plotting and manoeuvring, the fourth chapter is above all the story of four children coming to terms with the death of their father. The fact that they’re horrible children and he’s a horrible father is simultaneously not the point and entirely the point – we can relate to them as humans, even if we can never fully relate to their wealth, privilege or their apparent and frequent lack of humanity.

Ever since the very first episode, when Logan (Brian Cox) was rushed to hospital, his mortality has hung over the show – along with the realisation that he would never let go of his empire until he was no longer around to hold on to it with both hands. Season 4’s masterstroke is that it drops Logan’s death as early as Episode 2 – blindsiding us, and the kids, with the sudden loss, and formally beginning the process and business of succession to take us through to a conclusion that’s as personal as it is political.

That Logan’s death occurs on the day of Connor and Willa’s wedding is par for the course for the forgotten eldest child (Alan Ruck), whose stag do the night before is similarly forgotten about by his siblings and ends up being engulfed by an ugly confrontation with their dad at (in an inspired touch) a karaoke bar. No, the kids aren’t all right, and they haven’t been for a long time – but Season 3’s finale didn’t do them many favours, after it turned out that the perfectly named Tom Wambsgans (Matthew Macfadyen) had betrayed Kendall (Jeremy Strong), Shiv (Sarah Snook) and Roman (Kieran Culkin) by telling Logan about their plans to block the sale of the company tech mogul Lukas (Alexander Skarsgård), thus positioning himself as the favourite heir to the throne. As Shiv so astutely observes during one conversation with Lukas, “He’s just a highly interchangeable modular part who will also suck the biggest dick in the room.”

One of the brilliant thing about Jesse Armstrong’s writing is that he allows the characters to know each other as well as we do. When Tom pulls his rug-pull, or Roman makes a decision on ATN news to call the US election in favour of a neo-Nazi, it’s not that the others are necessarily surprised by their relative’s actions, but that they’re shocked that their selfish gut suspicions about them proved to be right. At the same time, they know precisely where to push and how to hurt each other – and are usually prepared to do it.

That web of nastiness, intimacy and honest duplicity has made the Roy kids a joy (and a pain) to watch for several years, and that crescendoes to a heart-wrenching climax in Episode 3, as Logan boards a plan to Stockholm for final negotiations. But mid-flight he collapses with breathing problems. Meanwhile, Roman is carrying out Logan’s instructions to fire Gerry (the formidable J Smith Cameron), an awkward confrontation that leads to a scalding, hurting voicemail from Roman asking his dad why he’s so horrible – and thus giving Roman a guilt complex about his final words to his bullying father.

On board the plane, Tom and long-suffering execs Karl and Frank (the brilliantly slimy David Rasche and Peter Friedman) are trying to work out what to do, between administering CPR, contacting Kendall, Shiv and Roman, and plotting the next steps for the company. Tom, once again proving how sneaky he has learnt to be, leaks the news via Greg (Nicholas Braun, never knowingly unflappable) and starts getting incriminating files destroyed. But it’s when he’s on the phone to the siblings that the emotions really land, from Roman attempting to undo his comments, Kendall acknowledging that he can’t forgive his dad and Shiv iterating her love for him regardless of his betrayal. All of them know that it might be too late anyway and their calls might not be heard, and their collective denial is as moving as their shared trauma, all captured in shaky handheld cameras that blur in and out of focus with hard-hitting clarity.

Season 4 doesn’t give us pause for breath before Episode 3 sees everyone gather for a funeral worthy of a statesman – while protests about the US election result escalate outside. James Crowmell as Logan’s brother, Ewan, is the first to the pulpit and delivers a thundering eulogy that’s full of regret as much as anger. Rowan wants to step up and try to be a grown man worthy of his father’s respect, but crumbles in a display that’s so vulnerable it once again makes Culkin’s strangely good-hearted monster perhaps the most likeable person in the show. Shiv and Kendall, instead, try to find the balance between business-like commendation and familial lamentation – Sarah Snook’s ability to communicate a thousand thoughts and feelings with a single side-eye is unrivalled. Together, it’s a surprisingly rounded snapshot of the man who, in Brian Cox’s hands, has been hilarious and horrific in equal measure.

And so the stage is set for the siblings’ ambitions to finally collide – and there’s a beautifully sad hollow quality to the crown they’re now fighting over, with Roman hiding away with their mother (the darkly funny Harriet Walter) rather than go anywhere near the business. There’s a tease of the three kids actually reconciling in the final stretch – not just through them teasing their mum about her new husband’s “special cheese” – even as both Shiv and Kendall tellingly speak about Roman as a pawn in their own games. A shrewd move from Greg to slip intel on Lukas’ plans to double-cross Shiv to Kendall is the nudge the trio need to unite – and the ensuing kitchen scene is the happiest and most innocent moment ever seen in Succession. Even their clothes, for once, feel natural (a deep dive into the inspired costume design is a whole other conversation).

Naturally, that means only misery can follow. The boardroom squabbles escalate to the point of petulant insults and shouted accusations – and Jeremy Strong’s performance as Kendall, a man so sure of himself that he goes out the other side and becomes unsure all over again, has never been so pathetically arrogant and astonishingly self-destructive. A silent bear hug between him and Roman, which pops open the stitches in Roman’s forehead, is a masterclass in ambiguity, the moment either an intense release of emotion or a sadistic, brutal power play – or probably both at the same time.

This crucible of resentments and taunts erupts in physical blows, which resound all the more when these characters are surrounded by glass walls that render everything transparent. But it’s Tom who ends up once again on top – if on top is what you can call being a “pain sponge” for Lukas’ boss. And so the mystery of Succession becomes an aptly empty one: the heir to Logan’s throne was none of them after all.

It’s a perfectly feel-bad resolution to a flawless tragedy, with the rare bright spot being that it shines a spotlight on Matthew Macfadyen’s still-unrecognisable tour de force as Tom, a spineless suit of a human as goofy as he is greedy – the kind of person who needs a Greg to break to make himself feel good about his own mediocre omelettes. He knows why Lukas has picked him, just as he knows that Shiv taking his hand in the show’s final shot is less an act of love and more an act of hating the idea of failing a test. As Kendall stares out at the Hudson river and Roman sits alone in a bar, both perhaps back where they started, it’s a depressing, realistic conclusion that serves as a damning portrait of the state of the world today – and the people shaped by power to continue doing the same things over and over again.

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