Succession

Succession premiered on HBO in June 2018 with a setup that could have easily produced disposable soap opera. A billionaire media mogul’s health scare triggers a power struggle among his four adult children, none of whom are equipped to run the family empire. Over four seasons and 39 episodes, creator Jesse Armstrong turned that premise into one of the sharpest, funniest, and most devastating shows of the last decade.

Critical response was extraordinary. Succession collected 19 Primetime Emmy Awards, including three consecutive wins for Outstanding Drama Series, and its final season swept the major acting categories. Community discussion reflects a similar consensus: this is a show where the writing, performances, and tonal control operated at a level few series reach. It earned comparisons to the greatest dramas in HBO’s history, and most of those comparisons hold up.

What keeps the conversation honest is that Succession inspires strong pushback from a vocal minority. The characters are terrible people, and the show makes no effort to redeem them. Some viewers see that as the point. Others find it a dealbreaker.

Succession’s Performances Command Attention

An ensemble cast this deep would be remarkable on any show, but on Succession every major performance could stand as career-defining work. Brian Cox commands every scene as the patriarch Logan Roy, projecting menace and vulnerability in equal measure. Jeremy Strong brings an almost painful intensity to Kendall, Logan’s second-eldest child perpetually reaching for a crown he can’t quite hold. Kieran Culkin’s Roman is a live wire of defensive humor masking deep damage, and Sarah Snook charts Shiv’s arc from political operator to increasingly desperate power player with precision. Matthew Macfadyen, as the perpetually humiliated son-in-law Tom, became one of the show’s most compelling figures by finding comedy and tragedy in every moment of social climbing. Culkin, Snook, and Macfadyen all won Emmys for their final season work, and none of those awards felt like a stretch.

Armstrong’s writing team produced scripts that reward attention. Succession uses subtext more effectively than almost any show in recent memory. What characters don’t say matters as much as what they do, and the show trusts its audience to read body language, loaded silences, and conversational misdirection without spelling things out. The dialogue sounds natural while carrying layers of meaning. Insults land with surgical accuracy. Business jargon becomes a weapon. Casual cruelty gets delivered with the same tone as a dinner order.

Nicholas Britell’s score deserves its own recognition. The main theme, with its mix of classical strings and hip-hop beats, became one of the most recognizable pieces of television music in the 21st century. Throughout the series, Britell’s compositions matched the show’s tonal balancing act perfectly, shifting from grandiose and pompous to quietly devastating without missing a step.

The show’s ability to function simultaneously as comedy and tragedy sets it apart. Succession is frequently hilarious, and not in spite of its darkness but because of it. The humor emerges from characters who are too rich, too insulated, and too emotionally stunted to recognize how absurd their behavior looks from the outside. Watching billionaires fumble through basic human interactions while fighting over corporate control produces comedy that cuts deeper than most prestige dramas aim for.

Succession’s Character Issues Problem

Every major character in Succession is, to put it plainly, a bad person. The show never flinches from this, and it never offers a moral anchor for viewers who need someone to root for. That creative choice is central to what makes the show work, but it also creates a real barrier. Extended time with people who are selfish, manipulative, and cruel by default can feel exhausting, and some viewers find it impossible to invest emotionally in a cast this consistently repellent.

Early on, the first season takes time to find its footing. Initial episodes introduce the world and its characters at a pace that can feel sluggish, and the show’s distinctive rhythm of speech takes adjustment. The Roy children’s dynamics don’t fully crystallize until the back half of the season, and at least a few early plot threads, including a tech rival who gets introduced prominently and then largely disappears, feel like the show was still figuring out what it wanted to be. Patience pays off, but Succession asks for more of it upfront than some viewers are willing to give.

Season 3 is the weakest stretch of the series. Pacing slows noticeably, certain storylines seem to stall without clear direction, and the middle episodes lack the tension that defines the show’s best work. Its final two episodes rescue it with a pair of devastating conclusions, but the road to get there tested even dedicated fans. It remains better than most television, but by Succession’s own standards, it represents a dip.

Some viewers also note that certain plot developments across the series build to what feels like significant consequences, only to resolve without much lasting impact. Power shifts, legal threats, and corporate crises occasionally fizzle rather than detonate. When the show does commit to consequences, the results are extraordinary, which makes the moments where it pulls back feel more noticeable.

The Game Nobody Wins

At its core, the fight for control of Waystar RoyCo was never really about the company. It was about earning the approval of a father who was constitutionally incapable of giving it. Every sibling’s scheme, betrayal, and power play circles back to this one unresolvable problem: Logan Roy built an empire by being the kind of person who could never let his children have it.

That dynamic gives the show its emotional core. Underneath all the corporate maneuvering and savage wit, Succession is about the damage that unchecked power and absent parenting inflict across generations. Logan’s children are trapped in patterns established long before the series begins, and watching them try and fail to break free provides the show’s most affecting moments. By the finale, this became explicit in a way that felt earned rather than heavy-handed, and it’s the reason the ending has stuck with audiences long after the final credits.

Should You Watch Succession?

Anyone who values sharp writing, layered performances, and television that trusts its audience owes this show their attention. Fans of corporate power dynamics, family dysfunction, and dark comedy will find a show operating at peak form. If you liked the moral complexity and institutional focus of the best HBO dramas, this belongs in that conversation.

Skip it if you need likable characters or hopeful arcs. Succession offers neither. The show is populated entirely by people whose worst impulses drive their every decision, and it has no interest in redemption stories. If spending four seasons with deeply unpleasant billionaires sounds like a chore rather than a fascinating character study, this one probably isn’t for you.

The Verdict on Succession

Succession spent four seasons dissecting a family of media billionaires tearing each other apart over a company none of them truly deserved, and it did so with a level of craft that put it among the best television of its era. The writing is razor-sharp, the performances are extraordinary across the board, and the show’s ability to make you laugh and wince in the same scene is something very few series have pulled off this consistently. Season 3 loses some momentum, and the early episodes ask you to spend time with people you may actively dislike before the show’s grip fully tightens. Those are real flaws in an otherwise exceptional piece of work, one that stuck the landing and left a permanent mark on prestige television.