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Jesse Armstrong: "Succession"

 As the Emmy Awards approach, I'm preemptively annoyed about "Succession." 


Some writers say that the final hour of a TV series shouldn't carry much weight; it's just one episode. There shouldn't be an obsession with the idea of "sticking the landing." But I think this is ridiculous. The ending is crucial. It's when you lay your cards on the table. A good ending should feel like a culmination; it should be sort of miraculous.


You wouldn't read Raymond Carver's "Cathedral" or Alice Munro's "Labor Day Dinner" if the final paragraphs were really, really bad. You wouldn't say, "Ah, well, we should probably hand this writer several National Book Awards, even if he/she failed to stick the landing." No, these two stories are remembered *because of* their endings. Wonderful pieces of writing become sublime in their final lines.

I had misgivings about the conclusion of "Succession" because I remembered that critics weren't crazy about Season One. We end as we begin. In the first year of the series, some critics said, "I'm not sure what the desired tone is. This feels confusing and unsatisfying." It's hard to avoid "Second Act" problems when you have this kind of opening.

I think it's absurd when people say, "The ambiguity in the final moments of 'Succession' was delicious!" By this logic, it's "delicious" not to know if Kendall attempts suicide, or if Roman's little smirk is a sign of "re-birth." I actually don't think this is a sign of profound writing. I think it's a sign of laziness; the writers haven't committed to any particular kind of ending, because they have failed to do their jobs.

It's also disturbing to me that Rhea Seehorn will lose her Emmy Award to Jennifer Coolidge. I'm already angry about this (though it hasn't happened yet).

Finally, as one viewer has observed, the best drama of this past year was possibly "Happy Valley," which earned nothing from the nominating committee behind the Emmy Awards. I have not finished Season Three, but I'm delighted by the hapless criminal (in this case, the pharmacist Faisal). "Happy Valley" always gives us a criminal who has a shot at evading capture; in Season Two, a nefarious cop was almost able to attribute his crime to a local serial killer. The interesting twist in Season Three is that we are very well-acquainted with the "innocent" man who might take the fall (Rob). We have learned to dislike Rob, and to see how, in other circumstances, he might have destroyed his own life. However, we understand that, by weird twists of fate, Rob is actually not guilty. It's strange and uncomfortable to "hope" for Rob, when we know he is generally a bad man.

Awards shows--as unjust as they are--help to clarify certain thoughts. So at least I can feel partial gratitude toward the Emmys.
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