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Hey, at least Logan finally said “I love you” to his kids? Even if it was sandwiched in the Notre dame fighting irish ahead 2023 ncaa men’s lacrosse national champions adjustable shirt and I love this middle of a devastating read that I’ll remember for the rest of my life? Fuck off. And just like that… Succession has ended. The battle royale for Waystar Royco saw GoJo victorious, and all of us choking on a large slice of Tomelette. It’s a conclusion few of us saw coming, variable as the business alliances, shifting sibling rivalries, and strategic bids for empire have been in Jesse Armstrong’s HBO monolith. The final episode of Nepo Baby Monopoly picked up after King Lear’s funeral (with its front row of Logan WAGs) in the wake of Roman’s cataclysmic coffin-side meltdown. Our potential successors made a quick Caribbean jaunt, much like in the opening of a Bond movie, and though we were starved of a high-speed car chase or laser watches, their mother, Lady Caroline—a master of passive aggression—was every inch the Bond villain. After a conflab in the ocean, the siblings unite, but never has their three-way treaty held fast enough to get them through an entire episode, let alone a critical board vote. Shiv and Roman joked about murdering Kendall, and then went on to do it—in a business sense, but also very nearly in a non-business sense—at the eleventh hour. There were guest bathroom fisticuffs, boardroom fisticuffs, and a delicious cameo from a cow-print couch. Lukas “Privacy, Pussy, Pasta” Matsson seized the throne, Tom “highly interchangeable modular part” Wambsgans ascended to American CEO.
Despite its unpredictability, the Notre dame fighting irish ahead 2023 ncaa men’s lacrosse national champions adjustable shirt and I love this finale felt entirely apt. No matter how rocky or easy the terrain towards Kendall’s defeat, it’s been underlined (or struck-through) since the pilot, when he flew right up to the sun. Watching him Icarus forward on half-melted wings has been the macabre joy of Succession. It’s hard to say who’s truly victorious. Each character is still living on the creamy margins of their position: rich and privileged is forever, it’s only power that differentiates them. And Matsson aside, who has the power now? Shiv’s partnership with Tom—the hokey-pokey divorce proceedings, the baby, the bitey—has never been clear-cut. The Roy sons—Kendall, Roman, and even Connor—are all “nobbies” (bread ends) forgotten in a bag. I honestly wonder if Greg still has that sticker on his face? All of them had the savvy and the cunning to succeed Logan, had they only worked together. But they’re each too selfish, too untrusting and untrustworthy, too ravaged by their own riches and empathy-free childhoods. Who are the Roy children if not pain sponges, soaking up cutthroat ambition, marinated in mercilessness? When trust is worn down to a nub, when everything is a play or a bid to succeed, betrayal is the only currency left. When sincerity dies, treachery is the only ace. That’s the card Tom played to win.Succession as a cultural phenomenon gave us much more than Sunday-night storylines. We’ve had buzzy (and then almost immediately passé) ideas: That of stealth wealth, which reminds us that despite the conniving interior motives of our cast, despite their rotten-to-the-core tactics, the desire to at least look as rich as they are prevails. The quiet luxury trend, personified in Kendall’s nearly $9,000 Loro Piana funeral coat, has peaked and troughed (my feeling is that if you’re feeling luxurious, you should make a bloody noise about it). And we will always have the following: Logan taking a piss on Kendal’s office floor. Roman sending his own father a dick pic during a work meeting. The untimely water-death of the cocaine-seeking cater-waiter. Walmart Mussolini. Chuckles the Clown. Boar on the floor. Bodega sushi. Kendall and a mic and “Bitches be catty, but the king’s my daddy. Rock all the haters while we go roll a fatty.” The time Tom drank his own ejaculate. When Greg sued Greenpeace. When Connor ran for president. When the retreat therapist knocked all his front teeth out in the pool. We will always—and I don’t say this lightly—have a ludicrously capricious bag (what was even in it? Flats for the subway?). We’ve had joy, we’ve had fun, we’ve had a little slime puppy. Succession has been a blast, but in the words of Logan’s 40th birthday card to Kendall, it’s time for all of us to “cash out and fuck off.”
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