It is no coincidence that ‘Succession’ arrives at a time when disgustingly rich men brazenly trash lives

In a world awash with rich blowhards with a ludicrous sense of entitlement, the comedy-drama is just a whisker away from reality, writes Fiona Sturges

Jeremy Strong and Brian Cox in the HBO series (HBO)

One of the dafter demands made of today’s TV drama is that its characters should be relatable. While there is value in writers and directors looking to tell stories that might feasibly chime with audiences, to insist we should each feel a kinship with those on our screens is to deprive ourselves of TV’s most deliciously repellent characters.

And few shows are as full of those as Succession, the comedy-drama about the billionaire Roy family, headed by fearsome patriarch Logan (Brian Cox), who preside over a vast media empire taking in news channels, film, local TV and theme parks. The protagonists are despicable – self-interested, emotionally stunted, and grossly entitled. Only a psychopath could relate to them. And yet they are mesmerising. To spend time with them is to marvel at the lengths they will go to in order to outmanoeuvre one another, and to thrill at lines such as: “Politics is what comes out of the asshole. Wouldn’t you rather be upfront and feeding the horse?”

Right now, we don’t need our noses gratuitously rubbed in ruthless capitalism, which is why Succession, with its scorching script and visceral performances, takes a somewhat different tack. The wealth on display, seen in the private helicopters, the gleaming townhouses and gargantuan country piles, is indisputably grotesque, but the series is less about the accumulation of money than the mindset that comes with extreme privilege. The Roys can afford to take wealth for granted, though as the sibling rivalry shows, power is another matter. There is no trust or camaraderie between the Roy children – not when their father’s favour, and a prime position within the company, is at stake.

We are now midway through the second season, and Kendall (Jeremy Strong), the eldest son, is a husk undone by a failed company coup and an accidental death – humiliation and self-loathing leaks from his every pore. His sister Shiv (Sarah Snook), as sharp of mind as of elbow, is, unbeknownst to her brothers, gently easing herself into the top job – that is, if Logan’s murmurings about stepping aside are to be believed (they rarely are). Meanwhile, the youngest brother Roman (Kieran Culkin), a diminutive Dr Evil with a bottomless supply of snark, seesaws between promotion and demotion, all the while desperate to earn daddy’s respect.

While a cleverly observed TV series needn’t deliver characters that we’d happily take home to meet our parents, it’s always a plus when it tells us something about the age in which we live. It is no coincidence that Succession has been created at a time when our political overlords are, broadly speaking, a bunch of self-serving, swivel-eyed dim bulbs born into privilege and clueless about the lives of ordinary citizens, and in which disgustingly rich men, from Weinstein to Epstein, brazenly trash lives.

Succession’s abuses of power are so commonplace as to be barely worth remarking on. Potentially damaging interactions with the public are spirited away with an NDA and a wad of cash. One-upmanship, backstabbing and double-crossing are routine; personal ambition comes before the public good; lying is the default position; cruelty is rewarded; incompetence is the norm. Ring any bells? For all its demented humour, Succession’s gilded world is just a whisker away from our own.

In the latest episode, Roman, a man you’d scarcely trust with a tin opener let alone an entire media conglomeration, has been sent on a management training course in order to mix with “normals” who at least know the price of milk. Asked what everyday people like to do in their downtime, he replies: “How the f*** should I know what everyday people like? I like booking out a suite at the chateau and snorting purified sertraline off women that don’t know they’re prostitutes yet.” If you’d asked the same question of the members of the Bullingdon Club circa 1992, chances are the reply wouldn’t be so different.

What makes all this so brilliantly watchable isn’t merely to see lives lived in untold wealth. It’s to look behind the facade and see the Roys’ desperate jockeying for position. It’s to understand the quiet agonies of powerful men.

Back in the real world, our governments are awash with rich blowhards whose sense of entitlement is as ludicrous as it is unshakeable, and whose survival in a cut-throat arena can be attributed to having no sense of shame. It’s oddly comforting to imagine that they too might be suffering behind the scenes. As with the protagonists of Succession, it remains to be seen whether comeuppance will one day be theirs.