#76 The Full Baskin-Robbins
19/10/21 20:19
There’s a line in Hamilton that kept going round my head when we settled down to watch TV on Monday night. I wasn’t drinking because that’s my fasting day, but felt pleasantly buzzy anyway; candles and fairy lights lit, the living room made ready for our viewing. And so, the line from my favourite musical clashed with the swooping, hauntingly tinny theme to my favourite TV show: ‘Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now...’ I truly felt that, because we were about to embark on the third season of Succession, the greatest show on earth. How lucky we are to be around to appreciate its genius, I thought, my eyes on stalks as I scrutinised the opening titles for tiny tweaks.
Cover your ears against the clang of an almighty name-drop: Harriet Walter provided the narration for my audio-book. It was all I could do not to kneel before her and give heartfelt thanks: Lady Caroline Collingwood, speaking my words! That scene between her and Kendall in the second series – you must remember it – where he’s desperate to unburden himself, and she won’t be burdened… it's a chilling masterclass in emotional absence. Her prickly distraction, leaving bullets in the game she serves; the petty jostling, bargaining for Christmases with children she has no interest in, purely to aggravate her ex-husband – it’s all beautifully, excruciatingly done, revealing so much about this mangled, savage family and what it stands for.
I cannot overstate my love for this show. Along with garlic bread and poodle crosses, it is one of my chief passions in life and, televisually, I exist in a kind of stasis in between seasons, just waiting for the moment I can dive back into the Roys’ regal, wretched world. The second series ended on such a potent climax – Kendall’s brutal volte-face, Logan’s Gioconda smile – that it felt like a hard act to follow, but Season 3 exploded out of the blocks in an episode full of dazzling aggression and confined spaces.
It started with helicopters, unfurling their landing gear like claws. ‘BUDGET,’ my husband intoned. Succession gives you mouth-watering glimpses of the gilt-edged sphere of the super-rich – a sweeping backdrop, a drone over a yacht, a dusty jeroboam. But these are peep shows – the characters appear to have little interest in the trappings of wealth, because they are too busy trapped in their power struggles, working out the next play. To stay rich, you can never enjoy your riches.
Most of the episode takes place in awkward, squashed interiors – cars, airport transfers, private jets, Rava’s appropriated apartment. Everyone craning to get a look-in, hanging back, perched on arms of chairs, phones jammed into shoulders. Conversations not had, but relayed by go-betweens, texts tentatively reported. My favourite was the exchange between Kendall and his father, via Kendall’s assistant: ‘He says he’s going to grind your bones to make his bread.’ *Pause* ‘Tell him that I’m gonna run up off the fucking beanstalk.’ Kendall is Jack to Logan’s giant, David to his Goliath. There was a note of appreciation in Logan’s terrifying laugh.
Why am I so fixated on these terrible, terrible people? These disgustingly rich, ruthless, irredeemable gargoyles? I think it’s because, bizarrely, they offer an optimistic world view. If you can find a glimmer of humanity in them, then there’s hope for all of us. And occasionally, fleetingly, there’s a tiny particle of goodness there. A moment of fondness, a fatherly ruffle of the hair, sibling banter, a hand held out. In those cracks, there’s light, and that’s what keeps me going. That, and the jokes: ‘NO COMMENT, NO COMMENT!’ ‘You don’t have to say that, Greg, just don’t comment.’
At the beginning of the episode, I was firmly on Team Kendall, even after last season’s ‘L to the OG’ rap. And also him killing that waiter. I felt like there was something pure still there, a last shard of soul that hadn’t been turned into a horcrux. By the end of the episode, I’d jumped ship, thanks to his mortifying monologue to the public relations gurus, supposedly there to take his cultural temperature and heat it up. (BTW – I thoroughly enjoyed Ichabod Crane, aka Cousin Greg, trying and failing to do this job, making the discovery that the internet is big.) Having crashed his estranged wife’s apartment in the crassest way, Kendall approaches the meeting like a coke-addled ad exec, riding roughshod over their pitch and spouting ludicrous PR-speak. He’s just not very good at this. He might have the balls, but he doesn’t have the brains.
Roman might have the brains, but he doesn’t have the balls. His measly equivocation on the phone to his father severed his own place in the line of succession. I’m interested in why Roman’s hair is so bad – greasy and unkempt. Surely he could employ someone to take care of it for him? The fact that he doesn’t bother tells me something, but I’m not sure what. Does it indicate lingering trauma from the hostage situation he found himself in during the last series? Is he going for some sort of Byronic dishevelment in the hope of seducing Gerri, the only real mother he’s ever known? Maybe he hopes she’ll smooth it from his brow.
Talking of bad looks, let’s consider Shiv. I’m FASCINATED by her clothes, which are awful. In this episode, she stalks around wearing really unflattering trousers and an equally puzzling vest top, with her signature Thatcher-jacket. It’s a shame that such a striking woman would dress so badly, but again, I’m interested in what it tells me about her. I’ve always felt Shiv loves herself the best out of all the Roy offspring – even Connor – and I think her lofty sartorial disregard implies a certain self-regard. She knows best. I like it – I can’t remember anything about anyone else’s outfits in that episode, but I remember hers. It makes her memorable, like wearing flip flops for a job interview. A job interview she’s now fucked up, given that she couldn’t persuade hotshot lawyer Lisa Arthur to act for her father. But I have a theory here that Shiv’s playing a deep game. She seemed relatively unsurprised when Lisa said no, and now Logan’s rescinded his CEO offer and handed it to Gerri instead, we’re to assume Shiv is changing lanes, heading to Kendall’s war rooms. But what if she’s just going to jinx it from the inside, sending Lisa scuttling over to Logan? Job done. Is she that cunning though? Has she got the brains and the balls?
And so to Connor, a man with neither brains nor balls. Having abandoned any notions of running for President, he’s back to funding his hooker-turned-actress girlfriend’s thespian ambitions, planning on rebranding her shit play as a ‘hate-watch’, which actually sounded quite canny. I find them weirdly touching as a couple – she’s so keen to leave, but still there, tied to his money (was it $100 million he scored from Logan in the last series?). Despite her reluctance and his enthusiasm, their relationship has a degree of honesty, their plays (even the crap off-Broadway ones) more upfront. Connor’s a simple soul – irritating, sure, but he can be quite sweet. Remember the sour-dough starter he gave his father at the beginning of Season 1? Never mind ice cream, there’s possibly a whole 31-flavours-of-fuck thesis to be written on bread here. Bread as money, of course, but also grinding bones, weevils in the flour sack, breaking bread, and the fact that to make it, you need microbial… succession.
Before I ferment myself into a fit, I just want to reiterate that I LOVE LOVE LOVE this show and its assault on my senses. In conclusion, right now I’m Team Gerri ‘just a very straightforward person’ Kellman. At least, until the next episode, which I can’t wait for. Go FULL FUCKING BEAST on me!
Cover your ears against the clang of an almighty name-drop: Harriet Walter provided the narration for my audio-book. It was all I could do not to kneel before her and give heartfelt thanks: Lady Caroline Collingwood, speaking my words! That scene between her and Kendall in the second series – you must remember it – where he’s desperate to unburden himself, and she won’t be burdened… it's a chilling masterclass in emotional absence. Her prickly distraction, leaving bullets in the game she serves; the petty jostling, bargaining for Christmases with children she has no interest in, purely to aggravate her ex-husband – it’s all beautifully, excruciatingly done, revealing so much about this mangled, savage family and what it stands for.
I cannot overstate my love for this show. Along with garlic bread and poodle crosses, it is one of my chief passions in life and, televisually, I exist in a kind of stasis in between seasons, just waiting for the moment I can dive back into the Roys’ regal, wretched world. The second series ended on such a potent climax – Kendall’s brutal volte-face, Logan’s Gioconda smile – that it felt like a hard act to follow, but Season 3 exploded out of the blocks in an episode full of dazzling aggression and confined spaces.
It started with helicopters, unfurling their landing gear like claws. ‘BUDGET,’ my husband intoned. Succession gives you mouth-watering glimpses of the gilt-edged sphere of the super-rich – a sweeping backdrop, a drone over a yacht, a dusty jeroboam. But these are peep shows – the characters appear to have little interest in the trappings of wealth, because they are too busy trapped in their power struggles, working out the next play. To stay rich, you can never enjoy your riches.
Most of the episode takes place in awkward, squashed interiors – cars, airport transfers, private jets, Rava’s appropriated apartment. Everyone craning to get a look-in, hanging back, perched on arms of chairs, phones jammed into shoulders. Conversations not had, but relayed by go-betweens, texts tentatively reported. My favourite was the exchange between Kendall and his father, via Kendall’s assistant: ‘He says he’s going to grind your bones to make his bread.’ *Pause* ‘Tell him that I’m gonna run up off the fucking beanstalk.’ Kendall is Jack to Logan’s giant, David to his Goliath. There was a note of appreciation in Logan’s terrifying laugh.
Why am I so fixated on these terrible, terrible people? These disgustingly rich, ruthless, irredeemable gargoyles? I think it’s because, bizarrely, they offer an optimistic world view. If you can find a glimmer of humanity in them, then there’s hope for all of us. And occasionally, fleetingly, there’s a tiny particle of goodness there. A moment of fondness, a fatherly ruffle of the hair, sibling banter, a hand held out. In those cracks, there’s light, and that’s what keeps me going. That, and the jokes: ‘NO COMMENT, NO COMMENT!’ ‘You don’t have to say that, Greg, just don’t comment.’
At the beginning of the episode, I was firmly on Team Kendall, even after last season’s ‘L to the OG’ rap. And also him killing that waiter. I felt like there was something pure still there, a last shard of soul that hadn’t been turned into a horcrux. By the end of the episode, I’d jumped ship, thanks to his mortifying monologue to the public relations gurus, supposedly there to take his cultural temperature and heat it up. (BTW – I thoroughly enjoyed Ichabod Crane, aka Cousin Greg, trying and failing to do this job, making the discovery that the internet is big.) Having crashed his estranged wife’s apartment in the crassest way, Kendall approaches the meeting like a coke-addled ad exec, riding roughshod over their pitch and spouting ludicrous PR-speak. He’s just not very good at this. He might have the balls, but he doesn’t have the brains.
Roman might have the brains, but he doesn’t have the balls. His measly equivocation on the phone to his father severed his own place in the line of succession. I’m interested in why Roman’s hair is so bad – greasy and unkempt. Surely he could employ someone to take care of it for him? The fact that he doesn’t bother tells me something, but I’m not sure what. Does it indicate lingering trauma from the hostage situation he found himself in during the last series? Is he going for some sort of Byronic dishevelment in the hope of seducing Gerri, the only real mother he’s ever known? Maybe he hopes she’ll smooth it from his brow.
Talking of bad looks, let’s consider Shiv. I’m FASCINATED by her clothes, which are awful. In this episode, she stalks around wearing really unflattering trousers and an equally puzzling vest top, with her signature Thatcher-jacket. It’s a shame that such a striking woman would dress so badly, but again, I’m interested in what it tells me about her. I’ve always felt Shiv loves herself the best out of all the Roy offspring – even Connor – and I think her lofty sartorial disregard implies a certain self-regard. She knows best. I like it – I can’t remember anything about anyone else’s outfits in that episode, but I remember hers. It makes her memorable, like wearing flip flops for a job interview. A job interview she’s now fucked up, given that she couldn’t persuade hotshot lawyer Lisa Arthur to act for her father. But I have a theory here that Shiv’s playing a deep game. She seemed relatively unsurprised when Lisa said no, and now Logan’s rescinded his CEO offer and handed it to Gerri instead, we’re to assume Shiv is changing lanes, heading to Kendall’s war rooms. But what if she’s just going to jinx it from the inside, sending Lisa scuttling over to Logan? Job done. Is she that cunning though? Has she got the brains and the balls?
And so to Connor, a man with neither brains nor balls. Having abandoned any notions of running for President, he’s back to funding his hooker-turned-actress girlfriend’s thespian ambitions, planning on rebranding her shit play as a ‘hate-watch’, which actually sounded quite canny. I find them weirdly touching as a couple – she’s so keen to leave, but still there, tied to his money (was it $100 million he scored from Logan in the last series?). Despite her reluctance and his enthusiasm, their relationship has a degree of honesty, their plays (even the crap off-Broadway ones) more upfront. Connor’s a simple soul – irritating, sure, but he can be quite sweet. Remember the sour-dough starter he gave his father at the beginning of Season 1? Never mind ice cream, there’s possibly a whole 31-flavours-of-fuck thesis to be written on bread here. Bread as money, of course, but also grinding bones, weevils in the flour sack, breaking bread, and the fact that to make it, you need microbial… succession.
Before I ferment myself into a fit, I just want to reiterate that I LOVE LOVE LOVE this show and its assault on my senses. In conclusion, right now I’m Team Gerri ‘just a very straightforward person’ Kellman. At least, until the next episode, which I can’t wait for. Go FULL FUCKING BEAST on me!
- Succession, series 3, 9 episodes, NowTV
