June 18, 2023

Re: SUCCESSION, Popular Media, and Jacques Ellul

I’m a regular listener of The Watch—one of the many podcasts in The Ringer Podcast Network. The Watch is hosted by Philadelphia natives Andy Greenwald and Chris Ryan, and it tends to center on lengthy analyses of and debates about popular culture. Greenwald and Ryan have certain proclivities, ranging from nostalgia about Philly sports history to inside jokes about their favorite movie scenes, but perhaps their most recurrent predilection is a love for original TV series released by HBO. They have now covered just about every major HBO release over the last few years, including (but not limited to) Barry (2018-23), The White Lotus (2021-), House of the Dragon (2022-), and The Last of Us (2023-). Yet, at the same time, it has become clear that they view HBO’s Succession (2018-23) as the best show on television today. Whether it’s praise for actors Jeremy Strong, Matthew Macfadyen, and Sarah Snook, or awe at the ironic, often acerbic vision of showrunner Jesse Armstrong, Greenwald and Ryan tend to speak of Succession in tones of reverence. It’s more than a good show, they insist. It’s as good as television can be.

There is some merit to this conclusion. Succession is an exceedingly polished series, from the classical score of Nicholas Britell to the handheld, “voyeuristic” cinematography of DPs such as Andrij Parekh and Patrick Capone. One need not be invested in the shows content in order to admire its aesthetic:

Nevertheless, it has irked me that my own assessment of Succession diverges, perhaps even wildly, from that of The Watch. Whereas Greenwald and Ryan find Succession deeply compelling, I view it as an engaging yet ultimately superficial exploration of its subject matter. Hence, with the show’s much-ballyhooed finale airing in May 2023, it’s as good a time as any to ponder its meaning and legacy.

As is well known, Succession centers on Logan Roy (Brian Cox), aging CEO of the media conglomerate Waystar RoyCo. Loosely based on Australian media mogul Rupert Murdoch (1931-), Chairman of Fox Corporation, Logan is a brash, cutthroat, and often brilliant leader and investor. Moreover, through his global news network ATN, Logan is capable of influencing economic and political ecosystems worldwide. Surrounding Logan are a host of relatives, rivals, and flunkeys, all of dubious loyalty and judgment. The most important of these relations are Logan’s three children from his second marriage. The oldest is Kendall (Jeremy Strong), who, despite a history of drug addiction, yearns to one day succeed his father as head of Waystar RoyCo. Next is middle child Roman (Kieran Culkin), whose biting ripostes and sexual obsessions seem to belie his own designs on Logan’s chair. Third is Siobhan (Sarah Snook), often called “Shiv,” whose fierce intelligence makes her a natural candidate to take over Waystar RoyCo, though her left-leaning politics clash with Logan’s vision for ATN. At various junctures in Succession’s four seasons, Logan appears to favor one or another of these three children to succeed him. However, late in season three, he considers pivoting to an external option—Swedish tech guru Lukas Matsson (Alexander Skarsgård), who, as CEO of an online streaming platform named GoJo, is hoping to acquire Waystar RoyCo. The presence of Matsson adds a new, more riveting dimension to Succession’s drama: Logan’s associates form various alliances, hoping to find themselves on the winning side of the merger. Yet, as Logan’s health continues to decline, his children grow increasingly uncomfortable with the possibility of losing the “family business.” They vow to fight Matsson, but one question lingers: will they destroy each other in the process?

This synopsis, while abbreviated, already indicates Succession’s indebtedness to William Shakespeare’s play King Lear, which was first performed during Christmastide 1606. It is, then, a very old story—one that has been appropriated by other recent TV series, including Game of Thrones (2011-19) and Empire (2015-20). Thus the plaudits for Succession have more to do with execution than originality. Not only is it a well-produced, well-written show, but it takes the basic premise of King Lear and uses it to satirize rightwing media outlets such as the Fox News Channel. Indeed, one commentator has suggested that Succession’s final season tracks nicely with the Dominion v. Fox lawsuit that, in April 2023, came to a head with a record-breaking financial settlement. Moreover, the third season of Succession introduces Jeryd Mencken—a demagogic politician and Roy-family ally who is clearly patterned after the incendiary former American president Donald J. Trump (1946-). In these (and other) ways, Succession makes obvious claims to cultural relevance. Yes, it wants to be a family drama, exploring questions of personal fidelity and internecine conflict. But the show’s links to contemporary media and politics imbue it with particular élan. As David Klion writes:

The Roys are…a stand in for a wider ruling class whose existence wasn’t exactly a secret prior to 2016, but which was never taken seriously enough. Only after a few years of absorbing the shock of Trump’s victory can we fully engage with the kind of people who, we now understand, are really in charge.

Though a few years old, Klion’s reading of the show was all but validated in the eighth episode of Succession’s final season. Ironically dubbed “America Decides,” this episode dramatizes the kind of election-night controversy that has become standard in American life over the last few decades. With Mencken locked in a tight race with Democratic nominee Daniel Jiménez, the leaders of ATN are faced with a difficult question: should they forecast a Mencken victory in Wisconsin, despite the fact that a voting center in Milwaukee has been firebombed, destroying thousands of ballots in the process? The Roy brass understands the ramifications of this decision. A win in Wisconsin would tip the election in favor of the increasingly ominous Mencken. For that reason, Kendall and Shiv are hesitant, though others contend that Mencken is a man with which the family can do business. Needless to say, it is this logic that ultimately prevails, and the episode ends with Mencken claiming victory in the general election:

“America Decides” tries to add gravitas to Succession’s predilection for indirection and sarcasm, ostensibly revealing, as Klion suggests, that the show is ultimately a send-up of fascistic politicians and venal billionaries. However, I would argue that this episode exposes something else about Succession—that for all of its style and wit, it lacks philosophical sophistication. This point could be made in a variety of ways. To cite one obvious example, every single person associated with the Roys is selfish, stupid, or both—a reductionism bordering on absurdity. Yet, this is a fairly minor gripe on the whole, making Succession no better or worse than most MCU movies.

My bigger complaint has to do with Succession’s reputation. Commentators have insisted that the show is a truth-teller, exposing the dark underbelly of American media and politics. But this is an exaggeration. Despite a few well-observed points, Succession largely fails on this front. The show’s first, and most glaring, problem is that it does not grasp the difference between form and content in media. As Succession has it, the Roys are bad people, and thus they use popular media badly—a point encapsulated by ATN’s endorsement of Mencken. It’s also implied that, if the Roys were good, they would’ve supported the more winsome (though barely developed) Jiménez. It is content, then, that Succession is critiquing; the vehicle (or form) of that content is not questioned. This point is also evident in Succession’s treatment of characters such as the trollish Matsson or Nan Pierce (Cherry Jones), head of center-left news conglomerate Pierce Global Media (PGM). Both Matsson and Pierce are idiosyncratically flawed and ruthless; yet, they are not portrayed as threatening the public good—a discrepancy that insinuates that propaganda only comes from one side of the political spectrum. This is, of course, a historical falsehood: the Soviet Union, no less than Nazi Germany, employed propaganda. The same is true of Western states as well, including the United States. Hence, to the extent that media is a tool, it can be abused by people of all stripes.

But what does this reality say about popular media as such? This is the essential question. In his 1962 book Propagandes, later published in English as Propaganda: The Formation of Men’s Attitudes (1965), French theorist Jacques Ellul (1912-94) argues that propaganda needs to be understood as a phenomenon inextricable from modern society and technology, rather than as something utilized by a few bad actors. Indeed, for Ellul, propaganda runs far deeper than, say, made-up stories about a nation’s military activity. Yes, this sort of propaganda does exist—usually under the guise of what Ellul calls “agitation propaganda”—but it’s only the tip of the iceberg. More pervasive and insidious is “integration propaganda,” which seeks to instantiate certain attitudes and to conform people to desired patterns of thought and action. Education plays a key role in “integration propaganda,” but so does the mass media. In fact, both work together to convince people—particularly those who are well educated—that societal assimilation is a good thing, thereby imbuing their lives with meaning and worth. Why is this a problem? According to Ellul, the trouble runs in two directions. On the side of the propagandist, it is a form of coercion, exhibiting a desire to manipulate others. On the side of the propagandee, it is a form of surrender—an exchange of freedom in favor of placation. No one can escape the consequences of propaganda. It is not something that can be avoided if one watches the “right” news channels or follows the “true” Twitter accounts. This is because, as Ellul puts it, "propaganda is…the effect of a technological society,” not the “political weapon of a regime.” Now matter who’s in charge, it is propaganda that persuades “man to submit with good grace,” “convinced of the excellence of what he is forced to do.”

On this reading, then, the problems of contemporary society cannot be reduced to a single media corporation, much less to a single family. For Ellul, it is crucial that people accept this larger, systemic reality; they must be roused “to defend themselves by making them aware of their frailty and their vulnerability.” Even media that claim to champion democracy—as, indeed, Succession ultimately does—pose a danger. As Ellul concludes:

The means employed to spread democratic ideas make the citizen, psychologically, a totalitarian man. The only difference between him and a Nazi is that he is a “totalitarian man with democratic convictions,” but those convictions do not change his behavior in the least. Such contradiction is in no way felt by the individual for whom democracy has become a myth and a set of democratic imperatives, merely stimuli that activate conditioned reflexes. The word democracy, having become a simple incitation, no longer has anything to do with democratic behavior. And the citizen can repeat indefinitely “the sacred formulas of democracy” while acting like a storm trooper.

If this comment is right—and, like much of Ellul’s work, it is bound to provoke debate—then a show such as Succession actually countervails its own agenda. In spite (or because) of its aesthetic sheen and cutting wordplay, Succession propagates the myth that a handful of greedy, unscrupulous tycoons are ruining Western culture. The truth of the matter, however, may be far more subtle, so much so that, in the end, Succession becomes what it hates.