Watching rich people do terrible things is a longstanding passion of the public. It’s why we can’t get enough of Succession and its family of grotesques. We can track back our obsession four decades, to the corporate cruelty and conspicuous consumption of Dynasty and Dallas. But the Eighties were different. Today’s tantalising depiction of the super-rich has better characterisation, considerably less shonky sets and some breathtakingly abusive dialogue.
When the show was first broadcast in 2018, much of the buzz came from the question: but who is it really about? To some, the fracious backstabbing children lining up to take control of a vast media megacorp were an obvious analogue for the Murdoch empire. Others saw the Trumps. There were shades of the Redstone family (owners of the private company behind CBS and Viacom).
But as director Adam McKay has said, if the show actually followed the real lives of the super-rich, audiences would reject it as implausible: “If you did the story of the Koch brothers being raised by a Nazi nanny who then went back to support Adolf Hitler, you would just never believe that in a show. With Kushner, didn’t his father hire an escort to sleep with his brother-in-law? And then send the tape to the sister?”
Such baroque outrages are more the stuff of music mogul saga Empire, or private school schemefest Gossip Girl — dramas that treat money like a rising tide lifting protagonists free from the demand to seem “realistic”. “Wealth porn”, these shows have been tagged, for the way they luxuriate in luxury. The pleasure of viewing them comes at least as much from being able to vicariously devour the lifestyles of the characters as it does from the switchback plots.
Succession gives you the thrills of gorgeous tailoring and private jets, but what makes it a fundamentally different kind of show is its attitude to wealth. It’s something you can see by comparing the opening credits. Watch the intro to Dallas or Dynasty, and you’ll see sweeping shots of opulent homes intercut filmed from helicopters, intercut with beautiful people and glimpses of where the money gets made, all set to gloriously stirring music.
These are programmes that feel good about money. They portrayed people doing vicious things in the service of it, sure. Every once in a while they even made vague gestures towards the idea that acquisitiveness might actually be corrupting. But at bottom, the world they portrayed was a world it would be nice to be part of. If you had to have a catfight, wouldn’t you want it to be in a beautifully appointed studio with only the finest knick-knacks to use as weapons?
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