The best part of HBO's Succession isn't the intrigue. It's not the sabotage. It's not the ridiculously huge houses in Westchester or Ireland. It's not the helicopters. It's not the mega yachts.
It's not trying to guess whether Kendall is going to stab his father in the back (or the front) again, or what self-destructive move is going to dig his hole deep and deeper.
It's not even Roman, who quite possibly was just forced to grow up at the end of Season 2 and will finally big a big boy. (A big, bad, little boy — but that's another thing for another time. Also, eww.)
It's not Shiv's competence (or confidence), both of which tend to get in the way of her ambition. It's also not watching her sense of trust bite her over and over.
It's not the weasel-like traits from Tom — and for the life of me I still can't tell when he's doing it on purpose for effect, and when he's just being Tom.
It's not Gerri's ability to be one of the adults in the room but to have absolutely no control over what happens.
It's not the utter cluelessness of Connor. The utter, awful, hilarious cluelessness.
And it's not Logan. Yes, the patriarch is horrible and terrible and awful and is the centering force of the family, and the show. That's as good a thing as it is bad. (And I'd pay good money to have Brian Cox lob F-bombs at me for an hour or two.)
No, the best thing about Succession — and the thing that ultimately makes it work — is all of that in aggregate. It's the totality of the terribleness. It's the overwhelming crush of just how plainly horrible the family is, and the empire they have sustained, and just what in the hell is going to happen next.
And HBO has summed up all of that in a 10-minute supercut as we march on toward the third season of Succession .
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