“Previously Wrong” takes us week by week through the unpredictability of post-Golden Age television and how our hindsight is sharpening for contemporary series'. For this season, resident TV/film columnist Jared Marshall takes us week by week for the family implosion portrayed on the best show on TV, HBO’s Succession.
Where do I even begin with this fucking episode?
If there’s one thing I hate when it comes to writing about television, it’s hyperbole. As a culture, we’re quite quick to deify art before we’re even able to digest it. I love television. I think it is currently the most exciting medium we have for narrative storytelling. But not everything is the same caliber as The Sopranos.
Remember Homeland? Neither do I. 10 years ago it was being purported as the second coming of Jesus Christ. In the immortal words of the great Kanye West, “I ain’t even gon’ act holier than that.”
I remember being part of Walking Dead-mania. I was there when the last season of Game of Thrones aired. I’m guilty of being effusive when it comes to a good episode of TV. I get it. I just believe as viewers and commentators, we owe it to ourselves to show some restraint in regards to the art we consume.
So why am I waxing endlessly about the state of TV in a Succession review?
It took me a while to put pen to paper when it came to talking about its season finale. I didn’t want to contradict my own philosophy when it came to discussing television, but I was also convinced that “All the Bells Say” was a truly exceptional moment for the form both texually and metatexually.
In terms of the meta, Kendall Roy lives to fight another day. Beyond a writer’s intention, there are a lot of connotations to that decision. In the afternoon before the nation became enamoured with whether or not our number one boy drowned in a Tuscan swimming pool. On December 5, just before the penultimate episode “Chiantishire” aired, The New Yorker dropped the most culturally significant actor profile piece that I’ve read in my lifetime. The now-infamous Jeremy Strong profile stoked a Twitter wildfire, sparking conversations about good journalism, the ethics of method acting, what qualifies as a “hit” piece, and some very strong opinions about Yale University.
The ensuing drama heightened the “is he or isn’t he” tension of the penultimate episode and presented an interesting question for the character: if Kendall is still alive in the finale, would it be cowardly writing?
Now one week after the finale, it has become clear that not only would killing off Kendall have been the true mark of writer’s cowardice, but it is now clear it also would have rendered far less interesting results. Suicide is a tragic part of the human condition, but more often than not when people spiral they just continue their trajectory. They do so until it can no longer be ignored by the people they’re closest to.
We have seen more than enough examples of suicide in media, but the grief that Kendall feels towards his accidental manslaughter and Roman and Shiv’s attempt to comfort him is something we have rarely had to reckon with as viewers. Over the course of The Sopranos, we saw Tony psychoanalyze overtly heinous behaviours in and out of his therapist’s office, but the threat of legal repercussions always created a barrier between him and true accountability. The billionaire-class are often exempt from the law, allowing Kendall the privilege of true confession to his siblings. This naked expression of grief is television at its most human, punctuated beautifully by a now-iconic shot of Shiv and Roman comforting Kendall—a shot that has already been compared exhaustively to renaissance art through the lens of cinéma vérité.
I think “All the Bells Say” is one of the greatest hours of television I’ve ever watched. I cringe as I type these words, but few TV episodes have left me as notably speechless. I’m prone to having to lift my jaw off the floor when it comes to modern TV, but only a few have transcended the form to become (puke) something sacred. It’s a small pantheon. “All the Bells Say” now fits comfortably in this collection with Kendall’s confession alone and it has so much to offer beyond that sequence. Take Logan’s monologue to Mattson at the top of the episode where he decides to sell Waystar:
This is one of the world’s most powerful men, born on the tailend of the British Empire, breaking the fourth-wall, lamenting America to the audience as it burns to ash in real time. This isn’t just television, it’s Aristotelian drama; communicating the darkest thoughts of a disillusioned Western society to its face in both the micro and the macro. Kendall’s guilt for the taking of an innocent life is reflective of a complicity many Westerners feel in our own indirect and direct contributions to human suffering. It can take many forms, an awareness of class privilege or an inability to combat injustice. In this sense, we all have pieces of Kendall Roy embedded in our conscience.
Beyond philosophical readings, “All the Bells Say” is Succession, one of the best running American TV shows, operating at the peak of its writing powers. Take its final twist, the reveal that Tom sold out Shiv to curry favour with Logan. Compare it to the final moments of Season 2’s finale. Kendall walks to the podium ready to fall on his sword for Waystar only to blame the Cruises scandal on his father. He tears up those cue cards with gusto. The press conference ruptures with shock. It’s fucking great, but it’s a textbook TV plot twist. “All the Bells Say” communicates the same amount of severity with an arm squeeze from Logan and a look between Shiv and Tom. It’s all the viewer needs to figure it out. That isn’t just good writing, that’s confidence.
“All the Bells Say” is a culmination of everything Succession has had to say about its characters and the world they inhabit. Power’s loneliness is punctuated between the moments shared by Roman, Shiv, and Kendall. Power’s corruption is punctuated by Greg and Tom, the show’s most moral characters, succumbing to the pursuit of status. Power’s eminence is punctuated by Logan’s inevitable victory, though there is liberation in being relinquished of its hold. If Jesse Armstrong woke up tomorrow and decided he had nothing else to say, it would be the closest thing to a happy ending the show could possibly have. The kids have each other and they're finally free from their father’s control. The story has reached a natural conclusion while paradoxically having no clear end in sight.
Now that’s good television.
“Previously Wrong” takes us week by week through the unpredictability of post-Golden Age television and how our hindsight is sharpening for contemporary series'. For this season, resident TV/film columnist Jared Marshall takes us week by week for the family implosion portrayed on the best show on TV, HBO’s Succession.
Where do I even begin with this fucking episode?
If there’s one thing I hate when it comes to writing about television, it’s hyperbole. As a culture, we’re quite quick to deify art before we’re even able to digest it. I love television. I think it is currently the most exciting medium we have for narrative storytelling. But not everything is the same caliber as The Sopranos.
Remember Homeland? Neither do I. 10 years ago it was being purported as the second coming of Jesus Christ. In the immortal words of the great Kanye West, “I ain’t even gon’ act holier than that.”
I remember being part of Walking Dead-mania. I was there when the last season of Game of Thrones aired. I’m guilty of being effusive when it comes to a good episode of TV. I get it. I just believe as viewers and commentators, we owe it to ourselves to show some restraint in regards to the art we consume.
So why am I waxing endlessly about the state of TV in a Succession review?
It took me a while to put pen to paper when it came to talking about its season finale. I didn’t want to contradict my own philosophy when it came to discussing television, but I was also convinced that “All the Bells Say” was a truly exceptional moment for the form both texually and metatexually.
In terms of the meta, Kendall Roy lives to fight another day. Beyond a writer’s intention, there are a lot of connotations to that decision. In the afternoon before the nation became enamoured with whether or not our number one boy drowned in a Tuscan swimming pool. On December 5, just before the penultimate episode “Chiantishire” aired, The New Yorker dropped the most culturally significant actor profile piece that I’ve read in my lifetime. The now-infamous Jeremy Strong profile stoked a Twitter wildfire, sparking conversations about good journalism, the ethics of method acting, what qualifies as a “hit” piece, and some very strong opinions about Yale University.
The ensuing drama heightened the “is he or isn’t he” tension of the penultimate episode and presented an interesting question for the character: if Kendall is still alive in the finale, would it be cowardly writing?
Now one week after the finale, it has become clear that not only would killing off Kendall have been the true mark of writer’s cowardice, but it is now clear it also would have rendered far less interesting results. Suicide is a tragic part of the human condition, but more often than not when people spiral they just continue their trajectory. They do so until it can no longer be ignored by the people they’re closest to.
We have seen more than enough examples of suicide in media, but the grief that Kendall feels towards his accidental manslaughter and Roman and Shiv’s attempt to comfort him is something we have rarely had to reckon with as viewers. Over the course of The Sopranos, we saw Tony psychoanalyze overtly heinous behaviours in and out of his therapist’s office, but the threat of legal repercussions always created a barrier between him and true accountability. The billionaire-class are often exempt from the law, allowing Kendall the privilege of true confession to his siblings. This naked expression of grief is television at its most human, punctuated beautifully by a now-iconic shot of Shiv and Roman comforting Kendall—a shot that has already been compared exhaustively to renaissance art through the lens of cinéma vérité.
I think “All the Bells Say” is one of the greatest hours of television I’ve ever watched. I cringe as I type these words, but few TV episodes have left me as notably speechless. I’m prone to having to lift my jaw off the floor when it comes to modern TV, but only a few have transcended the form to become (puke) something sacred. It’s a small pantheon. “All the Bells Say” now fits comfortably in this collection with Kendall’s confession alone and it has so much to offer beyond that sequence. Take Logan’s monologue to Mattson at the top of the episode where he decides to sell Waystar:
This is one of the world’s most powerful men, born on the tailend of the British Empire, breaking the fourth-wall, lamenting America to the audience as it burns to ash in real time. This isn’t just television, it’s Aristotelian drama; communicating the darkest thoughts of a disillusioned Western society to its face in both the micro and the macro. Kendall’s guilt for the taking of an innocent life is reflective of a complicity many Westerners feel in our own indirect and direct contributions to human suffering. It can take many forms, an awareness of class privilege or an inability to combat injustice. In this sense, we all have pieces of Kendall Roy embedded in our conscience.
Beyond philosophical readings, “All the Bells Say” is Succession, one of the best running American TV shows, operating at the peak of its writing powers. Take its final twist, the reveal that Tom sold out Shiv to curry favour with Logan. Compare it to the final moments of Season 2’s finale. Kendall walks to the podium ready to fall on his sword for Waystar only to blame the Cruises scandal on his father. He tears up those cue cards with gusto. The press conference ruptures with shock. It’s fucking great, but it’s a textbook TV plot twist. “All the Bells Say” communicates the same amount of severity with an arm squeeze from Logan and a look between Shiv and Tom. It’s all the viewer needs to figure it out. That isn’t just good writing, that’s confidence.
“All the Bells Say” is a culmination of everything Succession has had to say about its characters and the world they inhabit. Power’s loneliness is punctuated between the moments shared by Roman, Shiv, and Kendall. Power’s corruption is punctuated by Greg and Tom, the show’s most moral characters, succumbing to the pursuit of status. Power’s eminence is punctuated by Logan’s inevitable victory, though there is liberation in being relinquished of its hold. If Jesse Armstrong woke up tomorrow and decided he had nothing else to say, it would be the closest thing to a happy ending the show could possibly have. The kids have each other and they're finally free from their father’s control. The story has reached a natural conclusion while paradoxically having no clear end in sight.
Now that’s good television.
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