FINALES, SUCCESSION: GIVE THEM WHAT YOU PROMISED THEM

This is the flip side of yesterday, and while I think some would argue this is exactly what you don't do in a series finale, I think it's about how we define our terms. From the opening of a show we make promises with our audience. Most of them are pretty basic—this is who this character is, this is what the world is, this is what this show is about (in general). 

But there's also in many shows, and certainly in SUCCESSION, a sense of the bigger question or quest. It's in the title here—someone is going to succeed Logan Roy. Who is it going to be? You've got to answer that. 

But character, too, can have a kind of destiny to it. Jesse Armstrong has said from the start that SUCCESSION is a tragedy. And the characters have indeed all been so incredibly self-destructive. How could it possibly end with any of them succeeding or supporting each other? (Honestly, after that kitchen scene I really really wanted it to.)

If your characters are self-destructive, and you're telling a story where you've made it clear that people don't grow and change or learn, you have to follow that through. That's what you promised. In a finale, you have to deliver in some way on what you promised, or your audience will feel cheated.

Giving the audience what you've denied them for so long works into that really well. Because by offering that moment of friendship and mutual support, Armstrong sets us up to not see that ending coming. It's insane, actually, that he could fool anyone given what we've seen. But really, It's our human capacity for hope and belief in the possibility of new things that is the engine for this show and so many others. If we really saw no chance for any of them to succeed, we would simply not watch. 

One of the things I've gained from thinking and writing about shows on this blog is a greater examination of myself as audience. So much of a TV magic trick is about the writers playing on our natural tendencies. Human beings want to believe in a good outcome—or most do, anyway. And that desire is in fact so strong in us that we will reread books, movies or TV shows with the unconscious hope that something different is going to happen this time, that it doesn't have to be this way. 

When you're dealing with people who have such a fundamental belief that things can go better that we don't even see it going on—these are also known as "suckers"—you have so much to work with as a writer. First of all, you don't have to provide more than a little bit of reason for hope, or a reason why we feel strongly they should be allowed to succeed—like a father who is a monster—and we will provide the rest. We will drive that train ourselves. 

And then, as we see in the finale, If you give us just a couple minutes of our hopes fulfilled, we will feel so confirmed that we will miss entirely where you're taking us. I don't care if there's still 40 minutes left in the ep after the kitchen, the drama now is about the three of them together screwing the Swede. (Note to Self: Having a villain you love to hate is another great way of feeding the audience's hope and desire for a better outcome, and distracting them from what's really up.)

Give them what they promised, but don't let them see you coming. It's a challenge, but when you land it, wow. 

 

FINALES, SUCCESSION: GIVE THEM WHAT YOU'VE DENIED THEM

I know I said I was going to do MRS. MAISEL next but I'm still just so overwhelmed by the finale of SUCCESSION I have to go there next. 

(And happy series finale of TED LASSO, for those who so celebrate. I'll have things to say about that soon.)

Showrunner Jesse Armstrong delivered an almost 90 minute series finale to the series, as HBO shows often do (call it Max and we rumble). And that allows for lots of different kinds of opportunities, like the extended midpoint in which Shiv, Kendall and Roman decide to let Kendall run the company, and then celebrate in their own weird Roy-an way. 

I'm not a big fan of HBO's extra-super-duper-length episodes in general, but in this case it was really needed in order to get the three of them on the same page in a convincing (aka earned) way. We need the round and round of their time at the villa, and the ocean, and the kitchen scene. 

Having said that, I suspect that they could have done without that kitchen sequence and had it still felt satisfying and complete. 

But knowing how amazing that sequence is, I think we can all agree that would have been a huge missed opportunity. In a show filled with big iconic moments, that is one of the most iconic. 

And here's why: In four seasons while we've gotten moments where the three main Roy kids are on the same page, they've never lasted for more than maybe a scene or two. There's always an undercurrent of insecurity among them. We've never, ever gotten a moment in which they're just okay with each other. And so, having kept that from us so long, we have both come to believe that that is impossible—which is to say, we're not looking for it to happen—and on some deeper level we want it to happen. It's basic human psychology. You want to make someone want something? Keep it away from them. 

I don't think anyone went into the finale thinking, I just hope they have a nice moment together, because they've literally never done that. But in giving us that Armstrong and his writers and performers finally feed the part of us they've been starving. And that is just an incredibly satisfying thing to offer in a finale. 

You want to create a great finale? Give them what you've been denying them.