What I’ve learnt about storytelling from Succession

Succession Season Four is finally here!

I became hooked on Succession at some point in 2020 and honestly, I can’t think of anything else that’s better than it on television. (although The White Lotus and Fleishman Is In Trouble have come close for me).

As a writer, I’m hugely, hugely inspired by storytelling in film and television and just how really, really good and flawless screenplay writing works. I think there’s so much to be learnt from screenplay writing, not just in terms of dialogue but also in terms of pacing, narrative, creating a character’s voice and, of course, plot.

I’m a complete nerd about this, and will often rewatch shows with a notebook and the remote control to hand, ready to pause and write down anything I’ve noticed that has especially stuck with me. I can’t wait to watch what Season Four of Succession. brings. Meanwhile, here’s what I’ve learnt about storytelling from watching (and rewatching!) Succession thus far:

Cut to the chase

I lose patience if a series is slow and doesn’t grab me immediately (here’s looking at you, Your Honor, possibly the most boring second season of 2023?) or at least within the first couple of episodes. But it’s not like that with Succession.

I would argue that there’s not a single episode that feels flat or like a time filler or something slow-burning. Cogs don’t turn slowly here, we don’t have to wait weeks and weeks or months and months for seeds to grow. In this way, every single episode reminds me of a very tightly written short story. Like a short story, no time is wasted; we’re not waylaid with masses of heavy backstory to wade through (and there’s more on backstory below).

Instead, we’re straight into the meat of a story (and boy, is that meat being ripped to pieces). And I love that. What this means, to me, is that every single episode feels like it contains its own distinct, dramatic plot (so sharply written) but that plot in turn is part of something bigger. There’s so many layers, and so many relationships, that there’s inevitably so many subplots, but the writers never lose sight of them, and they’re all very cleverly linked together - kind of like a collection of connected stories, rather than, say, disparate chapters in a novel.

Location is just as important as character

I’ve just finished rewatching Season Two and one thing that really struck me is that in almost every single episode, the Roy family is going somewhere - whether it’s the Roys travelling en masse to visit their rivals the Pierces at their estate, or the children going back to England to try and convince their mother to support them or an excruciating corporate hunting trip to Hungary (Boar on the Floor, anyone?), or a fancy business conference in Argestes that ends terribly, or a trip down memory lane to Logan’s place of childhood in Dundee… you get the picture (and that’s just Season Two I’m talking about).

I’m obsessed by stories that take people away from their usual everyday environments and place them far away. Away from home, tensions explode, anxieties heighten, people are out of sorts, refuse to play the same roles that they usually play when they’re in their normal surroundings. A lot of my short stories in Things We Do Not Tell The People We Love were set around this premise of dislocation, discombobulation. Because away from home, things happen. Dangerous things, exciting things, unexpected things (this is why I loved The White Lotus as well). By repeatedly moving us from location to location, Succession keeps the story moving and we rarely stay still, which means it never slows or feels stagnant.

You know how sometimes people say, an author with more than one book is usually writing the same story, or trying to say the same thing, just in a different way? I think it’s the same here with Succession; each episode takes us to some new place, but the story - the themes of power struggle, jealousy, resentment, betrayal, forgiveness - remains the same. But it’s never boring, never flat, not least because the landscape, both literal and figurative, in terms of the landscape of characters and the dynamic of relationships, is forever changing.

Gesture can be just as powerful as dialogue

Here, I’m thinking of the characters of Roman, Tom and Greg more than anyone else. Roman’s dirty smirks, Tom’s priceless expressions and outbursts, Greg’s guffaws and big hands through floppy hair and awkward too-tall hugs with people who don’t really want to hug him back. These gestures are funny. But more than funny, they kind of instantly tell us something about each of the characters. I’m always talking to my short story students about how gesture can say so much in such a simple, economical way. These characters are brilliant examples of that.

And yet, dialogue is everything

Not a beat of dialogue is missed in Succession. Every quip, every insult, every fuck you: it counts, it says something, it’s not superfluous. It’s sharp as a finger snap, and every voice is so distinct and so crafted. I remember once listening to Meg Mason on a podcast say that someone had once told her that you should be able to read through your manuscript and know exactly which character is speaking without needing to name them - ie, every character’s dialogue has to be distinct and immediately recognisable, without needing to specify who it is that’s speaking. Voice, and dialogue, is everything.

It’s the same in Succession - you could read the script blind and still be able to tell if it’s Roman, Shiv or Kendall speaking (or indeed any of the other characters too). For instance - guess whose opening line in the first episode of Season One is: ‘Hey, hey, motherfuckers!’

(You got it - Roman - see how this one line immediately sets the tone for him?).

The best kind of characters are complex, flawed and vulnerable: that’s what makes them believable.

I’m thinking back to Season Two again, when Kendall sits in his mother’s cold kitchen practically begging her (in an unspoken way) to be there for him. Only she doesn’t; instead she tells him they’ll talk over an ‘egg’ but come morning, she’s disappeared and left an emotionless note to say goodbye. And for a moment, we see a broken and scared version of Kendall, at his most vulnerable and suddenly so much about the way that he is makes sense. It’s just like when he serves Logan with his planned takeover bid in the last episode of Season One, and faced with his father’s anger and bulk, he stutters in the bathroom and becomes this terrified child again. And then again; in Argestes, when Logan lashes out and hits Roman in the face causing him to lose a tooth and Kendall instantly blocks Logan from Roman, defending his younger brother from him. In these moments, we see glimpses of who Kendall is underneath all those other layers.

A side not on backstory here: there’s so much backstory that’s just alluded to, that is just enough. We don’t need to know everything, but the writers give us just enough clues for us to be able to make up our own minds about what might have happened in the past. I love this allusion to backstory without having to spell it out. It' is so clever, and I think it’s something to learn from in writing (I often get impatient when writing backstory or if an editor asks for something be explained or rooted in backstory). I believe you see it in the best short stories too, where the backstory isn’t always necessary but it’s enough to just indicate towards it.

And here’s a moment just to talk about Shiv - is she not the most interesting, nuanced and compelling female character on television? (I think she is). The point here is, we don’t have to like her - or any of the characters - to be absolutely hooked on them. But we can believe in their journeys, because we see them at their most vulnerable. And yet we also see them at their most awful. And that tension? That’s what keeps us hooked.

So, roll on Season Four, and let’s see what we can learn about endings by the finale too, because I’m pretty sure it’s going to be spectacular.