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Snarling media tyrant Logan Roy becomes the target for an exploding bag of piss. Chaos ensues when the third estate comes into contact with the family of the man who, to quote his older brother Ewan, the show’s crotchety approximation of a moral center, “may be the person most single-handedly responsible for the death of this planet.” (Of note: Ewan, played by beloved character actor and Midtown Starbucks dissident James Cromwell, is also a shareholder of Waystar Royco, and worth at least $250 million.) Abused, nihilistic “slime puppy” Roman (Kieran Culkin) fulfills his masochistic desires by making himself into an anti-fascist protest’s piñata. On the rare occasion we see any of the Roys-with the exception of obsequious Citi Bike user Cousin Greg (Nicholas Braun)-at ground level, the masses are an assault on their senses and senses of self. The Roys’ always-urgent need to “get some altitude”-per the stilted management jargon the show’s writers ridiculed with zeal-on a particular situation is revealing: Their dwellings, all penthouses, are as far away from the world below as they can possibly be. Succession’s Roy family, in all their ignoblesse oblige, are practically allergic to the streets of the stratified city they-like the Murdochs on whom they’re based, whose patriarch helped elect Mayors Koch and Giuliani (whose advisor was soon-to-be Fox News head Roger Ailes)-helped create. The generic terrain of the island, and all of the sterile spaces its characters occupy within it, package the high-stress emptiness of their lives at its top in a crystalline anti-aesthetic. To tell the story of three siblings unmoored by the lack of stakes a life of material excess can create-and how ego-shattering stakes can thereby attach themselves anew to anything- Succession uses Manhattan’s vertical social and physical architectures as brooding metaphor. Despite being American cultural despots, as owners of Fox doppelgänger Waystar Royco, the Roy family whips around in a cultureless vacuum, a reflection of their ideological vacuity and volatility. As teased in its woozy title sequence, in which both absurdity and gravitas spill from the rotten blooms of Nicholas Brittel’s score, the characters in the Hobbesian HBO family drama mostly hover somewhere in the air: in helicopters, bleached penthouses, glassy upper-floor offices.

SUCCESSION COULD HAVE BEEN a space opera, so infrequent were its characters on terra firma.

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Succession, 2018–23, production still from a TV show on HBO.