Roy vs. Lasso
A Lifestyle Choice
This past few weeks marked the finale of two shows I’ve been watching in real time, a rare treat. One is about a family of despicable people, each character after the next damaged and mean. The other, about how nice guys can finish first.
In the dazzling world of Succession, empty people chase enormous job titles, plotting and posturing. Every single one of them. None of their insecurity or desire comes close to my own. Not even the daddy issues compare. Which is a relief. Half the time I wonder about how I can help. The other half, I worry that I’m hurting people. I don’t claim success on either front, just moral superiority to the Roy family and their circle.
It’s a very popular show, and it held my attention. I had no stake in who succeeded in this “succession.” Is the point that those in charge, from CEOs to desperate hangers on have no desires apart from greed and revenge, all while ignoring otherworldly luxury? If so, understood. Privilege isn’t even enjoyed by the uber rich. Boo-hoo.
It won’t spoil the experience to tell you a very rich man has four children he berates, neglects, but strings along, telling them they are the only ones to take the reins to the faux Fox News station situation. They are the Murdoch, Sackler, Trump dynasties rolled into one, heavily caricatured and brought to life on screen.
It did hold my attention. Some of those metaphors were bitingly genius. Each monster had their own particular bent. The fallout was worth the hour.
The old guard holding fast against an incompetent and tortured youth that they failed, makes for compelling viewing. I loved gambling until someone pointed out that to a person, besides the forced cheerfulness of the croupier, very few people smile, or look up. In its own way, very like the world of Succession. All need, no satisfaction.
It felt absurdly real, pointless and riveting. Much like my own career has. At least to me.
My dad became C list famous when I turned fifteen. He wrote a play that got a lot of buzz and catapulted my family into a strange, though dim, spotlight. The people in the “biz” felt similar to those gamblers. They were positioning themselves for the next battle, scrutinizing all the players and sidling to up the ones they deemed most useful. Little about that felt like it held a place for me. I’m a lover, not a pusher, though those things aren’t mutually exclusive. My dad was definitely a gambler.
Had he lived longer, my father might have maneuvered himself onto the B list. He partnered with Jerry Bock of Fiddler on the Roof fame, on a musical it took them seven years to write. One of them got scared and backed out. Then my father died. Perhaps it would have given them both another hit. It was a brilliantly funny, lyrical musical about a father and daughter who go on a quixotic journey to reform the tax code. Now it sits in my desk drawer.
What I’m trying to say is that ambition is less interesting than love is. At least to me. Love lingers even though partnerships end. On the other hand, so does anger.
Love roped me into Ted Lasso. Unfailingly nice, Ted genuinely wants everyone around him to succeed—even at his expense. It’s a defense mechanism, for sure, but very effective. He is unflaggingly nice, and thinking beyond the tantrum. This. This is what we need! He comes out on top, because he brings everyone with him.
This last season was disconnected. And don’t get me started on my editorial, “show don’t tell” rant. So many of the scenes I waited for happened off screen! For now I’ll set aside that the arcs were predictable. They were also brave. Ted wasn’t perfect, nor were the people around him. Yet everywhere he went, he inspired them to be better.
It felt like the first time I’d seen someone live by my own philosophy. Mine isn’t an ethos, it’s more a result of pathologically hating to be the bad guy. I rarely say no, and it’s really difficult to make me truly angry. My goal is that you should smile when you think about me. Lofty, but worth the chase.
This is the way we raised our kids. And our lack of discipline and criticism made them want to please us—and by us I mean my husband, who out Teds me by miles. The Roy kids are a mess and Ted’s son is delightfully charming. As mine had better be. Even when I’m not looking.
Ted Lasso and Succession do have a similar message in one sense. The harsh, competitive, exclusively white, male world we were raised in, no longer applies. You can choose the Roy power grab, or the Lasso smiling conga line. This is the yin and yang of what it means to live in this time with the chatbots and the lack of affordable housing, the drug crises and environmental disasters.
I think about the writer’s strike and the struggle it takes in order to pen great works that look easy. How many wind up in a devoted daughter’s desk drawer? My heart is with all the people on the line. I only hope there’s a Lasso somewhere close.