For some context, Logan Roy is one of, if not the central character of HBO’s Succession: a serious yet hilarious family drama about a group of people who all want the same thing but have no idea how to get it. That something is love, of course, but for the sake of everyone new to the show, the tangible thing they all say they want is control of a multinational media conglomerate, which was founded by — you guessed it — Logan Roy, the family’s patriarch. The series starts with Logan changing his mind about retiring, and Brian Cox (who plays Logan Roy) has gone on to deliver three and a half seasons of heart-wrenchingly natural yet scathing dialogue and the incredible performances necessary to make it memorable.
Succession’s premise — a stupendously rich guy’s children fighting to take over the family business — is not all that exciting. It works brilliantly, however, and keeps us coming back because the writers and actors understand their characters like few can claim to. Thanks to this understanding, they can give us the one thing that can make selfish, rich people sympathetic: nuance.
That nuance translates to layers when it comes to Brian Cox’s Logan. He’s a billionaire and an alleged misanthrope but loves his children. He’s given his children everything except the gift of spending time with them. He expects his children to speak up but punishes them for doing so. Sound familiar?
Hear me out. When I see Logan interacting with his kids, I can’t help but think about all the times I’ve been incredulous at the actions of Nigerian parents who fear shame above all else, and I see them in Logan as clear as day. First, he is quiet until he isn’t, choosing to be loud to intimidate, sometimes for fun. Like the quintessential toxic Nigerian parent, Logan yells at his kids to make them cower and remind them who’s boss. It usually works, as everyone around him constantly fears what he might do or say. Logan is the daddy that has everyone fleeing the living room when he comes home from work.
Speaking of bombastic action, Logan is dramatic AF. I will never forget the way my jaw dropped during the finale of Succession’s third season, “All The Bells Say” when Logan was in an argument with his kids about an incredibly pivotal matter that I will not spoil (you’re welcome), responded to his daughter by mimicking her right to her face — comedy gold meets toxic parenting, am I right? Additionally, like many Nigerian parents, Logan’s eye contact speaks volumes, and as I recently said on the Popcorn for Dinner podcast, he is very stingy with it. We all know what it means when a parent gives us “the look”, and Logan has mastered sending chills down his children’s spines this way.
Perhaps the most iconic trait of the toxic Nigerian parent is their insistence that their children be one of three things: a doctor, a lawyer, or an engineer, despite how vague those titles are in the real world. And who better to take the trophy for limiting your kid’s career prospects than a man who insists that all of his children should be ready to run his business but cuts their legs off at every turn, denying them genuine opportunities to succeed.
Finally, we can’t forget Logan’s embodiment of the toxic Nigerian parent trait that sticks with you: never offering genuine apologies, no matter what he’s done. Logan takes this further by deflecting, avoiding, and gaslighting his children like it’s his purpose in life. Succession is full of moments where people try to confront Logan about one thing or another, only to come out of the interaction thinking they might be the problem instead. It’s so painfully relatable that laughter becomes the only true salve.
At times, I wonder if all these similarities can be attributed to Succession’s seemingly high acclaim among young Nigerians; perhaps we identify with the people around Logan because we know their role too well. Simultaneously, maybe it’s in the things we don’t think about all that often; like the idea of succession itself. That fact is, like many Nigerian parents of means, he sucks at it. Even with all his money, power and influence, Logan fails to define a clear path for his media empire to follow after he’s gone; in fact, he makes the active decision to keep the people in his life guessing regarding this matter for a variety of reasons ranging from uncertainty on who it should be, to psychological warfare and a desire to maintain mental and emotional dominion over his subordinates.
Succession issues in Nigerian family-run businesses have been documented extensively over the years. Some of the core internal snags that hinder the sustained operation of a business after a founder’s children inherit it include a lack of succession planning that leads to general pandemonium and uncertainty, polygamy, the absence of a clear will and testament, and a failure to prepare the children for what running the business entails — all things Logan is guilty of. If you’re like me, you likely ticked a box in your head as you read each of those points just now (high five). The fact is, Logan follows the toxic Nigerian parent blueprint in more than just the ways that make us laugh, and that’s perhaps what makes him feel so real despite being the only character in the show written as an archetype.
Maybe Logan’s behaviour is so normal to us that we can’t help but laugh as his kids cry. With recent events in the show leading to a monumental shift in Logan’s dynamic with his children, I’m curious to see what they’ll do with everything their father has given them.
