Succession follows lives of Roy family, rich and powerful. They juggle their media empire and messy personal lives. Greed, loyalty, power plays and family drama take center stage. With a talented cast and sharp dialogue, it’s a rollercoaster. Fans rave about it. Don’t miss out on this gripping ride.

Meet the characters from Succession

Greg Hirsch

Greg is this painfully earnest, slightly bewildered conveyor belt of awkward energy — like a golden retriever in a suit who once read a management book and is still trying to take notes with the wrong end of a pen. He’s oddly resourceful though, sneaking around with snacks and surveillance instincts, and also somehow constantly forgetful (asks the same question three times, then drops a bomb of honest truth). Loves To Be Useful™ but also will absolutely deflect responsibility with a stunned face; I swear he has an internal spreadsheet and a comic book collection. He’s goofy, loyal, accidentally terrifying when embarrassed, and somehow you believe he could either fix your printer or start a PR crisis by accident.

Shiv Roy

Shiv is razor-sharp and magnetic and wearing a blazer you want to steal — political instincts, private hypocrisies, and a work-hard-smile that hides a lot of simmering contempt. She toggles between casual cruelty and genuine affection so fast you get whiplash; also she does yoga? or at least she says she does, maybe just stretches dramatically. Ambitious but picky, she’ll slice through nonsense but then hesitate at the one big move because feelings (ugh) — complicated, like a perfume with a bitter aftertaste. Basically equal parts strategist and wildcard, and maybe a little allergic to admitting she’s wrong.

Kendall Roy

Kendall is the tragic, shiny-nosed wreck at the center of so much chaos — ambitious to a fault, desperate for approval, and perpetually trying to self-reinvent (new plan! new speech! new heartbreak!). He oscillates between manic energy and hollow quiet so fast it makes you dizzy; also, why does he keep buying weird snacks at midnight? Addictive tendencies, grand gestures, and that haunting need to be loved by a father who will never hand it out like candy. He’s simultaneously heartbreaking and infuriating, a man of big plans and tiny defenses — emotionally overstocked and understocked at the same time.

Logan Roy

Logan is a weather system — brutal, massive, and somehow also petty in the best worst way; he rules rooms like he owns oxygen and sometimes you think he actually does. Stone-cold, ferociously practical, and terrifyingly loyal to his own brand of logic; he smashes obstacles (people included) with a blithe shrug and then drinks scotch like it’s a negotiation. There are tiny, weird glimpses of softness — usually buried under sarcasm and a terrifying dinner routine — which makes him more inscrutable, not less. He’s the boss you fear but can’t stop watching, like a very scary TV channel you can’t turn off.

Roman Roy

Roman is the sharp-tongued, boundary-testing mischief generator who somehow knows the worst thing to say and says it with a grin, then expects a medal for honesty. Immature, cruel, and emotionally allergic to seriousness, yet he’s weirdly perceptive and punches holes through pretensions like it’s a hobby. He flirts with cruelty and vulnerability in the same breath — one minute a snide joke, the next confessing something oddly tender — which makes him both infuriating and unexpectedly human. Think of him as chaos with a therapy bill and a soft spot he’ll never actually admit exists.

Marcia Roy

Marcia is quietly formidable and deliciously opaque, like a leather-bound mystery you can’t quite read; she moves through the Roy circus with a composure that hints at storms beneath the surface. She’s private, fiercely protective in a low-key way, and has this unpredictable combination of warmth and steel (and yes, a killer eyebrow raise). People either misread her or fear her; sometimes both — and she doesn’t care which. Also apparently she might love gardening or opera, I can’t remember exactly, but she definitely has a signature scent that says “do not cross.”

Frank Vernon

Frank is the weary old pro who has seen the machine break down a hundred times and still shows up with dry humor and a resigned sigh — corporate lifer energy, you know? Loyal to the company and baffled by its children, he dispenses blunt truth with a side of bitter jokes and will throw shade like it’s a business strategy. He can be surprisingly human in private moments (don’t make us cry, he’s more emotional than he appears), and then back to pragmatic, “we need a plan” Frank in a second. Basically the adult in the room who also has a book of passive-aggressive memos and a weird fondness for terrible coffee.

Tom Wambsgans

Tom is this weird blend of obsequiousness, ambition, and sudden, performative menace — like a man who loved corporate training manuals as a kid and never let go. He tries so hard to be in the club (and sometimes is, which makes things worse), juggling an odd mix of loyalty, self-preservation, and petty cruelty with a smile that never quite lands. He’s also unexpectedly tender in private, clumsily affectionate, and has a hobby that’s either very niche or slightly concerning — professional cringe, but you root for him kind of. Equal parts schemer and simp, and somehow always trying to level up his status with the wrong moves.

Connor Roy

Connor is the eccentric elder who left the hamster wheel and set up a tent in his own weird planet — aloof, self-important, and delightfully out of step with the rest of the family’s power plays. He runs on grandiose plans (presidential run? of course) and an earnest belief in his own alt-universe philosophies, which is simultaneously ridiculous and oddly charming. He seems detached but is also, like, stubbornly earnest — will defend a bad idea with the conviction of a man who believes in vintage hats. Basically the stoic oddball: harmlessly delusional, occasionally profound, and always entertaining at dinner parties you didn’t know you needed.

Lawrence Yee

Lawrence is the cool, careful investor: polite, measured, and quietly intimidating in a way that involves spreadsheets and very calm hand gestures. He’s the kind of person who smiles while deciding if you’ll live or die financially, and he layers diplomacy over a core that is quietly ruthless — like a velvet-cushioned hammer. Meticulous, controlled, and occasionally surprisingly candid (in the sort of “I told you so” way that stings), he’s the smart money you respect and nervously avoid. Also, I feel like he has a habit of rearranging books on planes? Maybe that’s wrong, but picture it anyway.