The Rise of the Murdoch Dynasty, review: enjoyably gossipy documentary indebted to Succession
For various reasons, I was late to the HBO series Succession. I watched it only recently when it reappeared on Sky Atlantic, and frankly it has ruined all other drama for me, because I’m not sure anything else could be as good. The tale of a despotic media mogul and his children is loosely inspired, it is said, by Rupert Murdoch and family.
The makers of The Rise of the Murdoch Dynasty (BBC Two) have certainly watched it too. The music and opening titles were such a pastiche of Succession’s that the drama’s writers would have recognised them a mile off. And it began in the 1990s, when Murdoch was approaching retirement age and considering which of his children would take over - the succession issue, you might call it.
Without Succession, this would have been a reasonably interesting business story. But once you’ve seen this stuff fictionalised - the rivalries, the backstabbing, the wealth - it adds a frisson. “It’s a double-edged sword, that level of affection and control that Rupert Murdoch exerts over his children,” a journalist said. “He alternately rewards and punishes them. They can never really be their own people.”
Not that you need all that to guess at what’s going on behind the scenes, as when Elisabeth Murdoch, face composed but eyes blazing, said of her father’s new partner, one Wendi Deng: “She’s delightful. It’s something I couldn’t have foreseen by Dad seems extremely happy, and when someone’s extremely happy you can’t begrudge them their happiness.” You imagined her walking calmly out of the room, shutting the door and screaming into a pillow.
That interview, as with the others that featured Lachlan (the princeling) and James (formerly the black sheep), were old. None of the family spoke to the documentary-makers, although their business associates did. This episode focused on the relationship between Murdoch, his newspapers and Tony Blair, an alliance that saw off John Major’s government in 1997. As Leader of the Opposition, Blair flew out to Murdoch’s Australian retreat to secure his backing for the New Labour project. Or, in the words of the always-good-value John Prescott: “What the hell are you going there for, Tony? Surely it’s not for a suntan.”
It was a valuable insight into the way British politics was shaped during that era. But, as any of Murdoch’s tabloid editors would tell you, it’s the juicy stuff we want. Every time they dropped in a little detail - Rupert’s private dinner with the Blairs (“I like him. Cherie’s a bit strange”), a 13-year-old Charlotte Church asking her manager if the Murdochs realised they’d requested a requiem for their wedding song, Deng reclining on a sunlounger with a copy of Fortune magazine for her reading material - it upped the fun. Until we get series three of Succession, this will have to do.
