By Gaby Turner, Comparative Literatures and Cultures MA
Money really does make the world go round in HBO’s Industry. The show follows a group of fresh faced grads, not yet hardened by the world, through their first years in London’s soul crushing financial sector. It may have slipped under the radar when it first aired in 2020, but 4 years later its popularity is at an all time high. The show’s third season, coming to a close at the end of September, amassed an average of 1.6 million viewers an episode, a 60% increase from season 2. It’s clear that HBO is doing something very right.
Sex, drugs, money, and power are tried and tested routes to TV gold. In Industry these things are embodied by characters so young, and perhaps so vulnerable, that you almost feel for them. Interestingly, a show that draws us in also expertly pushes us away, feeling, at times, like exposure therapy for second hand embarrassment. For the more loveable characters, like Harry Lawtey’s Robert, the cold and calculating world of finance could not be more of an awkward fit, producing excruciating scenes that feel more akin to watching a shy child in a school play than a business transaction. And even for those who seem entirely at home in this environment, some of the best moments of television are produced by fleeting confessions of their humanity. In a moment of intimacy, the jaded and manipulative Harper, played by Myha'la Herron, tells her equally jaded and manipulative boss that she periodically feels her own breath in order to check that she is still real. Yet, just as we grow accustomed to these characters’ human sides, they take a step further into the darkness.
Those who survive on the trading floor have learned to wear a second face, to play a game, get an edge, stamp out any vestige of naivete. In this survival of the fittest, many try to make the jump from prey to predator. Few succeed. Yet, the playoff of money against integrity, the question of who really wins hangs in the air. Ironically, it may come to pass (as the season 2 finale shows) that the greatest kindness is the ultimate betrayal. Leaving someone out in the cold turns out to be a golden ticket out of this capitalist hellscape.
A few things stand out about Industry. For one, in a show all about money, we rarely see cash. In a rousing speech to the trading floor in the season 3 finale, Ken Leung’s character, Eric tells us: ‘Money tames the beast. Money is peace. Money is civilization. The end of the story is money.’ But it’s hard to reconcile the numbers constantly thrown around on the trading floor with real money, and a lot of it. As viewers, it seems to invite us to mock these people, who dance for their clients, chasing infinite sums which remain abstract and unnecessary.
Another staple of Industry is the illusion of meritocracy which its characters preach. The mythic equalising character of the financial sector is constantly undermined by eye-watering displays of old money, nepotism, and snobbery. In short, the rich get richer. Even more alarming is the show’s treatment of death. From the very first episode, death is swept under the rug, a PR nightmare rather than a human tragedy. This disposability of human life is foregrounded in every sense when it comes to the cutthroat industry.
Industry follows a long tradition of shows which delve into one profession. Who didn’t harbour a secret desire to be a lawyer after watching Suits? And, The Office manages to make a career selling paper seem like a great idea, even in the digital age. The timing of Industry, now renewed for a fourth season, could not have been better from HBO as millions are trying to fill the Succession shaped hole in their lives. Producers even plays on the obvious parallels between these two shows:
These shows are very good at making their respective industries the whole world. There is no work-life balance. The finance game is life and death and everything outside is anecdotal. Sagar Radia’s character, Rishi’s stories of his wild weekends, announced over loudspeaker, are nothing more than background noise. In this distorted world, global spaces merge in one amorphous market and the UK government’s importance is dwarfed by mega capitalist clients.
It seems contradictory that these ambitious young bankers, who champion the greed and ruthless ambition that so much of culture rallies against, are so watchable. What is our fascination with these anti heroes? For one thing, there is a level of self awareness that these characters have to be granted. Not once does anyone claim to act for the greater good. Marisa Abela’s character, Yas, admits she spent all of the Covid lockdown partying in people’s kitchens. Ironically, it is a brief entrance into Conservative politics by David Jonsson’s Gus, which stands as the only attempt to look out for the people.
Perhaps the show's greatest accolade is the satisfaction of our morbid curiosity about the lives of others and the extremity of human behaviour. If you’ve ever wondered what it's like to hang around with the finance bros, look no further. Industry is the genius, captivating, and slightly traumatising brainchild of ex bankers Mickey Down and Konrad Kay; it lets you into all the dirty secrets of London’s financial sector, the realism of which cannot be denied. Succession finds its ring of truth in its characters; whisperings of this are partially confirmed by the fact that Rupert Murdoch’s divorce agreement included a clause not to produce for the show. Yet, Industry gives us fictional characters in what we can only imagine are real situations. For those of us who want to get into creative industries and yet day by day get closer to selling our souls to the corporate machine, the transition from banker to writer is the ultimate sting. Yet, Down and Kay wear it with grace, inviting us to mercilessly critique their world. This takedown from the inside doubles as a incredibly deep and moving depiction of seemingly robotic people which clearly owes a great deal to lived experience.
Are you enjoying the new season of HBO's Industry?
