‘Industry’ got pulpier, nastier, and better in Season 3

Industry
.
Even by the standards of an inherently stressful show like
, Sunday night’s Season 3 finale was an absolutely diabolical doozy, the kind of conclusion that makes you sit up in your seat and yell at the screen,
Scrappy and utterly ruthless trader
(Myha’la) managed to claw her way into a partnership with a mega-powerful and equally unscrupulous financier while scratching everyone in her path. Try as she might’ve to avoid it, socialite Yasmin (Marisa Abela) stepped fully into her fate by getting engaged to the man-child tech billionaire Sir Henry Muck (Kit Harington, aka
), breaking Robert’s heart in the process. And time was finally up for managing director Eric (Ken Leung), as he was told by Pierpoint & Co.’s CFO that “there’s no business need” for him now that the company’s been bought by Egyptian investment firm Al-Mi’raj.
From the beginning, Mickey Down and Konrad Kay’s
has explored familiar – though no less enticing – prestige-TV themes around survival in a cutthroat workplace and ever-compromised morals among the filthy rich and those aspiring to be filthy rich. It’s often somewhat lazily compared to
, and has sometimes courted or at least acknowledged the comparison. (Eric to Rishi in Season 2: “
”)
But
is in its own lane, pulpier and seedier than the classical overtures of the Roy family, and Season 3 really leaned into the muck for the better. In the sixth episode, frenemies Harper and Yas engaged in a scathing war of words which climaxed in a ferocious exchange of slaps; it was a long time coming, and the daggers they hurled at one another were top-notch,
-esque, worthy of a primetime Shonda Rhimes melodrama.
And in the finale, Rishi (Sagar Radia), the uncouth Alpha-male trader who’s emerged from the show’s periphery, suffered the bleakest of consequences, for an out-of-control gambling addiction: His estranged wife was murdered right in front of him by the loan shark he’s indebted to.
In fact, death loomed over this season in several ways. The most protracted and melodramatic among them was the ripped-from-the-headlines plot concerning Yas’s repulsive dad Charles, whose character appears to be drawn from the bios of both
and Ghislaine Maxwell’s media magnate father Robert Maxwell. The series cultivated an air of suspicion surrounding Charles’s disappearance from the party yacht, doling out the details of what occurred in piecemeal flashbacks over the course of several episodes.
Yas was on the yacht with him that day, despite claiming to want “nothing to do with him” at the end of Season 2 once she learned about his pattern of inappropriate affairs with younger women. (Including her childhood nanny, a teen at the time.) Maybe, as she very guiltily “joked” to Robert at one point, she killed him; or maybe, like the British tabloids suggested, she’d helped him hide out to avoid dealing with the consequences of his embezzlement. In the end, Yas didn’t push Charles overboard that yacht, but she did watch him drown without trying to save him. That’s
.
This is the kind of sweeps-week storyline (remember those?) that could elicit groans for seeming cheaply manipulative, but
is a show where everyone and everything is connected and no relationship, no matter how unhinged, is superfluous. Harper’s presence aboard the yacht and her knowledge of what went down adds color to their rocky history as former adversaries at Pierpoint and on-and-off again friends; it’s meaningful that one of the show’s most
cared enough to keep Yas’ secret.
Which is why it’s poetic (and disappointing) that Yas ultimately wound up getting engaged to a version of her father – Henry, like Charles, was accused of sleeping with his employees. The continuous comforts of material luxury and guaranteed financial security proved too alluring to relinquish. One of
’s most engrossing recurring subjects is generational divides – and their limits. The show is an early depiction of Gen Z in the corporate space, and characters’ actions show that for all the relatively progressive ideals of youth, the influence of elders (and capitalism) is strong.
Meanwhile, Eric spent much of this season lecturing the younger cohort in his orbit – former mentee Harper, Yas, and even millennial Rishi – about “ethics” and the very dangerous risks they were taking in the business. Yet this is the same guy who intimidatingly carries a baseball bat around the sales floor, does coke with his direct reports (he hooked up with Yas’ lawyer!), and on more than one occasion has exploited and sabotaged his colleagues to stay afloat at Pierpoint.
When he admonished Harper for treating everyone, including Yas, as collateral on her road to domination, it was refreshing to hear Harper make plain
’s M.O.: “Everything you do on the floor communicates an ideology that people are a means to an end! I enact
philosophy and you have the nerve to come into my office and call
a bad person?”
They’re both right, of course. And that’s the beauty of
, which has been mercifully renewed for a fourth season. It’s a show less concerned with characters who are easily “likable” or “despicable.” What matters is they are individuals with clear ambitions and unique strategies for getting what they aim for – and this makes them endlessly watchable.