“Cheaters never face defeat, and those who lose never resort to cheating.”
This perverse guidance is what ultra-wealthy tech CEO Duncan Park (Billy Magnussen) imparts to his teenage daughter at the conclusion of the second episode of The Audacity, the incisive new AMC series examining the sociopaths in Silicon Valley, debuting April 12. It’s abysmal parenting, yet it encapsulates the rhetoric of Duncan’s specific universe: It may seem ingeniously counterintuitive but is utterly misguided—a flawed notion spawned by a privileged mediocre striving to be perceived as brilliant.
Duncan embodies a well-known archetype. At this point, numerous films and television shows satirize and critique the One Percent as they devise increasingly contemptible methods of treating their peers and subordinates. Jonathan Glatzer, the creator of The Audacity, also served as a producer and writer for Succession, whose viewers will find similar excitement here.
In a similar vein, Mike Judge’s satire of startups Silicon Valley may come to mind when someone on the streets of Palo Alto insults Duncan for driving a Hummer, and he defiantly replies, “It’s an EV! I’m part of the solution! Bitch!”
However, within Glatzer’s tale, paired with Magnussen’s explosive portrayal, there emerges something perhaps fresh and distinctive. Could this mark television’s inaugural genuine broligarch?
Duncan dons the puffer vest that has been the industry standard for years, although his Zoomer haircut mirrors the younger demographic aligned with Elon Musk’s DOGE. When a significant deal for his company, Hypergnosis, with an Apple-like conglomerate falls through, he schedules a session with an on-demand ayahuasca shaman. He becomes offended when a diagnostic indicates he is neurotypical—he had always presumed he was on the spectrum. In his childishness and overstepping bounds, his conviction in market manipulation as the rational approach to business, and his intensifying doubt that his deceased ex-partner aided his ascent, Duncan embodies the crisis of masculinity prevalent in American billionaire culture.
In contrast to some of its forerunners, The Audacity emphasizes the human toll resulting from this volatile blend of emotional ignorance and vast power.
Central to the narrative is a high-stakes complication between Duncan and his therapist, JoAnne Felder (Sarah Goldberg of Barry acclaim). One might anticipate a familiar scenario akin to Tony Soprano and Dr. Melfi, with the unhealed narcissist unloading his issues on a professional hired to care. Nevertheless, convinced JoAnne might divulge damaging details about his business tactics, Duncan coerces an employee to utilize an AI surveillance platform to spy on her and discovers she is engaging in insider trading during her sessions with high-profile clients.
Both Duncan and JoAnne have significant concerns aside from the rapidly intensifying blackmail plot. Their children, for example. Duncan’s status-obsessed wife is pressuring their daughter to attend Stanford despite her lackluster credentials, while scolding her for eating. JoAnne has recently reconnected with a painfully shy son who barely knows her. With the parents absorbed in their game of cat and mouse, the children are left lost in a cutthroat private school where suicide is a common topic.
This is one of the many ways The Audacity addresses the repercussions of permitting individuals like Duncan to steer the world. It’s not solely about mergers and acquisitions here—in fact, money often plays a secondary role, except in how he believes it entitles him to destroy or manipulate at will. Lacking those resources, JoAnne quickly obtains a handgun, not greatly exaggerating the desperation of someone burdened with student loan debt in contrast to a Fortune 500 executive.
