The Bear Season 3 is a Waste
Guest Chef appearances a lone bright spot.
Season 3 of The Bear mistakenly believes it’s entirely about the character nicknamed The Bear, when it should equally be about his restaurant named The Bear. Jeremy Allen White is not Walter White. A good show with legs, which this is, has some room to breathe. There is space to explore back stories, side stories, the lives of its characters outside of the world it promised in the pilot. That said, this season exists almost exclusively in that realm and forgets the audience might actually want to see a bit of the game, no matter how great the half time show is. From point A to B, little happens with The Bear. Either of them.
To be more blunt, this was a colossal waste of a season. The opening twenty(!) minutes is a montage of him coming up as a chef, albeit under some very famous chefs, like Daniel Boulud and Rene Redzepi. That’s a lot of screen time for a culinary short film. It would not have been such a turn off if the tone wasn’t this dramatic, wannabe profound thing, instead of being set to the Sex Pistols. It established the tone for the next ten episodes. They come across as so pretentious and self important that I almost didn’t make it to the baffling cliffhanger of a finish. They tease a high profile review of his new restaurant for half the season, and when it is finally published, we get, “To Be Continued…” No shit. What are you talking about? This is a serial show, not episodic. None of the arcs end at the credits. I didn’t assume FX’s multiple Emmy winning hit series was getting cancelled. Maybe it was the Writer’s strike. Or maybe they won those golden statues, read their reviews, lit cigars and just blew smug smoke on the page in the writer’s room all day long.
Remember that Michelin star he’s so desperately after? Here’s a close up of Jamie Lee Curtis for thirty minutes while his sister gives birth for an episode.
Remember the taxing “non negotiables” he sets out to start the season so they can become one of the best fine dining establishments in the world? Here’s a funeral for the grandmother of his pastry chef.
Remember his girlfriend that he ruined things with at the end of last season? They sure mention her a lot and show her in flashbacks, but they don’t have one scene together the entire season.
This is six hours of a guy wondering how to apologize. This is ten episodes of a show that knows you are going to binge watch, and knows they’ll be getting a fourth season. And it felt like it. It is the most throwaway season of television in recent memory. When Uncle Jimmy brings in his associate, Computer, to analyze their ballooning expenses, he discovers charger plates: decorative plates that serve no purpose yet still require cleaning each night. They get the axe. This season is those plates.
The other elements at play are The Bear’s demanding managing style wearing on his staff, his inability to confront Claire or his mother, Sydney getting offered to leave for another chef, and his newly matured cousin making amends with his recently engaged ex wife and daughter. None of these make much progress. But, hey, Josh Hartnett and John Cena show up.
Ayo Edebiri, who plays Sydney, takes a turn at directing the episode “Napkins”. This is a cousin episode to “Forks” from last season, that follows Tina, played maternally by Liza Colon-Zayas, and how she ended up working at The Beef. It’s fine. She’s down on her luck looking for work when Richie gives her a free sandwich with her coffee, then Mikey consoles her after he finds her crying. It’s sweet and ties in nicely. However, I can not get over Tina telling Mikey about the job search that “it’s all kids…it’s beautiful, you know? They seem hungry…it would be real easy for me to get really angry at these kids…but I’m also like, I would give anything to be one of them,” when the previous scene was literally her telling one of those kids, “fuck you.” It would be real easy for you to be angry at these kids because that’s exactly what we watched you do five minutes ago.
Throughout the disjointed stalemate, there is the thread of legacy discussed that is slowly taking shape at The Bear. The imprint a chef leaves on the entire industry - the trickling effect of how chefs who trained in the same kitchen and go on to open their own create this fine dining family tree. Carmy is wondering what his legacy will be. His former mentor, played by Joel McHale, was hard on him and downright mean. Now he is transferring that on to Sydney and his kitchen. It mirrors the lasting baggage from his family that is now in his way of growing as a person. Trauma is inherited and transferred and internalized. The Bear is as much about mental health and toxic relationships as it is anything else. Inside the restaurant, the season is an hors d’oeuvre. It’s appealing but not substantive. There is a fun, repetitive series showing the grueling routine of opening night after night. We also get a lovely look at how chefs find their inspiration and creativity. There is a lot of taking in the world, influence from other chefs, R &D done in the after hours or early morning. Yet all that dedication, the monotony, or the time spent experimenting never gets its rightful payoff of making it on to the menu or pleasing a critic, or someone down on their luck, or anybody. The moments that make it all worth it never come.
My review of the first two seasons called for more of Marcus, the pastry chef who “brought a quiet charm to the screen…and adds poise to the hectic kitchen. [But] the show…isn’t entirely confident what to do with him.” Copy and paste that for season 3. What is Marcus doing? When Computer suggests losing him, Natalie, the calm, sane one, threatens his life. So everyone agrees, we love Marcus. Do something with him. You had ten episodes.
To their credit, Producer and real life chef, Matty Matheson, who I noted is “one of the best characters, but…seldomly featured,” does get a much bigger role this season. It’s impressive he was never an actor because the man is overflowing with charm and gives a natural, comfortable performance even with the increased dialogue outside of the kitchen. There is a running inside joke about haunting each other that I personally thought didn’t work, but I will go along with the blue collar goofing around that reminds us this started as a family run hot dog joint. “The season two finale…was impressively set entirely in the restaurant, which is where they typically shine... Give us more of that and less of Carmy’s Kendall Roy impression staring at his cell phone.” This did not happen. Lots of Carmy staring at his phone this season.
The best episode of the season is the Finale, which brings together a handful of celebrated real life chefs and restaurateurs to enjoy the farewell “Ever” dinner at the fictional restaurant run by Olivia Colman’s character. Apparently any time she shows up it’s going to be their best effort. The season two episode “Forks,” still the series’ best, took place at her restaurant as well. The finale dinner, featuring a round table of Grant Achatz, Christina Tosi, Kevin Boehm, Will Guidara, Anna Posey, Malcolm Livingston II and others, is exquisitely refreshing and fluid. It feels improvised, as if these chefs are swapping real life stories, paying no mind to the fictional cast sitting with them. Thomas Keller, of the world renowned California restaurant, The French Laundry, makes a flashback appearance teaching Carmy how to prep a chicken for what is known as family dinner. Admittedly, this is all fantastic. It’s wholesome and inside baseball, and I could listen to them for an hour. But an entire television season, it does not make.
This is a season of ambience. The plot barely moves. No one changes. Not much is introduced and nothing gets resolved. It is high quality meandering.
The end of this show will be when Carmy finally overcomes his baggage, and uses it to become a better boss, chef and person, allowing him and the restaurant to be a success. Or he decides he’s happier simply running The Beef. Or he never confronts his emotions and offs himself like his brother and the restaurant shuts its doors. Or he realizes he can only be a great chef if he is an asshole and alone and that’s a choice to make à la Spider-Man or Steve Jobs. The two Bears are one. When he thrives, it thrives and vice versa. The finish line can be wherever the creators want it to be, but it should be a journey to get there. And we should see the fruits of his stressed out, panic inducing labor. That’s where TV bests the movies. It has years to twist and turn, grow, change, pivot, relapse and mend with its characters. It’s moving, it’s progressing. This season keeps both Bears waiting at a bus stop, while a few cool cameos walk by.
