#93 Young, Scrappy and Hungry
02/03/23 16:49
I’m not sure where to start with The Bear. I don’t feel clever enough to convey its cleverness. It’s like nothing else I’ve watched, so there’s not much to go on, comparison-wise. You know the 2020 film Love Sarah, about a woman who wants to open a cake shop in Notting Hill only she dies so her mum does it instead? It’s absolutely nothing like that. They both feature chocolate cake, but it ends there. In a hail of bullets, probably.
OK, OK, there are people (my dad) muttering at the back that *actually* The Bear is similar to Boiling Point, the Stephen Graham film that came out earlier this year. But I didn’t see it - I’m slightly scared of Stephen Graham because of This Is England. So, now we have a close comparison for the thing that I said was incomparable, which is an aptly muddy start to my summary.
The Bear is stupendous, but I didn’t like it at first. Didn’t know wtf was going on. It’s all so dementedly breakneck, everyone talking at once, and I couldn’t follow one conversation, let alone four or five. They say show not tell, but The Bear doesn’t even show – it just gives you the briefest glimpses amidst the shouting and plating. But then, two or three eps in, it suddenly clicks into place and you love everyone in it, and everything about it, and want to tell everyone to watch it, fucking watch it, especially episode 7.
Let me attempt to fillet this show and lay it out for you. Like in Love Sarah, the original proprietor of ‘The Original Beef’ sandwich shop is dead, but not because he fell off a bicycle. No; Michael Berzatto blew his brains out, possibly because of debts and/or drugs/depression but it’s not clear because nothing is clear. His brother Carmy, an award-winning chef, comes back to Chicago to run the restaurant and take on the motley crew of staff, including Mikey’s best friend Richie, who is ostensibly the manager but doesn’t actually do anything useful because he’s a nutcase. Carmy also takes on Sydney, a talented but inexperienced young sous chef, to help him sort it all out. This beef joint he’s inherited is a mess, he’s a mess, their bit of Chicago’s a mess; it’s all a hot mess.
Cue the shouting. Richie shouts because that’s his natural volume setting – sometimes when he gets really aeriated, he waves a gun around. Sometimes he shoots it. All the chefs bellow at each other because they don’t really know what they’re doing yet, the Berzattos yell at each other because they’re grieving, Sydney shouts out orders, and in the background is the constant crazy sizzle and tap of food being chopped and cooked. My Christ, the food. As if it wasn’t hard enough to follow everything, I’m constantly distracted by sumptuous bubbling sauces; succulent shredded meat being loaded onto pillowy bread rolls; glistening creamy risotto… My brain is being scrambled, my mouth is watering… this show turns me to mush. Why are they serving such carefully crafted, delectable dishes in a humble sandwich shop? I have no idea. I also don’t understand how any of the actors are holding it together – the pile-up of the script must be devilish to get to grips with, plus they have to prep and pan-fry like pros. They’re incredible.
Amidst the noise and haste, compelling characters emerge – the terse, frazzled, just-about-managing Carmy; jumping bean Richie who occasionally tenderizes into thoughtfulness; gifted, plucky Sydney picking her way through the minefield; gentle Marcus patiently perfecting his doughnuts. They all tumbled pale and unformed into the fryer, but gradually pop back up, golden and gorgeous. It’s agony watching everything go wrong for them, but it does, day after day. There’s always something or someone fucking up, and they’re left to clear up and carry on. It makes for an edgy viewing experience.
And then we come to episode 7, just over twenty minutes long – an epic, unbearably tense and tumultuous rollercoaster ride that left me harrowed, wrung out, elated. It’s extraordinary. A glowing restaurant review coincides with a technical hitch on their new to-go pre-order service, resulting in hundreds of orders coming in with minutes to spare. Everyone goes spare. It’s a complete meltdown that culminates in (slight spoiler alert) one staff member stabbing another. And OK, here’s the kicker: they shot it in one take. One fucking take. YES, like Boiling Point, whatever. I don’t care if someone else did it first, and for longer; it’s still a phenomenal piece of TV that deserves all the awards, including a Michelin star. Like Carmy, I would eat Marcus’s doughnuts off the floor.
If you think my review is over-seasoned with fucks then don’t watch this show. It’s really fucky. Sometimes that was the only word I could hear and understand. But like I said, this is a world away from Love Sarah. In the end, the closest comparison for me was Hamilton. I had a similar trajectory watching it – initial bewilderment and worry (‘everyone loves this, I’m the only fool who doesn’t get it’) simmering into a slow immersion, then a sense of wonder and excitement, followed by an air-punch and fuck, yes! This is a feast, on every level.
OK, OK, there are people (my dad) muttering at the back that *actually* The Bear is similar to Boiling Point, the Stephen Graham film that came out earlier this year. But I didn’t see it - I’m slightly scared of Stephen Graham because of This Is England. So, now we have a close comparison for the thing that I said was incomparable, which is an aptly muddy start to my summary.
The Bear is stupendous, but I didn’t like it at first. Didn’t know wtf was going on. It’s all so dementedly breakneck, everyone talking at once, and I couldn’t follow one conversation, let alone four or five. They say show not tell, but The Bear doesn’t even show – it just gives you the briefest glimpses amidst the shouting and plating. But then, two or three eps in, it suddenly clicks into place and you love everyone in it, and everything about it, and want to tell everyone to watch it, fucking watch it, especially episode 7.
Let me attempt to fillet this show and lay it out for you. Like in Love Sarah, the original proprietor of ‘The Original Beef’ sandwich shop is dead, but not because he fell off a bicycle. No; Michael Berzatto blew his brains out, possibly because of debts and/or drugs/depression but it’s not clear because nothing is clear. His brother Carmy, an award-winning chef, comes back to Chicago to run the restaurant and take on the motley crew of staff, including Mikey’s best friend Richie, who is ostensibly the manager but doesn’t actually do anything useful because he’s a nutcase. Carmy also takes on Sydney, a talented but inexperienced young sous chef, to help him sort it all out. This beef joint he’s inherited is a mess, he’s a mess, their bit of Chicago’s a mess; it’s all a hot mess.
Cue the shouting. Richie shouts because that’s his natural volume setting – sometimes when he gets really aeriated, he waves a gun around. Sometimes he shoots it. All the chefs bellow at each other because they don’t really know what they’re doing yet, the Berzattos yell at each other because they’re grieving, Sydney shouts out orders, and in the background is the constant crazy sizzle and tap of food being chopped and cooked. My Christ, the food. As if it wasn’t hard enough to follow everything, I’m constantly distracted by sumptuous bubbling sauces; succulent shredded meat being loaded onto pillowy bread rolls; glistening creamy risotto… My brain is being scrambled, my mouth is watering… this show turns me to mush. Why are they serving such carefully crafted, delectable dishes in a humble sandwich shop? I have no idea. I also don’t understand how any of the actors are holding it together – the pile-up of the script must be devilish to get to grips with, plus they have to prep and pan-fry like pros. They’re incredible.
Amidst the noise and haste, compelling characters emerge – the terse, frazzled, just-about-managing Carmy; jumping bean Richie who occasionally tenderizes into thoughtfulness; gifted, plucky Sydney picking her way through the minefield; gentle Marcus patiently perfecting his doughnuts. They all tumbled pale and unformed into the fryer, but gradually pop back up, golden and gorgeous. It’s agony watching everything go wrong for them, but it does, day after day. There’s always something or someone fucking up, and they’re left to clear up and carry on. It makes for an edgy viewing experience.
And then we come to episode 7, just over twenty minutes long – an epic, unbearably tense and tumultuous rollercoaster ride that left me harrowed, wrung out, elated. It’s extraordinary. A glowing restaurant review coincides with a technical hitch on their new to-go pre-order service, resulting in hundreds of orders coming in with minutes to spare. Everyone goes spare. It’s a complete meltdown that culminates in (slight spoiler alert) one staff member stabbing another. And OK, here’s the kicker: they shot it in one take. One fucking take. YES, like Boiling Point, whatever. I don’t care if someone else did it first, and for longer; it’s still a phenomenal piece of TV that deserves all the awards, including a Michelin star. Like Carmy, I would eat Marcus’s doughnuts off the floor.
If you think my review is over-seasoned with fucks then don’t watch this show. It’s really fucky. Sometimes that was the only word I could hear and understand. But like I said, this is a world away from Love Sarah. In the end, the closest comparison for me was Hamilton. I had a similar trajectory watching it – initial bewilderment and worry (‘everyone loves this, I’m the only fool who doesn’t get it’) simmering into a slow immersion, then a sense of wonder and excitement, followed by an air-punch and fuck, yes! This is a feast, on every level.
- The Bear, 8 episodes, Disney+
