Episodes viewed: 10 of 10
Streaming on: Disney+
Very mild spoilers to follow
How do you follow up a dish that was — to borrow a food writing cliché — cooked to perfection? Like The Godfather Part II, the remarkable second season of The Bear, the Chicago-set comedy-drama (heavy emphasis on the ‘drama’), was the rare sequel that surpassed the original, a masterpiece in ten episodes. Perhaps inviting further comparisons to The Godfather, this new run has been titled “The Bear: Part III”, suggesting a family saga of Corleone-ian proportions.
This time around, Jeremy Allen White’s Chef Carmy is keen to “constantly evolve through passion and creativity” — and so, evidently, is The Bear’s showrunner Christopher Storer. The first episode of this new run is essentially a 37-minute non-narrative montage, an impressionistic edit of everything that led Carmy to this point. It feels like both an arty ‘Previously, on…’ recap for returning viewers — and a sense that the character, too, is taking stock, trying to make sense of it all. Naturally, it’s set to music from Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, the ultimate soundtrackers for brooding, atmospheric montages. (Fret not, Gen-X-ers, the soundtrack still has plenty of ‘90s/‘00s deep cuts, among them Counting Crows, Weezer, REM, and more.)
Once again, Chef Carmy, Chef Syd (Ayo Edebiri), Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach) and the rest of the gang are wrestling with the hows and the whys of running a restaurant aspiring to be more. After the deep shame of last season’s FridgeGate — Boris Johnson clearly borrowed some ideas — Carmy has set himself some modest new goals: make amends for what he said to his childhood sweetheart Claire (Molly Gordon); create a brand-new menu from scratch every day; chase a Michelin star (“I’m more of a Pirelli guy,” scoffs Richie) — and quit smoking.
It is nothing if not hard work. Episode three is dedicated to the grind of the new restaurant in full swing: the disasters, the swearing matches, the rare wins, the many losses. It’s taken three seasons to actually see The Bear (the restaurant, that is) in action, and as you might expect, it’s fraught. Skittish direction and scattershot editing again accentuate the labour that goes into every meal, a pressure only accelerated by an industry in post-pandemic freefall. It is as stressful a viewing experience as it’s ever been.
The show’s conceptual boldness remains its strongest card.
For us, that can sometimes feel frustrating. After all the growth of last season, it’s tough to see these characters still in a place of stasis, still struggling with their personal demons, still struggling to find the reason to “keep fucking going”, so engrossed in their project that they are failing to see the wood for the trees. It sometimes feels like some of the progress made last year has been lost.
But there is room for hope. The show’s conceptual boldness and unwillingness to follow a linear narrative remains its strongest card, and the high points come in bottle episodes that deepen individual character arcs. Perhaps the best episode this time around is the sixth, ‘Napkins’, directed by Edibiri (her directorial debut). It’s a flashback that essentially acts as ‘Tina: Origins’, showing how tough line cook Tina (Liza Colón-Zayas, still superb) first came to work at the original Beef sandwich shop. What follows is a straightforwardly moving half-hour, with a lovely turn from returning guest star Jon Bernthal, whose simple humanity and kindness prove devastating.
Interestingly, it's in the many guest turns that the show finds its most profound moments. A seller at a farmer’s market advises Tina that “whatever grows together, goes together”, a phrase with a conspicuous double meaning. Legendary chef Thomas Keller — one of many real cooks to make special appearances — tells Carmy in a flashback that “It’s all about nurturing.” Restaurateur Daniel Boulud asks Carmy as he cooks: “Do you hear the music?”, inadvertently echoing Kenneth Branagh’s line from Oppenheimer. There are many, many wonderful guest turns this season, including returning A-listers from the previous run, and a couple of genuine mic-drop cameos. (The casting of one long-lost Fak brother is utterly inspired.)
By the tenth episode, with Joel McHale’s tiny appearances from previous seasons finally coming to fruition, there is some sense of resolution for Carmy, but also a tease of more to come, a sense that the full satisfactory payoff is still being held back. It is true that season 4 was shot back-to-back with this one, so perhaps we should reserve judgement until the next course is served. The Bear: Part III is not quite the decadent triumph of Part II, but in its moments of high emotional insight, it is still — to borrow another food writing cliché — meltingly tender. Maybe that’s enough for now.
