‘The Bear’ Season 2: Let’s Talk About That Ending, Carmy’s Arc, and Providing Joy — Spoilers
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[Editor’s Note: The following review contains spoilers for “The Bear” Season 2, including the ending.]
Richie’s arc in “The Bear” Season 2 is at once the most practical and the most endearing. Prompted by last season’s near-manslaughter scare and buoyed by Olivia Colman’s Episode 7 assurance that it’s “never too late to start over,” Ebon Moss-Bachrach’s character, who was once an obstinate obstacle to change, transforms into a definitive new man. Richie’s reading (which, based on his loose plot description to Carmy, seems to be Haruki Murakami’s 2013 novel, “Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage”) leads him to realize he doesn’t have a particular set of skills, or otherwise irreplaceable function at work, and if he’s going to provide for his daughter (which, in the immediate sense, means paying for Taylor Swift tickets), then he needs a reliable source of income, preferably one that will bring a little happiness, too — whether The Bear succeeds or not.
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With a little nudge from Carmy (Jeremy Allen White) and a lot of patience from the good folks at Ever, he recognizes that source. He steps up. He finds his purpose. Practically, that discovery is imperative to Richie’s survival. Emotionally, it’s vital so Richie can look past his self-loathing. He loves his daughter, he loves people, and he loves to feel needed. These are deeply relatable character traits, and they’re explored with importance and compassion throughout Season 2.
But “The Bear,” particularly in its new episodes, is intensely relatable full stop. It’s not that every audience member harbors a secret desire to be a Michelin-level Executive Chef, Chef de Cuisine, or Sous Chef — it’s that everyone should identify with the struggle to do something they love within a capitalistic system that gives zero fucks about personal satisfaction, let alone pleasure. Innately, we know it should not be this hard. But experience has taught us, as it has the chefs of The Bear, that the system often demands killing one dream to sustain another; to get your happiness at work or at home but not both. It’s exhilarating when it comes together, and devastating when it falls apart. Thus is Season 2.
Through these 10 episodes, our staff is searching for fulfillment from the same thing that requires most of their time; they dream of combining their passion and their profession in a way that can last. Some people, like Richie, just have to find a job of value they can also enjoy. Others are closer to Sydney (Ayo Edebiri) and have to chase their near-impossible dreams even when real-world fears and skeptical loved ones pull them toward safer harbors. And then there are the Carmys — the obsessives who can only do one thing, even if it might also be the thing that kills them. There’s a little bit of that drive in all “The Bear’s” characters, and it binds them. Sydney has it, for sure. Marcus (Lionel Boyce) has a bit, too (though his commitment to the gig is about to be tested once he reads all those messages from his mom’s nurse). Tina (Liza Colón-Zayas) is the same way, and her eagerness to learn is emphasized by Ebraheim’s (Edwin Lee Gibson) contradictory lack thereof.
“The Bear” Season 2 thrives because it explores how each distinct individual is united by this shared bond; they are all kind at heart, they are all flawed in reality, and they’re all trying to find a way to work together and create something they not only love, but that can sustain them. The practical and the quixotic at once.
At the heart of that quest is the head of the restaurant. Carmy’s struggle is defined gently in the beginning, before reaching a loud, crushing end. In the premiere, when Richie is talking about finding his purpose, Carmy makes a point to state his compulsion to cook “is not fun for me.” “Yeah,” Richie says, “but you love it.” “That doesn’t mean it’s fun,” Carmy says. “If this shit is not fun for you, Cousin,” Richie says, “what the fuck is fun for you?“
The question lingers over Season 2, as Carmy lives out two fantasies at once: that of the acclaimed artist opening his own restaurant, and that of the loveless young man given a second shot with his dream girl. At first, Claire (Molly Gordon) seems too good to be true. Her name rhymes with “bear,” and she even has the same first initial as Carmy — a slightly obnoxious, very writerly indicator of two characters’ shared connection. But she’s also an ER doctor who relishes her intense work environment. She’s a born-and-bred Chicago woman, and she’s aggressive in her pursuit of Carmy, which is necessary because he’s clearly been out of the game so long he doesn’t know what to do — and knows he doesn’t know what to do. Giving her a fake number was certainly purposeful, since Carmy had just told Sydney if she wants “one of these bullshit stars” then she’ll “have to care about everything more than anything.” In other words, he knows romance isn’t in the cards if he wants to open The Bear as planned, and he tries to steer himself away from temptation, only to buckle when Claire graciously inserts herself in his life.
What grounds Claire (besides Gordon’s confidant performance) is Episode 6, “Fishes,” which roots her relationship with Carmy not only in history, but family. Everyone at the Berzatto Christmas dinner knows Claire and wants to help Carmy connect with her. Carmy, who can barely keep up with the people he’s already close with, stammers his way through an explanation as to why he has yet to make a move, and in doing so, illustrates just how big of a crush he’s got. Knowing that, even a few episodes after we meet Claire, helps justify why he’s unable to resist her. Had she just been a pretty girl he once knew, risking the restaurant wouldn’t really make sense, and we wouldn’t feel for Carmy when Sydney starts to turn on her flaky partner. But this is the girl — the only one would could break through to him when it’s least convenient and most needed.
And he does need it. In Episode 3, “Sundae,” Carmy attends an Al-Anon meeting and opens up about how he’s trying to build a new restaurant (and a new life) “from a healthy place.” He remembers how, as a kid, any fun that he may have had would end up “kind of fucked”; that his family would “try too hard or they’d make promises they weren’t able to keep.” He says, “I think if I could provide more amusement and enjoyment for myself, it would be easier to provide for others.”
It’s rather remarkable that Carmy is self-aware enough to recognize what he needs right now, given how lost he was in Season 1 and how mentally (and physically) draining his job can be. But, stepping back a bit, hearing this so early in the season also tees up the tragic ending, when Carmy — while locked in the walk-in refrigerator and forced to imagine the failures he’s responsible for outside — comes to the conclusion that he doesn’t deserve amusement or enjoyment. He can give that to his patrons (and hopefully his staff), but without experiencing it himself. Being the chef he’s driven to be means there’s no time for his own personal joy.
Again, Episode 6 proves instrumental to appreciating not only how Carmy reaches his lonely conclusion, but the gravity of his verdict. “Fishes” whips up a familial frenzy. There’s shouting, crying, fork tossing, physical fights, emotional attacks, and even a car smashing into the living room. (The A-list cameos, coming one after the next, actually add to the gathering’s overwhelming nature: At first, we’re excited to see each new face, often in an uncomfortable, claustrophobic close-up, but that feeling soon gives way to nervous suspense.) This Christmas may have been the most extreme version of a Berzatto family get-together, but the weariness and wariness conveyed by each kid (particularly Carmy and Natalie) make it clear this isn’t a rare occurrence. It’s what it was like to grow up in this household, and it’s why Carmy is drawn to his chosen line of work.
To paraphrase a perceptive villain: Others adapted to the chaos of a hectic kitchen. Carmy was born in it. He’s at home when things are at a fever pitch, but rather than settle in with a steady hand, he can only mimic the hostile behavior of his formative chef: Donna (Jamie Lee Curtis). In the ending, he mimics her again. Donna proves her doubters wrong and shows up for the friends and family dinner, but she can’t bring herself to go inside, telling Natalie’s husband Pete (Chris Witaske), “I don’t deserve to see how good this is. I want them to have this good thing, and I don’t want to hurt it.”
Carmy, in saying he doesn’t “need to receive amusement or enjoyment” is saying something similar: Locked behind the walk-in’s broken door, he feels like he doesn’t deserve to see how good his staff is doing, how happy his guests are, or how well the night turned out, even with all the bumps along the way. He deserves to be punished, to be locked away from their joy, because he wasn’t “focused” enough to help create it. In a way, he recognizes he’s the problem. But he can’t pinpoint why he’s the problem, and instead of continuing on with the hard work of adjusting his approach to the job, he decides it’s easier to deny himself anything but the job.
Taken alone, Carmy’s Season 2 arc is devastating. What keeps the season from feeling equally destructive is how efficiently Christopher Storer, Joanna Calo, and their talented crew spread the story across an impeccable cast, as well as the many, many satisfying ingredients baked in elsewhere. A few choice examples:
The premiere’s “Jewish Lightning” discussion doubles as one of the season’s best pieces of banter — with multiple cast members contributing great laugh lines — and a stealthy tease for what’s really going on with the fire suppression test.
Taking a lesson from Carrie Bradshaw, Carmy keeps his clothes in the oven.
Everything in Denmark is incredible. The weather. The boat. The designs. The food, obviously. Will Poulter, why not? Letting The Bear’s teddy bear roam the streets was one of the writers’ smartest moves, and the whole episode proves just as gentle and lovely as Marcus.
Stevie, aka John Mulaney, is a highlight throughout Episode 6, but when he agrees to give the two Faks $500 for their baseball card scheme? *chef’s kiss* So sweet. So funny. Such a lovely little moment in a season that features plenty.
Richie rocking out to Taylor Swift in Episode 7, or Richie screaming “fuck you” before immediately covering his mouth in fear of being too loud in Episode 10? Choosing a favorite is too hard, I give up.
Sydney’s chef jacket! The little stripes!!
The montage of the entire staff watching a little balloon not inflating, as their lives pass before their eyes… remarkable. Blunt symbolism — they need the gas to cook, and they need to cook for the restaurant to be real, and they need the restaurant to be real so their lives are real and purposeful and justifiable — but great nonetheless.
And for fans of the greatest city in the world, while certain frustrations surrounding the specificity of Chicago’s portrait surely remain, they’re balanced (if not overwhelmed) by rich flavors favored by Windy City palettes.
Richie bursting through the doors of Pequod’s to pick up the city’s best deep-dish is set up for a standing ovation, and I can’t be the only viewer to comply.
The moment “Alex Gonzalez” springs from Uncle Jimmy’s lips, you know he’s about to set the record straight about who’s really to blame for the Cubs’ 2003 choke job.
Listen, Dark Matter Coffee is a Chicago institution — they even sell it at Whole Foods — and maybe Natalie would go to one of its half-dozen locations in need of a quick, convenient cup. But otherwise she, and everyone else at The Bear, would go to Metric. Maybe Sawada.
Another minor gripe: Kasama makes the best breakfast sandwich in the world, so I was thrilled when Sydney made it her top order — but one of the reasons it’s the best brekkie east of the Mississippi is because the hashbrown is included. There’s no need for her to order it separately, let alone make a show of adding it to the sandwich. That’s taking credit away from the masters at Kasama in order to make Sydney look good. Pass.
Credit for referencing the Cubs, Da Bears (via Chicago native Bob Odenkirk, no less), and Da Bulls this season — the last of which was even squeezed in during the Copenhagen vacation.
I believe drunk dumb-dumbs setting off fireworks are a problem in most cities, but I’ve never lived somewhere with as many obnoxious, non-seasonal, nightly explosions as the Windy City, so I was very, very happy to see the biggest doofus alive get hauled away for setting them off near so many trees. Stop it, people! They’re not that fun!
Carmy and Richie’s shorthand via “Blues Brothers” quotes is almost too on the nose, but I’ll accept it.
“The Bear” Season 2 does leave a few characters hanging. Ebraheim’s withdrawal is a little too quiet and his return a little too simple. Tina is more thoroughly explored — and outside of work, as well — but her karaoke scene reads a little too movie-ish compared to the hyper-real scenes in The Bear. Sydney, like the city she stems from, could use more specificity, though I feel like that’s coming in Season 3. (When she tells Carmy her mom died, it’s as much of an acknowledgement that they haven’t shared everything with each other as it is that “The Bear” hasn’t shared everything with us.)
But for the most part, “The Bear” Season 2 wields its time wisely. Episodes feel episodic. Attention is shared. Development is convincing and compelling. Carmy’s arc may be tragic, but there’s enough joy to be found nearby that it doesn’t overwhelm everything Season 2 has cooking. Come Season 3, we’ll be even more eager to say, “Yes, chef” — or chefs.
“The Bear” Season 2, an FX production, is available on Hulu.
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