The latest season of FX’s The Bear is a departure from the tone and pattern of Season 2, which was itself a departure from the first. The first two seasons often had a train-wreck feel. Initially, there were the daily emergencies that come with keeping a crumbling, jerry-built restaurant functional on a daily basis. Often it seems to be held together by sheer force of will. The bonding and camaraderie in a kitchen of ragtag employees in the restaurant helmed by a world-class chef made for fascinating viewing, as did the tension (both in the general sense and between various characters) that only dissipates for moments of time.
The plunge-into-the-abyss energy was an adrenaline rush that was thrilling and exhausting. It's a Chicago story, which grounds it firmly in place. This is a plus, but the only quibble I have with the setting is that only Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach, in a standout performance) has a Chicago accent. The choice is made more glaring by the fact that the action takes place in a neighborhood restaurant—The Original Beef of Chicagoland—where almost all the employees have lived in Chicago their entire lives. But, somehow, they all still talk like they're from California.
That family restaurant used to be run by “Mikey” Berzatto. When Mikey—who refused to let Carmy work at the restaurant, for unknown reasons—dies by his own hand, the protagonist of "The Bear,” Carmine “Carmy” Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White), a highly-successful chef, returns to Chicago to run the rundown family sandwich shop Mikey left to him. He does that, but feeling unfulfilled by preparing Italian beef sandwiches, Carmy eventually decides to use his formidable culinary skills to turn the dump into a fancy, white-tablecloth place, the theme that propels the action in Season 2, which ends dramatically with Carmy locked inside the walk-in cooler on opening night.
An ending like that can raise expectations for the opener for Season 3, but showrunner Christopher Storer, who shows little interest in adhering to the TV status quo, has other things in mind. With an ace cast in place and a slew of awards, he's got the freedom to slow things down and go sideways; even backwards. The new season’s marked by pauses, contemplation, and detours. More of a vibe than a continuation of the action, it's written as if there will be many more seasons to finish a complex story, so there's no rush to move the exposition along.
A good portion of Season 3 is told in flashbacks meant to add to the backstory. Episode 1 is a long flashback in the form of an extended montage emanating from Carmy's memory—a journey through a culinary career that's spectacular and sometimes depression-inducing. It's a daring choice to go with a backwards-looking, somber daydream after two seasons of coiled and fully-unleashed tension. The episode strayed so far from my expectations that I rewatched it to appreciate what it adds to the story.
There's little humor in season 3 of this “comedy/drama.” Instead, there are glimpses into Carmy’s tortured soul stemming from a messed-up family situation that includes an alcoholic mom, played by Jamie Lee Curtis in a no-holds-barred performance. Being a workaholic is Carmy's way of keeping his demons at the gate. And not just a workaholic in the regular way, but in a Michelin-star way that demands perfection down to the most minute detail, as illustrated in the Episode 1 flashback when his unhappy chef tells Carmy that a piece of meat has to always be cooked five seconds longer. His response is “Yes, chef.”
But that chef was a softie compared to the “evil” chef, David (Joel McHale) who continues to haunt Carmy up until the time when Carmy confronts him, with tears welling in his eyes, in the final episode of season 3. David, in a sense, is Carmy’s Moby Dick. Instead of taking the chef’s leg from the knee down, he took a chunk of Carmy’s pride, and it's a sore that festers. Carmy’s eyes in the kitchen telegraph that he's on a monomaniacal quest for revenge. But when he gets his long-awaited chance to have another go at the “whale,” Carmy’s harpoon doesn't even land. Instead, David deflects it and turns it around, perhaps giving Carmy a piece of harsh wisdom that might free him from his obsession with his nemesis.
Given the general lack of humor in the new season, the Fak brothers, two goofy-acting sibling employees, do the comic-relief heavy lifting. The problem is that their all-too-frequent appearances, which always signal the chaos at the heart of the series, seem forced. It's as if Storer wants his series to still be considered a drama/comedy and this device is all he can think of at the moment. But it's like a changeup in baseball; use it too much and it loses its punch.
Season 3 doesn't reach the heights of the previous two. Too many situations are left unresolved. But that doesn't mean it's merely a place-holder leaving viewers hoping the show gets back on course next year. The Bear has earned the benefit of the doubt. This season, which was reportedly filmed simultaneously with Season 4, looks like an extended, somewhat risky setup for the next season. I'm guessing the payoffs are coming, but just delayed. And when they come, they should be amplified by the meanderings of Season 3.
Big developments are certainly on their way. The restaurant’s survival now depends on the review that’s coming out any day now. The finances are that shaky, due to Carmy's cavalier, quixotic inattention to them. Carmy’s second-in-command, Sydney, whose relationship with the boss is getting more frayed by the week, has what looks to be a better job offer on the table. Carmy's quest for perfection in his food as a salve for his damaged psyche looks more and more like a failing proposition.
Carmy, who's anxious and unable to connect with people, has to figure out that he's becoming the man who’s his own personal antichrist—David. Without such an epiphany, no amount of short-term success—if that even happens—will be enough to save Carmy.