It’s won all the awards and now it’s going out in a blaze of comedy. Everything that could possibly go wrong for the restaurant does … but who cares when the fusion of tragedy and laughter is this good?
It may not be a gastronomic reference many midwestern gourmands would appreciate, but the last episode of the last season of The Bear was Marmite TV. Set in the back yard of the titular Chicago restaurant – transformed over the course of the show from a sandwich shop to a fine dining establishment by its talented and troubled head chef Carmy Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White) – the season four finale consisted of the cast shouting over each other about their respective grudges, oscillating between rage and misty-eyed sentimentality. A naturalistic exchange of complex emotional truths? A rare opportunity to flesh out TV characters’ psyches away from the demands of an actual narrative? Maybe. Or a plotless, unpleasantly cacophonous half-hour designed to entertain no one besides those unhealthily invested in the inner lives of Carmy, his protege Syd (Ayo Edebiri) and their ragtag bunch of fictional colleagues? Yeah, I didn’t love it.
Whatever your perspective, it’s hard to deny that The Bear is one of the shows that best encapsulates what was so great and not-so-great about peak streamer-era TV. The brainchild of writer-director Christopher Storer, the series always prioritised thematic richness and indie movie melancholy over focus-grouped crowd-pleasing or hoary screenwriting convention. As a result, it walked the line between uncompromising integrity and tedious self-indulgence – something only possible during a period, now passed, when platforms considered pouring money into auteurish shows a price worth paying for cultural clout.
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