The first episode of creator Christopher Storer’s FX on Hulu series “The Bear” has the nervous, ruthless, immersive energy of the Safdie brothers’ “Uncut Gems,” a high compliment to the chefs. It throws us into the kitchen of a legendary beef sandwich shop struggling to stay alive in Chicago, as they prepare for another demanding day. It’s a frantic mix of toxic, high-functioning dysfunction: people running around, pots cooking too long, dull knives drawing blood, and so, so much overlapping yelling. Meanwhile, family photos flash to give us a sense of backstory, to intertwine the modern chaos with a sense of family. The food made throughout “The Bear” comes close from the chest. Treated with a dash of magical realism to balance out its blood-and-sweat stories, Storer’s series presents the kitchen as a wily, chaotic state of mind.
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Fitting then, that Carmen AKA “Carmy” has dreams of his kitchen being on fire. Carmy has taken over the business after his older brother Michael, the former owner of The Original Beef of Chicagoland, died by suicide. Carmy is portrayed with tender anguish by Jeremy Allen White, his erratically wavy hair an extension of every unresolved thought that’s on Carmy’s mind regarding the business, his fellow chefs, the prestigious but soul-crushing past in New York City’s elite restaurant scene he left behind, the daily pressures of keeping the business open, and how the loss of his brother has led to a divide from his sister Sugar (Abby Elliott). White is an incredible fulcrum for the show’s entire balancing act, his transfixing eyes searching and weary, while blitzing through the kitchen with an athletic nature matched by his muscles but also his confidence. Carmy is the lead underdog in this story that sometimes has the grit of a great, vulgar sports movie, of skilled professionals who are proving to others and themselves their purpose to stay in the game.
Carmy’s kitchen is a free-for-all, and while his method of brigade French cooking hierarchy can bring some order, the relationships can easily show their toxic colors. Sometimes the writing seems to push this antagonistic, screaming nature a little too freely, as if it’s aware that it can get a juicier talking scene out of characters screaming at each other without it adding too much. We get that a lot with his interactions with his cousin Richie (Eben Moss-Bachrach), who handles certain off-the-books business, and then goes off the handle in the earlier episodes more by the writing compelling it to happen. But the plotting does have compelling resolutions to its latest nightmare. One moment involving a rogue bottle of Xanax and a children’s birthday party works in a way that only something as crafty and thought-out as “The Bear” could, without breaking its rich, darkly comic tone.
“The Bear” would not be as gripping were it not for the side characters in the kitchen, who are vividly illustrated in by an ensemble that shows the different mentalities of those in the service industry. The green but adaptable Sydney enters the shop with a history of catering, which gives her a leg-up on the leadership but makes her susceptible to that same stubborn self-reliance that Carmy uses as a shield. Her story is delicately portrayed by Ayo Edibiri, embodying emotional and mental growth in the kitchen while being far more than just the new character in this claustrophobic environment who becomes our surrogate. Though she’s great for that too.
It’s about the other lives too, like Tina (Liza Colón-Zayas), who has been working in the kitchen for many, many years, and has her own way of doing things that also leads to some mistakes that threaten to derail the day’s menu. Then there’s Marcus (Lionel Boyce), who takes on a quieter pursuit of desserts, enjoying the craft of it. He’s sometimes off in his own world, nearly doing science experiments, but it becomes an expression of the passion that’s underneath this story, and the way that “The Bear” fudges with some lines of reality to make a greater point. His story has poetry to it, and like other character details, it does not take away from everything going on, it enhances it.
For a more overt dosage of humor, Matty Matheson’s warm and affable Neil (also known as ‘Fak’) has a growing role as someone who wants to be a part of this family, who hangs around and becomes useful during some crises, but not so much in others. If his moments are a bit more overtly sitcom-ready, with his goofy character, the rest of the atmosphere provides a contrast, namely when cousin Richie gets in the mix. Brash and seemingly ready to turn everything into a fight, he holds the worst of the kitchen’s mentalities. You want to hate Richie so much, and that’s what makes the performance so good, especially as Moss-Bachrach gently, naturally reveals the holes in his life that are covered by him acting like such an asshole.
The series has a decent Chicago flavor for sure, soaked into its story and in ways that color the experience of being here. A few details are like inside jokes: the giant billboard for Chicago’s beloved elixir Malört that hangs over Original Beef like a halo; the immediate dismissal of whether the cops should be called when a couple of bullets are shot through the window; the fact that somebody has a story of meeting Bill Murray, and it might just be their life highlight. Using a Murray anecdote as a haunting bit of a brighter past is a sharp piece of Chicago-specific character building.
Even the beef sandwich has a holy, mightily Chicago presence: there may be customers who wait to get inside the shop right when doors open at 3pm, but providing a classic is not enough in Chicago capitalism to provide them financial comfort. Like with numerous Chicago institutions, (thinking of once-food tour destination Jay’s Beef, which isn’t even in the city anymore), Carmy’s sandwich shop has to perpetuate its legacy to stand out and hope people keep coming back. In “The Bear,” the beef sandwich giveth and taketh away.
But because the series yearns to be so Chicago, it could stand to have a little more specificity, aside from placing Carmy’s shop in River North and calling it a day. It’s a missed opportunity to give this show a physical sense of neighborhood—it can casually name-drop spots like Pilsen and Wicker [Park], but it makes inserted shots of the city feel more weightless than “The Bear” wants them to be.
Not to be lost throughout the chaos and creation of “The Bear” is a love for food. This affection flows naturally into the story, like when Carmy has loving moments of crafting something; the series seems to slow down, the bustling soundtrack takes a break. The images of each major cooking step slowly fade into each other, providing a strong contrast to the coordinated chaos that usually fills Carmy’s kitchen. It’s these moments of breath that remind the viewer, and not just the characters in the scene, about what a hold that food has. “The Bear” is filled with such passion, for service workers, the art that their cut hands create daily, and the daily battles they endure. [B+]