This article contains a couple spoilers. But I’m only 7 episodes in.
The issue with this season, and I might not call it a problem, but I would understand if others did, is that the drama is now almost entirely derived from interpersonal conflicts between characters, whereas in previous seasons, there was some larger conflict or pursuit driving the drama, namely having a cohesive workforce and eventually obtaining a better, nicer, less depressing restaurant.
Any interpersonal drama was in the service of this larger conflict or pursuit.
Now, everyone is SO FUCKING EMOTIONALLY BROKEN, it gets a little….
In almost every episode, there is an abundance of deep, DEEP conversation. This zoomed-in psychological preoccupation is formally conveyed through an increased use of extreme closeups. People are constantly apologizing to each other, asking “are you okay?”, and when they’re not doing that, they’re ping-ponging largely trivial incidental conversation and screaming the f-word at each other at top volume in a busy restaurant while customers on the other side of a translucent wall don’t seem to notice, somehow.
All of this occurs amid a perhaps-overdependent use of montage and short-form flashback. (I have no problem with the long-form flashback usage, which is central to the show’s style.)
The Fak Brothers now function completely (if they didn’t already) as comic relief to an endless parade of doubt, fear, anger, regret, loss, friction, and general internal desolation. Much of the time, they’re just wasting time and being annoying, and even conveniently incompetent when it might serve the plot.
Like with pouring the broth. WTF?
That is another problem—and this is a problem—with this dramatic framework, which is that the interpersonal drama proceeds in such a way that it starts to strain credulity. Why would anyone talk this long, why would grown men say “no, fuck you, I insist” to each other for THAT long, why would people shriek at each other, why would two people joke in a fluffy, Seinfeldian manner—”me?” “you.” “me?” “you.” “why?” “why what”? “why me?” “why not you?”…in other words, non-substantive, pointless, and unrealistic—at the least appropriate moments for durations that feel endless?
I attribute this to what I see as the tendency of millennial writers—at 43, Christopher Storer is basically exactly on the cusp between Millennial and Gen X; technically X, which explains his taste in music—but anyway, the millennial tendency to use essentially psychotherapeutic exploration of a character’s neuroses—sources, thoughts, reflections, shame, emotional exhaustion—to attempt to convey their deeper inner life.
Instead of being “shown” the nature of their interiority through watching them act and react, we instead are subjected to the equivalent of therapy sessions, which can get tiring and, again, strain credulity. Because in real life, we often are performing actions like working and other obligations, no matter how we feel. So experiencing extended psychological explorations of these characters in the middle of a work day strains credulity as well. Who has enough time to have this many deep conversations with six different people in one day? Aren’t these people supposed to be working? I mean, this is TV, and the “don’t these people work?” critique is tired, but still. For such a highly, highly realistic show, it’s just a little….I understand that a kitchen staff often functions like a family, and it’s everyone’s shared trauma, and that’s fine. But still.
And if I am wrong about that premise, then I have a backup, which is that the show-makers realized how much the audience resonated with these characters and allowed that awareness to inform the writing process by presuming that being present for the characters’ therapy sessions would be inherently interesting to us, the audience. Also a not-uncommon writing error, which occurred to some extent in The Sopranos with its 20-minute dream sequence episode.
Of course, both of my guesses could be correct simultaneously.
Anyway, it is only in the third or fourth episode of Season 3 when an external conflict appears that threatens everyone equally in the way that we’re used to, which is when the photographer is scheduled to show up. Prior to that, almost all of the drama we’ve gotten derives from people screaming at each other, informed by flashback rather than present-day actions or events.
When there is no larger conflict driving the interpersonal drama, the latter can seem boring, incidental, and tiresome, like hearing two married people in the booth next to you argue over something trivial.
And lastly, Sydney now essentially functions as the emotional support person for every one in the goddamn kitchen! As well as her annoying and rather gross father. Unfortunately, this resembles a common racial trope in film and TV, in which the African-American character’s main role is to support the white characters and make them feel better. Some recent validly-criticizeable examples are The Queen’s Gambit (which I love) and these. Notice my use of the word resembles, since this is not an exact case of this trope. But it resembles it.
Despite all of this, my overall feeling for this season is one of enjoyment. The show-makers are either something new with this approach, or they didn’t quite know what to do with the characters after the central goal of the first two seasons, which was first to establish internal cohesion and then to get a nice new restaurant, was achieved.
It’s a lot like what happened to House of Cards after Frank Underwood becomes president, and I’m sure countless other shows.
The focus on the characters’ interpersonal drama in this third season is also similar to the third season of Deadwood, wherein the dynamics between Trixie and Sol, between Seth and his wife Martha, between Al Swearengen and Dan Doherty, as well as between Ellsworth, Mrs Garrett, Seth, and basically everyone and William Randolph Hearst, really took front and center for the first, like six episodes, lacking the dangerous and violent urgency of the first two seasons until the larger unifying conflict with Hearst takes center stage. I am of course speaking generally.
But with regard to The Bear Season 3, I respect the absurd level of talent and skill necessary—these actors are brilliant—to act out these scenes consisting of long takes, very long lines, and extremely nuanced emotional portrayals amid extreme, unforgiving closeups.
I also can appreciate Christopher Storer trying to do something different, which is what I assume this is.
And to be perfectly frank, I have absolutely no trouble watching the next episode. In fact, I look forward to it, and I want to know what’s going to happen next. To me, that is a sign that the show still has it.
Maybe in Season Four, things will get mythic again.
Aulos Media 