Ivan Radford | On 23, Jan 2024

“You love all this. It’s fun for you,” says Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach) in Season 2 of The Bear. “It’s not fun for me,” replies Carmy (Jeremy Allen White). “When you love something, it’s not always fun.” They might as well be talking about the show itself, which became an immediate hit thanks to its blend of comedy and unrelenting stress as it followed Carmy’s attempts to take over the sandwich joint owned by his recently deceased brother, Mikey – while clashing with his “cousin”, Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), and having a total existential breakdown. Season 1 wasn’t exactly fun, but it was certainly something to love. Season 2 emerges from the oven an even more seasoned and mature creation, with often mellowed, upbeat notes to savour after each end credits roll.

That’s not to say, though, that it eases up on the dark intensity: Episode 3 begins with Carmy actually looking up the definition of “fun” – he tells his Al-Anon group that it’s something that provides amusement or enjoyment, admitting that this isn’t what his restaurant does for him. “Maybe if I could provide more amusement or enjoyment for myself, it would be easier to provide for others,” he concludes. And so the 10-course sophomore season is set up as a timely, thoughtful exploration of the balance between work, life, family and meaning – and how those ingredients, mixed together, can create, elevate or detract from happiness.

Season 2 begins after Season 1’s closing discovery of money hidden in the restaurant’s tinned tomatoes. Carmy, still carrying a chip on his shoulder from his traumatic time cheffing in prestigious restaurants, has made strides in working with sous-chef Syd (Ayo Edebiri) to turn the joint around. Now, after getting to a point where the team have started to gel, Season 2 sees Carmy and Syd lead them in a whole new challenge: closing The Original Beef of Chicagoland and in its place starting a new restaurant: The Bear.

It’s the perfect evolution of the show’s potent recipe of ambition, creativity and commerce: if Season 1 was a journey of recovery and acceptance of both the past and the present, Season 2 begins on a note of hope for the future. It’s a dream that can only be realised by the group working together, so showrunners Joanna Calo and Christopher Storer take the risky but smart step of pulling them all apart. In a lesser series that would be a potential death knell, but The Bear’s ensemble is so tightly knit that the more the show deepens each individual part, the greater the whole group becomes.

At ground zero, Sugar (the fantastic Abby Elliott) holds the fort as the semi-reluctant project manager of this ambitious endeavour – one that becomes increasingly ambitious as they find fire, mould and other safety problems lurking just beneath the surface. She superbly swaps from stressed to patient to manipulative as she also manages the expectations of Uncle Jimmy (Oliver Platt, wonderfully understated), who has agreed to finance the whole operation. All the while, Matty Matheson provides comic relief as Fak, a handyman who isn’t very handy at anything.

The rest of the gang venture into solo territory. The most uplifting of all is pastry chef Marcus (Lionel Boyce), who journeys to Copenhagen for inspiration. He essentially spends an episode standing in an empty room with Will Poulter and a load of dough, and the result is absolutely riveting, as they talk about their careers, their motivation and their backgrounds. Boyce’s thoughtful presence fills up the screen in a gentle episode that reminds us of the pleasure of simply being still and soaking up knowledge. That this is juxtaposed with his care for his chronically ill mother reinforces The Bear’s underlying theme of personal and professional commitments – although Marcus’ patience, kindness and loyalty mark him out as beautiful human at the eye of a brewing storm.

Also on the up is Tina (Liza Colón-Zayas), who goes with Ebra (Edwin Lee Gibson) to culinary school. There’s something wonderfully encouraging about seeing old dogs being open to learning new tricks, and the excellent Liza Colón-Zayas expertly essays Tina’s journey from fiery intolerance to admirable grace – while also being a dab hand with a very sharp knife. Edwin Lee Gibson’s Ebra has an opposite reaction the opportunities offered, and his poignant performance captures the way that life experiences can shape how we respond to things, often without us realising.

The trio of positive journeys is capped by a flawless bottle episode for Richie, who winds up polishing forks at a fancy restaurant to get out of Carmy’s hair. Ebon Moss-Bachrach is the secret weapon of The Bear, his volatile presence able to flip from annoyance to anger to resentment at every volume level known to human ears. He can simmer, then explode, then simmer again in the blink of an eye – and a flurry of inventive insults. Up-ended and a fish out of water, we get to see him really having to dig into himself, and the result is a joy to behold, as he moves from wondering about purpose to seizing the importance of customer service. His unlikely skills for handling people, so often overshadowed by Carmy’s visible culinary talents, come to the fore in a thrilling blend of pizza, tailoring and Taylor Swift.

If Forks is the stand-out episode of Season 2, it’s perfectly accompanied by the side dish of Fishes, the preceding chapter, which takes us back to a Christmas past in the Berzatto household. An absurdly stacked cast – including Jon Bernthal as Michael, Jamie Lee Curtis as their troubled mother, Donna, Sarah Paulson, Gillian Jacobs, Bon Odenkirk and John Mulaney – make for a heated ensemble drama that lays the groundwork for Carmy and Richie’s relationship in the present day, which ties potential and respect to the dangers of not being open with loved ones. If The Bear is, on some level, about communication and the failure of two men to do so, Fishes is the awkward, moving and gripping epicentre.

The fact that we’ve gone this far without mentioning Ayo Edebiri is something of a crime. The Abbott Elementary and Theater Camp star, and Letterboxd guru, is surely the most talented person working in Hollywood today. She’s hilarious, honest and fiercely focused as Syd, who has grown up even since Season 1 to have more confidence in herself – and more conviction in her worth. Her bond with Carmy, who finds himself distracted by the return of childhood sweetheart Claire (), is frequently fractious but always sincere, as they attempt to come up with a flawless menu together.

Craving a Michelin star, she doesn’t listen to Carmy’s warning that getting one solely leads to fear of losing it. That’s perhaps the fundamental difference between them, perhaps caused by age and experience, perhaps just by personality and outlook, and Syd’s dedication to proving herself to her dad pushes her just to the right side of stress – while we see her overloaded on the restaurant’s busy nights, we also get to share her excitement and wonder in an episode that sees her just going round restaurants and trying different food.

If Syd enjoys that journey of discovery and development, Carmy dreads every step in any direction, as they each threaten to upset the equilibrium that he’s just about reached. The Bear’s questions of whether it’s possible to be happy through work in the same way you can be happy through your private life are perhaps less for the audience to ponder and more to illustrate the uncertainty and panic that Carmy holds on to at all times. After an early professional triumph, he – in an opposite arc to Tina and Richie – finds himself asking if his calling is all he thought it was. Directors Christopher Storer, Joanna Calo and Ramy Youssef tap into that growing sense of doubt and worry with camerawork that’s both visually gorgeous and increasingly frantic – the bittersweet finale whisks up both optimism and excitement with a chilling dread and sadness.

The Bear succeeds not because it contains these multitudes, but because it holds them all together in a way that frequently feels effortless – there’s such a lived-in, natural quality to these fully rounded characters that it’s like we’re just hanging in the corner of the kitchen watching their conversations unfold. Like life, it’s at once dark and delightful and every interaction builds a connection that just gets richer and more nuanced. We’re left wanting to know whether Marcus and Syd will go on to share in Carmy’s frustrations and regret, as he muses on whether fun will ever be part of his life, but also in doubt every second of our time on this Earth counts. Whether that’s chasing our purpose, seeking amusement or enjoyment, eating good food or simply rewatching this profound masterpiece of TV over and over.

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