Created by Christopher Storer
I never used to cry at the movies or during television shows.
That statement is not meant, I will assure you, of any sense of machismo. Growing up and becoming ensconced and enraptured by the art of visual storytelling, I would indeed do what I continue to do to this very day: to allow myself to become immersed in whatever art, and therefore, sensory experience the artist is trying to weave.
At its very best, the art in question would prove to be so immersive that I could conceivably forget that I was watching a show or even better, sitting inside of a movie theater. The feeling would prove itself to being what the late, great Roger Ebert often described as being "out of body." This is what the greatest films can accomplish for the viewer, from pure exhilaration, howling laughter, crippling terror, mesmerizing tension and sometimes, a sense of spiritual deliverance, where the work inexplicably reaches you in your deepest places of your heart and soul, bringing a sense of communion, certainly. But, just as inexplicably, allowing you to feel seen...that the feelings which possibly have been impossible to articulate, have been reflected and spoken back to you, thus making you feel less alone in the universe...and when that occurs, when the experience races past intellect, something is unlocked and I would think, that is when tears might find themselves being released.
Yes, when I was younger, I would experience those extremely deep feelings, but to elicit tears? That was not part of my film watching vocabulary. As I have gotten older, having experienced so much more life I would gather, tears are much easier to flow, whether through a certain intensity or crescendo being presented. Or when a film reveals a truth to the experience of living that reaches me in a very similar place. When I can feel my soul being enacted and I transcend the viewing experience and travel to something, I guess would be an example of...grace.
.
At this time, I wish to share with you an appreciation for a television streaming series that for me has achieved a quality so astoundingly high that it has become one of those rare series that far eclipses most movies. It is one that has consistently transcended the viewing experience by revealing truths of the human experience by reflecting and speaking back to me emotions I have held and currently hold. It is one that allows me to feel seen, valued and assures me that I am, again, not alone in the universe. It is one that soars gracefully as it delivers grace episode after episode. It is one that has allowed me to travel to profoundly deep places within my soul. And therefore, it is one that has inspired the flow of honest, voluminously felt tears again and again and again.
Please allow me to present my tribute to Christopher Storer's "The Bear."
Set in the city of Chicago, "The Bear" stars Jeremy Allen White as Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto, a young award winning chef from the world of fine dining who returns home to take over The Original Beef Of Chicagoland, a small Italian beef restaurant owned and operated by his older brother Michael (Jon Bernthal), who had committed suicide months earlier.
Desiring to elevate and modernize the chaotic restaurant and its ragtag yet devoted staff into an upscale and French brigade run establishment, Carmy initially runs afoul of the reluctant crew, most notably, childhood friend and de facto Beef manager, the volatile Richie Jerimovich (Ebom Moss-Bachrach), in addition to an increasingly dilapidated kitchen, mounting debts, and his own unresolved trauma, grief, and survivor's guilt.
Enter Sydney Adamu (Ayo Edibiri), a young, passionately skilled yet inexperienced chef whom Carmy hires and instills as his new new sous chef. With her fine dining background from her education at the Culinary Institute of America, as well as her business acumen from her now defunct catering business, Sydney is also enlisted to become Carmy's partner to help reinvent The Beef.
Populated with and aided by an eclectic staff. including acerbic line cook Tina Marrero (Liza Colon-Zayas), veteran line cook Ebraheim (Edwin Lee Gibson), meditative pastry chef Marcus Brooks (Lionel Boyce), childhood friend and restaurant handyman Neil Fak (Matty Matheson), plus Carmy's sister and hesitant restaurant co-owner Natalie "Sugar" Berzatto (Abby Elliot) and longtime family friend and investor "Uncle" Jimmy "Cicero" Kalinowski (Oliver Platt), Carmy and Sydney feverishly forge ahead attempting to realize their dreams, build a family where there was once a fractured team and potentially heal intensely deep emotional and psychological wounds in a precarious environment where every second counts.
As with a multitude of viewers and critics, and also as evidenced by the tremendous success seen during awards season, Christopher Storer's "The Bear" is superlative. From it's very first moments, set on one of Chicago's historic Loop bridges on which Carmy confronts a literal growling bear before waking up in his kitchen to the metallic panicked rhythms of "New Noise" by Refused, this is a production that knows its own voice immediately. It never has to take time to discover itself. It has arrived and we are holding on for dear life.
Often ferociously paced to an anxiety inducing degree, "The Bear" is visually, and most importantly, emotionally visceral and raw. Yet it is also superbly elegant in its feverish commitment to story, character, world building and a glowing authenticity. Christopher Storer, and his team, which includes Writer/Director/Executive Producer Joanna Cole and Storer's own sister, Culinary Producer Courtney Storer, who is herself a chef, never cater or pander to the imaginary audience. "The Bear" exists within its own universe--with a dogged realism--and it is up to the viewer to catch up, especially when being confronted with all of the kitchen jargon, expressions and euphemisms batted around like hurled baseballs swiped from Wrigley Field.
If "The Bear" solely existed as a "cooking show," so to speak, perhaps it would have been just fine, or even great. If it were a program that existed simply through the gritted teeth and sweaty palms of its intensity, it also would have probably been entertaining to a certain degree. But, what we have been given with "The Bear" is a multilayered meal of a series, filled with a variety of textures and flavors that continuously reveal themselves and reward viewers who wish to dive in for second helpings or more. I have watched the first two seasons in their entirety three times and I have watched the third season twice as of this time of writing and every time, I have found myself catching something I missed during the previous viewing, which only enhances everything that is now familiar.
For all of its fury, Christopher Storer has delivered a fully earnest labor of love and in doing so, the series feels like a collection of love letters to its subject matter, which again consistently transcends what could have easily existed as the travails within a struggling restaurant trying to survive and re-invent itself.
"The Bear" is indeed a love letter to the food and service industry, the fleet of crucially essential workers who sustain the population at large with all manner of culinary and hospitality sustenance, often against a series of ongoing challenges and obstacles, from restaurant competition to all out survival during and after the height of the Covid 19 pandemic. And to that end, on a larger scale, it serves as a love letter to all essential workers regardless of industry (as depicted in a stunning opening credit sequence in episode 2 of season 3), but with a hefty embrace to the small business owners and working class population who miraculously remain steadfast with a discipline, determination, diligence and that dogged grit (a Chicago trademark), often to the expense of their own internal stability.
"The Bear" is a love letter to the city of Chicago, as it celebrates its history and provides honest lament with the gentrification that threatens to erase the traditions that make the city precisely what it is. Being a Chicagoan, I have absolutely marveled at the program's sense of authenticity from its locations to the dialects heard through a variety of characters. This is not Chicago as a set or backdrop but Chicago as a full character within the show for when I watch, I have walked these streets myself. I have seen and visited these neighborhoods. I have encountered, overheard and existed with these very people. I have lived within the sleet grey bitter cold winds and architecture of Chicago winters. Even the usage of WXRT Chicago's Finest Rock in the background and the voice of your best friend in the whole world, the late Lin Brehmer to open season 1's episode 7 entitled "Review"--the frenetic one take 20 minute tour de force and scored with the relentless "Spiders (Kidsmoke)" Chicago's very own Wilco--feels absolutely correct and I just sigh and swell with pride.
The loving yet clear eyed representation captures an authenticity so precise that when I watch "The Bear," I legitimately feel homesick.
All of this being said, "The Bear" is not a documentary. Christopher Storer and his team create realism but they also provide a layer where it is self aware enough to inform viewers that this is indeed a show, most notably, through its wonderful stunt casting. From Molly Ringwald's season 1 cameo as a participant in an Al-Anon meeting to wonderful recurring roles by Robert Townshend as Sydney's Father, an illuminating Olivia Coleman as one of Carmy's mentors, Chef Terry and a force of nature Jamie Lee Curtis as the emotionally, psychologically battered Berzatto matriarch plus more I will not spoil for the uninitiated, it has ensured that we receive delightful sparkles of recognition that only add to the mosaic being constructed. And with that quality, I have especially adored that "The Bear" is also a love letter to Chicago in film!
References to Director John Landis' filmed in Chicago musical comedy car chase extravaganza "The Blues Brothers" (1980) are openly made. Writer/Director Paul Brickman's "Risky Business" (1983), is referenced through its groundbreaking film score from Tangerine Dream (even more overtly heard in the season 3 teaser).
A season 2 episode entitled "Pop," where Carmy and girlfriend Claire (the luminous Molly Gordon) visit the northern suburb of Wilmette and take in a house party from former high school classmates, suddenly becomes a modern day tribute to the career of the late Writer/Producer/Director (and resident of Northbrook, IL and Lake Forest, IL) John Hughes as it utilizes music directly from Hughes' films. The Psychedelic Furs' "Pretty In Pink" welcomes them into the sequence and the ensuing party sequence concludes when it carries the strains of Composer Ira Newborn's score to Hughes' "Weird Science" (1985) tucked snuggly into the background.
By contrast, the season 2 episode entitled "Forks," serves as a tribute to Chicago born Writer/Director Michael Mann's filmed in Chicago "Thief" (1981) by utilizing that film's groundbreaking score, again by Tangerine Dream, surging and urging Richie's journey as he stages at Ever, a high end three star restaurant.
To that end, there exists an overall musicality of the show that extends far beyond its already impeccable soundtrack. I love how the characters and episodes thematically rhyme like movements and themes in jazz. Episode titles reference each other as a means of commentary and foreshadowing, like season 2's extraordinary, white knuckle family tragedy of "Fishes" and the aforementioned "Forks."
While "The Bear" grows each year, I am thrilled with how Christopher Storer, crew and cast allow the series, from season to season, to reinvent itself while always remaining consistent within itself by adhering to the core themes. Where season 1 was largely set within The Beef and immersed us within the daily chaos of the ramshackle restaurant, season 2 found itself at a point of The Beef's three month transition into The Bear, plus the ragtag's groups transformation into a potentially more polished team, and afforded us more introspective moments and passages of quiet--as with the gorgeous set in Copenhagen installment entitled "Honeydew"--to provide a counter balance to the more visceral episodes.
Season 3 finds "The Bear" at its most interior, depicting levels of psychological chaos within a variety of the characters. The mediative, masterpiece season opener entitled "Tomorrow," featuring the Nine Inch Nails song "Together" as essentially an additional character, we essentially take a walk through Carmy's mind and memories, witnessing just how he became who he is in this specific moment of his life, and therefore what fuels decisions made and not made during the remainder of the season. While there have been some critical and viewer complaints concerning the tone of season 3, with its lack of resolution and in some respects, momentum, I strongly feel that Storer has beautifully delivered a series within transition about characters in transition, where emotional forward movement is stagnant as the ghosts and scars of past and the anxieties about the future are in constant collision in a most precarious present.
For me, it was exactly this lack of narrative velocity that precisely makes "The Bear" stand as tall as it does. For this is an astoundingly humane experience designed to mirror life as it is truly lived because sometimes, we are stagnant. Sometimes there is no resolution. Sometimes we are left with only questions. Most especially, at some point, or currently, or always, I believe that we have all been a Carmy, Sydney, Marcus, Sugar, Richie, Tina, Michael or any other character because we understand. They are seen and therefore, we are able to see ourselves, and for myself, it is often soulfully deep and uncomfortably close to the bone.
With full disclosure, I feel it appropriate for the context of this appreciation to reveal that I am a product of an upbringing of being raised by two fiercely loving, devoted, seemingly tirelessly working parents who wanted nothing but the very best for me. I know without question they raised me with the highest of intentions and in the way they knew how do it as best as they were able. I also now have the words and language to place aspects of their parenting into its proper context. As committed as they were, they were also serious, strict perfectionists with exceedingly high principles for themselves in their professions as educators and unquestionably for me as their child, and a child of educators at that plus being a Black child in a White world. They were also overly protective and rigidly demonstrative at best, stifling at worst, making for a life where I was conditioned by impossible expectations and results oriented approval, stern demands that refused any of own own thoughts, opinions or choices and searing, constant verbal and emotional abuse.
Nothing was good enough unless it was perfect. Weak school performances were greeted with punishments both minor (no TV, radio, or movies) to severe (threats to expel me from the school that existed as a second home for me). Grade report mailings were met with anxiety and compulsive looks out of the window for the mailman to see if my day would be emotionally safe, riding the wave of tension and release just to have it all begin again the next day. I was called lazy. I was called stupid. I was told that I just wasn't trying hard enough, or doing enough or being enough. And so, in my mind and spirit, I was never enough. Lectures were endlessly conducted in enraged tag-team fashion where I would find myself mentally shutting down, compartmentalizing my emotions because they could never be spoken, fully internalizing their negativity instead of what I am feeling they wished to be inspirational. I existed in a shame cycle that never ended.
I felt unseen. I felt undervalued. And so, I didn't know how to value myself. Over the years of my late childhood, adolescence and college years, I increasingly felt as if I was the son they had rather than the one they wanted for my skills, passions, temperament and aspects of my worldview did not align with theirs. Let me be clear. It was not a tortured existence. In a material way, I wanted for nothing. I was housed, clean, fed and more than provided for. But, forging a positive emotional connection was out of reach and eventually, I stopped trying for I felt the attempt would be met with scorn and more admonitions that I was not living up to my potential.
Language escalated into a verbally brutal confrontation near the end of my college years in my early 20s. While I instinctively knew their words were ones of worry and concern with the choices I wanted to assert for myself at that time, they were spoken with a cruelty and finality that to this day cannot be unheard. That moment lit a fire in me in which I said to them in my mind, "If that's the best you can do, then fuck you! I don't need you."
I was consumed with proving them wrong--which in turn was another plea for acceptance--while knowing it was entirely up to me for survival post college as I decided to begin my life in Madison, WI. I was still myself, so to speak. But, over time, I realized that I had become as unforgiving a parent to myself as my parents had been to me. I am naturally introverted and my natural resting state is one that is more melancholic, despite how I may seem outwardly to others. Over time, I became relentless with myself. I became a perfectionist with myself, which lead to mounting anxiety, depression, repressed anger and resentment (which can only be contained for so long until...), a flurry of worries and constant negative thoughts, an inability to fully accept successes while lingering to an unshakeable degree over failures which makes it difficult to make choices and trust me, I can talk myself out of anything regarding any sense of risk.
I have difficulties devising a proper work/life balance, despite my best intentions, as I am constantly feeling the need to prove my worth, often ending up feeling undervalued, unappreciated and unseen. I have a "Groundhog Day" tendency to become deeply involved with and hurt by intensely close yet emotionally abusive relationships, including one with a former best friend which ended suddenly and maliciously one year ago, which I am admittedly still recovering from. Like my parents, I love fiercely. I try past the point of reason ("If I just do this, then I will be seen...appreciated...acknowledged...loved.") and if I feel I have been wronged too many times, I mercilessly purge from my life with no turning back. I emotionally retreat inwards further, trust others less yet still compulsively find myself trying to reach outwards to aid and comfort others so they never feel as I so often do--which fuels my life as a preschool teacher with experience knocking on 30 years.
In my professional life, I can easily recount the bosses I have had who were genuine leaders, who ran with unquestioned authority but respectful of everyone and with a keen ear for fairness. Unfortunately, the world is not often run by those people. I think of one school Director in particular who herself was abusive to me for years on end and another who was also abusive and decidedly poor at disguising her obvious racism. Yet for the kindness my most effective leaders gave to me, the negative experiences are the ones that have stuck ferociously, informing my anxiety and inner voices long after our lives were no longer intersected.
By the time I was nearing 30 and enduring a period of a sort of estrangement from my parents, my Dad reached out and delivered a deeply felt and received apology which allowed us to have a blissful relationship for the remainder of his life. For nearly 20 years, he and I never fought again.
As for my Mom, that is more tender as our personalities are too similar, we fight the same way, we each want to have the last word, and we both always wish to be right. Her tone has softened considerably since my Dad's passing nearly six years ago. But she is also not one for apologies, partially, I am imaging due to her still perfectionist nature and need for control. I struggle to reconcile with the fact that she might never make amends in the way that I would wish and I just have to live with that even as I want us to be closer than we are. I feel that I am better at a distance and that perhaps we each might want it that way. I don't know. Her memories of my past don't line up with my own as pieces seem to be rose colored and run contrary to how I was raised overall. Her expressions of pride and accomplishment for me today feel foreign and confusing as the praise and encouragement I longed for as a child is arriving now and for the very things I was criticized for.
Years of therapy have given me the tools of recognition and understanding I need as I unwind the mess inside of my mind and try to rewire myself so I can finally love myself, know that I am enough as is, and understand the approval I am looking for can only arrive from within me and not through outside validation, as wonderful as it is.
I am trying. And that is all that I can do. Some days are better than others. Some days are are in stasis. It is day by day.
Unlike any other program that I have watched in recent years, Christopher Storer's "The Bear" is one that often brings me to tears. It reaches me in a specifically deep place as I feel it to be a show of conversation, one which sees me and I can see it in return because I just want for these characters as deeply as I want for myself within my real life. Writer/Director Cameron Crowe's "Jerry Maguire" (1996) bestowed a film of nothing less than spiritual deliverance of such rarity that I have often longed to be touched so profoundly again.
Much like how "Jerry Maguire" is not really about sports despite being set within the world of professional athletics, "The Bear" is not really a show necessarily about chefs and restaurants. "The Bear" is a show about our collective humanity starring a collective of characters who are all living day by day, trying to do their best and exist at their best while often struggling against the demons of intergenerational trauma, alcoholism and substance abuse, mental illness, familial tensions and more on top of everyday stresses and triggers plus the societal PTSD from the pandemic and current traumas from the election cycle.
Just like all of us.
"The Bear" is an exploration of being dedicated to one's work, finding a life's sense of purpose and attempting to discover how to build and leave a legacy while somehow trying to attain a work/life balance. It is about the cycle of abuse, how it is internalized and how it is inflicted upon ourselves as well as each other. It is about the process of finding healthy boundaries as not giving of oneself at the expense of oneself. It is also an intimate presentation of communication, connection and the interconnectivity between people, professions, environments and of course, food.
I have cried often during "The Bear" during scenes and sequences where the characters find themselves at moments where they know they are at last being seen, and therefore, acknowledged for their respective humanity, which then deepens the relationships and increases a positive sense of self. There is an aspect of this that feels distinctly Chicagoan as we do possess tough exteriors. But, if you get us at the right place and time--even if it js for a brief encounter--and we can honestly connect, the results are soul shaping. Of course, this quality is not exclusive to Chicago as it is the navigation of the human experience but I think you can see my point.
The respective stories and trajectories of all of the characters in "The Bear," from main players to supporting characters, all ebb and flow through how they choose to communicate with each other as well as within themselves. I have adored all of the scenes where the characters find themselves at a personal crossroads, pause and allow themselves to just talk to each other. Richie sadly expressing to Carmy that he fears he has no purpose in his life and will be left behind. Carmy and Sydney ironing things out while fixing a table. Marcus, Sydney and Carmy discussing what "legacy" means to each of them. Richie and Chef Terry at Ever. A stunning sequence starring Tina in season 3's outstanding "Napkins" directed by Ayo Edebiri. Will these connections foster trust, patience and empathy or will past wounds and traumas continue to keep them burrowing inwards when they need to reach outwards? You never know when someone needs a lifeline but you always know when one is being tossed to you.
Communication is connection and throughout "The Bear," with our central figure of Carmy, we see when it works (his beautiful 7 minute monologue in season 1 episode 8 entitled "Braciole") and when it fails him (the entirety of season 3). When Carmy is at his absolute worst, we still empathize because we understand. We know that he is doing his best in any given moment due to his own intergenerational trauma, survivor's guilt, and crippling anxiety from his family history combined with being the victim of abuse from a raging narcissist (portrayed with devastating coldness by Joel McHale), all of which fuels his punishing self flagellation, need to burrow inwards and become consumed with his own uncompromising work ethic, an inability to accept love and shouldering the constant fear of letting go and believing that others care, believe in him and won't let him fail. Yet, he is also str5uggling to know that without attaining a work/life balance, not only will he eventually flame out, his formidable skill and creativity will suffer instead of grow.
It is this human, experience that is the heart and soul of "The Bear," a show that is about life as it is lived and where food is utilized as nourishment and sustenance certainly but crucially as a metaphor for inspiration, art, trauma, pain, connection, heath and healing. Where every meal contains its own story to be told, forging connections and building an ongoing history for all who give and all who receive.
At the 75th Emmy Wards ceremony held on January 15, 2024, where "The Bear" won for Best Comedy an extremely debatable category choice of course), Matty Matheson, who is himself a real world chef, expressed the following during his acceptance speech on behalf of the entire production:
"I just want to thank restaurants as a whole, hospitality as a whole. I just love restaurants so much-the good, the bad. It's rough. We're all broken inside and every single day we've got to show up and cook and make people feel good by eating something and sitting at a table, and its really beautiful."
"I just want to thank restaurants as a whole, hospitality as a whole. I just love restaurants so much-the good, the bad. It's rough. We're all broken inside and every single day we've got to show up and cook and make people feel good by eating something and sitting at a table, and its really beautiful."
Christopher Storer's "The Bear" is that great multi-course meal that is continuously delicious but also delivers satisfaction for the soul. It has given to me more than I could have asked for due to the superlative artistry of all involved. "The Bear" is beautiful ode to all of us who are bruised and broken yet continue to just find it within ourselves to get up and try again. I anxiously await season 4, which has reportedly been largely filmed already but for now, I can luxuriate in this series, that for 28 episodes so far, has over and again transcended most movies.
"Take us there, Bear," Marcus implores of Carmy with quiet urgency. Thank you to "The Bear" for everything performed that takes me to places entertaining, reaches me in spaces that are painful and delivers me to a destination that is always beautiful...even when I find myself awash in tears.
Let it rip!
