The Bear used to be brilliant TV. Now it's pretentious and dull

Telegraph

10 hours ago

Season four of The Bear (Disney+) begins with its main character, chef and restaurant boss Carmy Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White), reeling from a bad review before likening his life to Groundhog Day. This is either a bold, knowing and confrontational gambit from showrunner Christopher Storer or further proof that the drama has disappeared up its own tasting menu. Most of the ingredients that made the first two seasons such thrilling television are still there, but sadly so are most of the ones that made the third season so aimless, pompous and, quite frankly, boring. The Bear has become a restaurant in desperate need of refreshing its menu.
The action picks up where it left off, with the staff of The Bear – once a cult sandwich shop, now a high-end restaurant – picking the scab off that scathing Chicago Tribune review. The restaurant's key investor, 'Uncle' Jimmy (Oliver Platt), gives them two months to make the place profitable or he'll pull the plug – something illustrated, in the first of many sledgehammer-subtle gestures, by a clock on the wall which counts down the 1,440 hours. The plot is a copy and paste job from the previous series: perfect haute cuisine, impress the snooty critics, save The Bear. Chef de cuisine Syd (Ayo Edebiri) is still weighing up whether or not to defect to another joint, while Carmy struggles with the idea that he might have lost his love for cooking. Other than that, it's minutiae.
The Groundhog Day metaphor begins to grate quite quickly, as you watch yet another montage of a shaky evening service or of an earnest staff member trying to perfect their role. The indie soundtrack is as obtrusive, didactic and brilliant as ever; the quick-cut edits of food prep still have serious style but are wearing thin. The effect of the 10 episodes is akin to watching one long moodboard or some form of hipster moving wallpaper. Even when a scene sizzles, as they often do, it feels familiar.
A large part of the problem is that, since the end of the second season, Storer hasn't known what to do with his leading man. Carmy's intense journey is stuck in the mud with the wheels spinning, and the show is aware that constant close-ups of White's handsome hyperventilating face are not going to cut it. Hence why so many of the better recent episodes are side-quests – the backstory of line cook-turned-sous chef Tina (Liza Colón-Zayas), for instance. Here, the standout is the fourth episode, written by Edebiri and Lionel Boyce (who plays pastry chef Marcus), in which Syd has her hair done by her cousin. It's a beautiful vignette, but one that adds almost nothing to the story, beyond yet more soul-searching.
Storer has tried to zone in on the details, give every character, no matter how small, their due; and give even more room to guest stars who have lit up episodes in the past. However, the more The Bear lets the light in, the more it diminishes itself. Jamie Lee Curtis, for instance, has become overused as Carmy and Natalie's mother, draining her monstrous character of the mystery and magnetism she had in the second season. Subplots involving line cook Ebraheim's (Edwin Lee Gibson) business plans and Marcus's father are fine but completely inessential. Even the showpiece seventh episode, twice the length of the others, is a letdown – nice enough in itself, with some superb moments, but it's a rehash of the sublime Fishes, the flashback episode of season two. While not a flashback – it's set at a wedding – it reprises all the best tunes from that episode.
The worst offence is that the show has begun, like Carmy, to take itself too seriously. We know the Berzatto clan is emotional, but by this fourth season, they have become people who have learnt to live their lives without subtext. Every exchange is a heart-to-heart, every character is constantly trying to impart something meaningful, everyone says what is on their mind. It's as if they are in a massive immersive therapy session. As such, the script is too often dragged down into a steaming swamp of triteness. Some of it is downright guff: 'Congrats, that knocked the wind right out of me.' 'Well, you don't need it.' 'Air?' 'Dysfunction.' Call the A-Level Drama police.
The show we loved is still in there. Chicago still looks terrific and chaotic, the characters are still drawn with elegance and love, the performances are still Michelin-starred naturalism. But if you eat the same dish every day, no matter how delicious it is, you'll grow tired of it eventually.