The Bear: Season 5

We’ve heard it all before. The Bear is a series of diminishing returns. Shit, it was put in the comedy category for the Emmys. This show ain’t funny — or at least hasn’t been for some time. At times aggressively so. In fact, in the first few minutes of season five I wasn’t sure if it hadn’t become just a giant McDonald’s commercial for the McGriddle or a practical Coca-Cola podcast. Or a subtle influencer nod to whatever watch brand Oliver Platt’s character is wearing. An inauspicious start to what is the final season of a once promising series that hadn’t, to this point, landed the plane. The question becomes: did this show really ever have “it.” Was it too up its own ass after the awards? Did the quick-turn production and pressure to live up to prior content drive its own demise? Or am I just being too harsh based solely on unfair expectations? Because, yes, I did absolutely love season one and two, and really dug most of season three. But, unfortunately for us, they couldn’t keep that high-wire act going into season four, which led to a bit of a hangover and come down going into season five.

Endings are tough. For the audience and for the writers. So, we look at what’s going on here and how we got to this point. Throw out season four. Seriously, it existed as pure wheel-spinning, throat-clearing nonsense to lead us to this break-neck series finale. A season that pretty much took place in one day. But, why? Because, like the gimmicky clock in season four, we have to have a deadline in order press the drama. Even if it makes things kind of not make sense. And, look, I know this is a vibes show and not a tight, narratively driven series. But to ignore how time works is kind of bonkers. Because, unless there’s some sort of wormhole or time dilation thing going on, there is no way all of this stuff could happen in one day. Even with its scattered plots and running around, it just defies reality in a bunch of cases. But, again, I know this is a relatively low-budget TV drama and not a Nolan film. But when we have Jimmy (Platt), The Computer (Brian Koppelman) and a random out-of-nowhere character, Cheese (Elsie Fisher), laying waste to the time-space continuum in a completely unrealistic bid to secure air rights in a window that is both head-spinning and a complete waste of screen time, I’m not sure what we’re doing here other than finding an excuse to get Platt one last fun run. It’s truly stupid — especially when it fizzles and comes to nothing other than the forehead-smacking conclusion that Ebraheim’s (Edwin Lee Gibson) ghost kitchen idea is somehow the real, world-beating solution to all their money problems. Hint: it’s not even remotely a new idea, and is definitely not going to pull them out of the hole they’ve dug for themselves. But, good on you.

While all this other noise is happening in the background, we are thrown into the main timeline, which involves the gang trying to keep The Bear open with just one more service. Which is technically the same plot as Happy Gilmore and Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo. The biggest issue with this gambit is twofold. They are pretty much out of capital due to a sudden and hastily explained downturn in Jimmy’s fortunes, so are unable to purchase food and whatnot for service. And there is a storm of the century hitting Chicago, which has called into question if the patrons who have booked reservations will even show up. Now, I’ve never worked in a restaurant — a yogurt cafe, maybe, but not a full-blown fine-dining restaurant. That said, I’ve certainly eaten in a bunch. Their solution to not having all the ingredients and limited resources is to change up the menu and keep cutting down the size of everything. One portion becomes two, which later in the evening becomes four, etc. Which leads to my question as to why this would be okay? Their menu is admittedly incredibly expensive, yet they’re handing these people tiny 80s nouvelle cuisine? And someone at the 7:00 seating gets something twice the size of the person at the 9:00 seating? I mean I get the tactic — you gotta do what you gotta do — but nobody in the kitchen seems particularly disturbed or concerned about this practice. 86 that shit.

Along with this conundrum, we have to deal with Carmy’s (Jeremy Allen White) “retirement.” As we learned last season, Carmy’s complicated relationship with the food business causes him to bail on the restaurant he created and hand it over to Sydney (Ayo Edebiri). Leaving him with very little to do other than be a specter in the background. And occasionally pivot out of his one-last-time line cook role to save the day. Or encourage Sydney. Or just generally skulk around and bug his eyes and shuffle. Honestly, they took this complicated, flawed person and turned him into a DH who is mostly just a background actor. It’s weird. Especially given the fact the show’s creators go out of their way to give almost every single other character their signature win on this final day. They use this difficult service to make each staff member realize that X is their true calling. I’m just a an X and I realize after like two hours of being involved in this night of service that I truly want to be X. Yes, that is my new persona! That happens like 20 times to various characters. Again, the compression makes it more evident. Because this is something The Bear has always done. Which I suppose is why it’s not a tragi-drama, but, ultimately, an uplifting piece of media. This ain’t Mad Men. Everything needs to work out for everyone, that’s where this show lives. And, while that’s fine, I don’t see why they had to basically cram all of their wins and revelations into one night. It’s not as though they didn’t know this would be the final season — and have that absolute pancake of a season just one before this to spread out all of this winning.

While I’m making this sound like it was an unmitigated disaster, it was far from it. Again, it’s all about expectations and past success. Me relatively not enjoying this season isn’t all on them. It’s my hope and whatever that this would somehow bring back the manic energy of “Fishes” and also wrap everything up with a nice bow. Instead, it felt a bit like a stage play where everyone had to step into the spotlight to have their “final” conversation with one other. Like, okay, now we need the reconciliation scene between Marcus (Lionel Boyce) and his dad (whom we’d previously never met). And Marcus and Luca (Will Poulter). Natalie (Abby Elliott) and her mom (Jamie Lee Curtis). And on and on. Each duo steps outside or meets in a space, had their little dialog scene where words are said and all is settled and good. Which is fine when it’s spread across several seasons. But is just too repetitive and kinda cringey when it’s a whole season of this happening in scene after scene. Step out, have your final, meaningful conversation where you are validated and things are made good, step back in. Repeat. Honestly, they could make a supercut of these scenes and you would see it really clearly. Which I understand is how things get wrapped up when ending a series, but, again, why not plan a little more and make things not feel a little less than a Hallmark card?

Hoof, okay. It’s a fine show. At times it can be emotional, well-acted and generally engaging. But it felt like some of the characters, other than Moss-Bachrach, got the short shrift. Their endings felt a bit rote. And maybe that’s because they mostly all had to come back to the restaurant the next day and do it all over again (other than Carmy), but it almost feels as if the writers fell in love with the Richie character and really centered him as our audience focus. He definitely got the best arc. And is given the juiciest things to do. He’s even given that weird one-off season 4.5 episode, “Gary,” with Jon Bernthal. They clearly adore him — and, why not, he’s incredible in the part and, by far, the best thing on the show — and give him everything in comparison with his brethren. Even the last shot of the series. Even the girl. Spin off? Probably not.