‘The Bear’ Improves but the Recipe Still Needs Work

Here’s the good news: the fourth season of The Bear is pretty good. Altogether, I’d say it ranks just slightly below the second season in terms of storytelling. The bad news is that the show is committed to the binge release model, which makes it easier to dwell on its large structural flaws, rather than celebrate the many small affecting moments.

What works? The many relationships undergirding The Bear and the sprawling Berzatto family, with substantial overlap between the two. Seeing Syd (Ayo Edebiri) and Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), once intense rivals—the height of which involved a stabbing incident, albeit accidental—warmly dancing at a wedding reception and becoming business partners by season’s end, is the most gratifying relationship trajectory in the series. It doesn’t have the same flirtatiousness of Syd and Luca (Will Poulter) or Richie and Jessica (Sarah Ramos), nor is it supposed to; their relationship is built on hard-earned mutual respect, not to mention that any romantic angle between the two of them would be a development so abrupt it would give me whiplash.

That wedding reception episode, aptly titled “The Bears,” is the season’s ground zero of significant bonds undergoing breakthroughs—Donna’s (Jamie Lee Curtis) appearance and the reveal of her newfound sobriety and the long-awaited appearance of Francie Fak (Brie Larson)—and being reenforced like Claire (Molly Gordon) and Carmy’s (Jeremy Allen White) tentative relationship. Even second tier characters get their moments thanks to the supersized episode length (a series record at sixty-nine minutes), which is worth it to see Oliver Platt’s Uncle Jimmy tenderly reassure Tiffany (Gillian Jacobs) that she, too, is an honorary Berzatto (“Unfortunately for you, you’re a Bear forever”).

Like a burger topped with foie gras and mac and cheese, that extended run time also becomes a bit over-indulgent, veering into cutesy territory with the under-the-table scene. While watching, I was admittedly distracted by the seemingly normal table equipped with TARDIS-like abilities—regular buffet table on the outside, enormous makeshift clubhouse capable of comfortably seating fifteen plus adults, a significant number of whom are six foot and up (the roughly six inches of clearance above imposingly tall actors Josh Hartnett, Moss-Bachrach, and Lionel Boyce reads like a sight gag)—to think too hard about the lengthiness of the scene.

The season overall could have benefitted from shortening its ten episodes down one or two. Nine episodes (maybe less) would have trimmed the fat without losing the flavor. Thankfully, it’s nowhere near the inert glacier of season three, where so little progress is made that I had to remind myself what actually transpired during the season upon realizing that the drama of opening the restaurant and Carmy’s walk-in fridge breakdown actually happened back in season two, but there’s still a chunk of time eaten up by ‘Carmy leans and looks at nothing in particular’ and platitudes (“There’s one really true thing about restaurants: You are never alone”).

Do, however, keep devoting time to scenes like Kate Berlant’s enthralling Al-Anon monologue and guest stars that allow us insight into the actual day-to-day world of restaurants, like restauranteur and master sommelier Alpana Singh’s insights on wine. Even more importantly, continue the streak of standout single episodes that, not coincidentally, revolve primarily around one of the ensemble members. Because much like season two’s “Forks” and season three’s “Napkins,” “Worms” allows us the chance to see Sydney in another home environment, with bonus Danielle Deadwyler, to boot. Co-written by Edebiri and Boyce, it’s a brilliant slice-of-life episode that’s as funny as it is sweet (Adam Shapiro, played by the actor of the same name, enthusiastically sharing that he watched the contentious 2009 documentary Good Hair is an especially nice touch).

The show’s recipe still needs more tweaking—one-third less Carmy’s self-pitying, a half pound of other cast members—but with the unexpected finale comes a possibility of a whole new flavor lineup. Much like the titular dining establishment, if The Bear can find a way to make its high art ambitions aligned with its earthier, but more consistently successful, elements, it’ll be worthy of a Michelin star.

All four seasons of The Bear are available to stream on Hulu.

Kaleena Rivera is the TV Editor for Pajiba.