To pea or not to pea. That is the dilemma haunting Jeremy Allen White's Carmy throughout much of the third season of FX and Hulu’s The Bear. Peas — shelled in large quantities and meticulously arranged for both visual appeal and culinary precision — symbolize Carmy's relentless pursuit of perfection.
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| Jeremy Allen White in 'The Bear.' FX |
However, this season, they signify much more. Peas stand for trauma. Peas, cleverly playing on words, also represent peace. Most significantly, they symbolize deflection, serving as a focus for Carmy's ongoing indecision, with him directing his personal doubts towards a green orb instead of Yorick's skull.
It’s plausible that Carmy has always embodied the essence of Hamlet — the returning prodigal son navigating a kingdom shattered by death, adrift without his father, seeking guidance yet struggling to mentor others.
After two seasons of rapid narrative progression — where sandwich shops rarely transform into upscale dining spots so swiftly — the third season of The Bear plunges Carmy into a profound quagmire. Escaping the confines of his restaurant's freezer, he transforms the establishment into a labyrinth of vague regulations and unattainable ambitions. He's trapped but oblivious, caught in a cycle where his avowed intent not to repeat himself paradoxically leads to its own form of repetition.
In this season, The Bear mirrors characters from Hamlet. Sydney (played by Ayo Edebiri), who could be seen as an Ophelia figure if one entertains the bizarre notion of a romance between Carmy and Sydney, struggles to commit to a partnership agreement that once promised her dreams.
Richie (portrayed by Ebon Moss-Bachrach), who found purpose briefly through a stint at the upscale Ever restaurant last season, resembles Laertes, poised to lead a rebellion in the front-of-house. Yet he can't even bring himself to RSVP to his ex-wife's wedding.
While the lingering specter at The Bear is Mikey, played by Jon Bernthal, the comedic relief provided by the Fak siblings (Neil, played by Matty Matheson, and Ted, played by Rick Staffieri) mirrors Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, meandering through the season with discussions of "hauntings" — a family tradition that prolongs disputes and grudges. The season is punctuated by multiple funerals, one literal and one for a cherished restaurant. Death pervades The Bear, yet it also marks a season of anxious beginnings, with the restaurant's opening and Natalie's (played by Abby Elliott) ongoing pregnancy.
On an episode-by-episode basis, the third season of The Bear stands toe-to-toe with the show's finest moments. Perhaps it even surpasses them?
The season kicks off with the deceptively titled “Tomorrow,” helmed by series creator Christopher Storer. Imagine it as a deconstructed “Previously On” sequence, expanded from three minutes to 36, or akin to an elevated clip show that looks as much backward as forward. It's a poetic exploration that traces Carmy’s journey, capturing both moments of awe and instances (featuring guest star Joel McHale) that have deeply scarred his psyche.
Considering this season as a metaphorical birth, the premiere almost treats the culinary path through which Carmy emerges as a kind of birthing canal. With sparse dialogue and no conventional storyline, disjointed yet beautifully shot memories — featuring practically every past guest star — are woven together by Joanna Naugle’s editing and a mesmerizing ambient score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross (already positioning themselves for multiple 2025 Emmy nods).
It’s the type of episode that, just as you grasp its intent and impact, concludes abruptly, thrusting you into the true essence of the season with the equally impressive “Next,” a sharp shift from elegy to trademark chaos.
Yet, I anticipate some viewers may find “Tomorrow” infuriating. The second season left several major cliffhangers, yet the premiere shows little interest in returning to linear storytelling, let alone providing tidy resolutions. In truth, anyone vexed by the premiere’s approach may well take issue with the entire season.
The indecision portrayed in The Bear's 10 episodes is undeniably exhilarating, with the risks it takes proving to be thrilling. However, for those expecting rapid progression, this season mirrors its main characters and their states of inertia.
It culminates in a finale that's simultaneously joyous and despondent, perhaps one of the most authentic portrayals of the rollercoaster of depression seen on television. The restaurant embodies Carmy’s familial legacy — a recurring theme throughout the season — but so does depression. If the central question of the season isn’t “So… Now what?” then it’s certainly “What happens when you attain what you desire, only to find it doesn’t bring happiness?”
For viewers, what does it mean when the show seems to achieve what its characters strive for, yet intentionally avoids delivering conventional satisfaction? If Carmy, Sydney, and Richie are grappling with dissatisfaction, why rush their stories? If Carmy is paralyzed by the fallout from Claire (played by Molly Gordon) overhearing his remarks in the finale, why hasten resolution? If the looming review from the Chicago Tribune torments Carmy, why expedite its arrival on screen? And if Nat is agonizing over a seemingly interminable pregnancy that might end too soon, why rush the childbirth?
Depending on your perspective, it may be seen as audacious or unforgivable how many unresolved threads from season two persist into the third season’s conclusion. This is compounded by ongoing storylines that feel like they should have resolved within the season but are instead poised to extend into a fourth season, already commissioned and filmed in tandem with the third.
Comparing The Bear to Hamlet, where closure was as final as death itself, reveals a contrast akin to The Empire Strikes Back—a deliberate withholding of resolution, akin to denying "the tonic" in musical theory.
Yet, satisfaction episode by episode remains easily attainable. "Next" stands out as uproariously funny and frenetic, showcasing the series’ unparalleled skill in balancing humor with tension through editing.
Duccio Fabbri confidently directs his debut episode "Doors," escalating chaos to new heights. Ayo Edebiri impresses in her directorial debut with "Napkins," where Liza Colón-Zayas shines brilliantly, addressing prior underuse. "Ice Chips," a poignant contrast to "Fishes," secures Abby Elliott’s place at the 2025 Emmys.
This season delights with unexpected cameos and returning guest stars—Jamie Lee Curtis's reprisal as the characters' mother promises recurring excellence. Olivia Colman’s subtly exquisite performance may vie with Lionel Boyce's own nuanced portrayal, capturing the allure of ordinary objects.
In essence, while The Bear may not provide neat resolutions akin to Hamlet, its episodic excellence and nuanced performances promise enduring satisfaction.
Starting the "Thomas Keller for guest actor in a comedy" Emmy campaign seems fitting, given his compelling monologue that suggests a potential career pivot into character acting if his culinary endeavors ever wane.
Jeremy Allen White remains impeccably frenzied and world-weary, refusing to soften his character’s mounting flaws. Ebon Moss-Bachrach continues to elevate Richie towards the show’s heroic stature, navigating his character’s ongoing struggles. However, it’s Sydney who emerges as the true hero, with Ayo Edebiri delivering a blend of humor and poignant sincerity unmatched by others.
Perhaps season three of The Bear could be seen as mere wheel-spinning, prolonging narrative arcs. Yet, it’s more a portrayal of characters ensnared in moments of indecision than a show uncertain of its direction. Whether this season satisfies plot-driven viewers is uncertain, but these 10 episodes left me thoroughly pleased. Exiting, pondering The Bear.
