Fishes and Forks
A Review of Two Episodes of The Bear
Every so often, works of art are arranged in a certain order that, when encountered successively at the right moment in a person’s life, the works produce a singular effect. For example, in the Book of Common Prayer’s psalter for morning and evening prayer, the 22nd and 23rd Psalms are read together on the fourth evening of the month. It wasn’t until college that I was introduced to the BCP and read these psalms consecutively. I would have never thought to answer the suffering of Psalm 22 with the content spirit of Psalm 23.
A few nights ago, I had a similar experience with two episodes of a television show. My uncle introduced me to FX’s The Bear. The show follows Carmen Berzatto, a chef who leaves the world of fine dining to return to his family’s restaurant in Chicago. A significant portion of the dialogue consists of profanity-laced shouting in a high-stress kitchen environment. One of the tensions in the show is between Carmen’s background as a world-class chef and the hole-in-the-wall reality of his new restaurant, The Beef. The tension increases as Carmen messes with The Beef’s “system” in his attempt to elevate the restaurant. Some of the staff hop on board quickly; others are reluctant or hostile. The name The Bear is a nickname for a number of the characters (Carmen principally), but also refers to the re-imagined restaurant which replaces The Beef in seasons 2 and 3.
Anger
One of the reasons we engage with art is to inhabit the world of others. Between high school and college, I worked at a restaurant where, one evening, I unwittingly walked into a shouting match between two other employees. It was deeply unsettling. The culture I grew up in would rarely, if ever, allow that kind of behavior––not by force, but by the assumption that no one should act that way. The Bear has plenty of shouting matches. I’m able to watch them more objectively than the one I wandered into, and the unnerving thing is that I can see the motivation behind the outburst…and it doesn’t look that different from my own anger. There is the deep-seated selfishness bothered by others’ impositions; the assumption that my method is best and you shouldn’t get in the way.
Despite the cultural differences between the Tennessee Christians I grew up with and the restaurant staff––whether real or televised––the same anger and pride lie at the heart. A younger, more postmodern version of myself would use this fact to “expose the hypocrisy of the fundamentalists,” or something like that. But after floundering in my own nihilism for a while, I discovered nuance and waded back to the very pleasant waters of conservatism. The cultural differences represent two ways of dealing with anger. Rather than unhinging their passions, Christians (ideally) cover their anger in love. Sometimes, covering looks like burying or suppressing, and often is. The problem, however, is in the failure of the person to cover, which is clinging to the original selfishness. The problem is not that he is trying to cover the anger in love, it is that he loves himself too much to cover the anger.
Christians (ideally) cover the anger in love. Ideally is the key word, because no one lives up to the ideal, but it is still there, and it is something the community has in common. Further, it is surprisingly clear for Christians who read the Bible seriously. If Christ says anger is murder, then put anger down. The shared ideal makes for a more pleasant community.
Christmas with the Berzattos
At first, I was tempted to say that The Bear’s restaurant staff have no ideal but their own self-gratification, which is why they are prone to outbursts of anger. Their shared interest in the restaurant complicates things by adding an exterior ideal, which does potentially unite the Berzattos (and the rest of the “family”). I’ll touch on that later.
This essay was prompted by two consecutive episodes: Fishes and Forks (Season 2, episodes 6 and 7). Set a few years before Carmen takes over the restaurant, the episode gives the audience some critical background on the family dynamic. The interactions are laced with unspoken expectations, anxieties, and frustrations. It is the first time we meet Carmen’s mother, and we discover that she is deeply narcissistic, manipulative, and (at least in her words) suicidal. The first scene shows Carmen, his brother Mike, and sister Sugar discussing the best way to deal with their mother throughout the day. Most, if not all, of the family drinks excessively. The episode quickly gives you the feeling that something bad is about to happen and draws out the expectation of the unknown catastrophe for nearly an hour.
Fishes may be one of the most intense, uncomfortable hours of television I’ve seen. It was as cringy as The Office but without the understanding that the problem would be resolved before the next episode. Or, it was like going to a friend's house as a kid, and your friend keeps doing things to bother their parents, and you want them to stop but all you can do is watch. Either of those feelings, but worse. The family dynamic explained the restaurant dynamic––the culture was largely the same. Selfishness gives way to anger; and the one given to anger loses the ability to see his actions as anything but justified.
Forks
Forks brings us back to the show’s main timeline. Richie, one of the staff, is sent to work at a high-end Chicago restaurant, which he grudgingly interprets as Carmen trying to get rid of him for a few days. His first job at the restaurant is to polish forks. He does this all day. Then he does it again the second day. We see his supervisor hand back a fork to re-polish it because it wasn’t good enough. When Richie complains, the supervisor takes him outside, explains why the restaurant is so meticulous, and asks Richie to respect the work. Richie thinks for a moment and replies, “I can do respect.”
Soon, Richie is promoted to trailing the wait staff. He goes from respect to interest as he sees the efficiency of the restaurant, as well as the details which the staff focus on to create the restaurant experience. During the remainder of his brief stint at the restaurant, Richie goes from interest to appreciation and delight. We see him owning the work and learning the subtleties of fine dining. The Richie we meet at the beginning of the show would look at fine dining as a pretentious culture. However, his first job at a fine dining establishment gives him a deep sense of purpose.
The word “purpose” is significant, because Richie admitted in an earlier episode that, with the changes from The Beef to The Bear, he felt he was losing a sense of purpose. At the beginning of the next episode, Richie tells Carmen “I get it.” Richie starts wearing suits, and when The Bear opens, Richie runs the front-of-house with the same enthusiasm he learned in Forks.
Civilizational Value
One of the overdone tropes in television is the disruption of a high-class person or institution, usually played in a way which reveals the high-class as snobbish and shallow, while the lower class is the real truth-teller. The seed of Marxism and Postmodernity, no doubt. Unfortunately, I’ve watched Gen-Z take this trope to heart. (The younger version of myself described previously reveled in this trope.) The result is a suspicion of any perceived sources of pretension, fundamentalism, wealth, formality; in short, anything which could hinder the “true self” from expressing itself.
Forks did the opposite. Richie, whose disdain for the fine-dining vision of Carmen we would expect to win out, is actually undone. The lower class is “deconstructed,” so to speak. First, we are shown the root cause of his disdain––the fear of being left behind. Second, we are shown that the remedy to his disdain is to move from low-class to high-class.
In The Four Loves, C. S. Lewis differentiates “survival value” from “civilizational value.” Things with survival value are immediately necessary and more objectively quantifiable, such as food, sex, shelter, and medicine. Things with civilizational value are not strictly necessary but add value and enjoyment to life. Lewis uses Friendship as an example. One can live without friends, but it would not be as enjoyable.
Gen-Z, I have observed, lives in a postmodern malaise where there is little, if any, civilizational value. Per Lewis’ admonition in The Abolition of Man, Gen-Z has seen through everything so that there is nothing left to see. They have deconstructed everything, but have no idea how to construct anything in its place.
Forks portrayed a deep optimism in purpose as an antidote to Gen-Z’s malaise. Significantly, the kind of purpose Richie discovers revolves around taking something with survival value (food), adding civilizational (the great amount of attention and aesthetic quality of the restaurant experience), and doing so in a way which is centered around the diners, not the wait staff.
Civilization saves Richie. He learns to work in a way which focuses on others at two levels: first, he learns to work as a member of a team; second, he learns to work for the joy of the guests. Over the course of Forks, we watch Richie’s anger turn into joy. Richie’s attitude towards work has changed, and it makes him a more pleasant character.
Conclusion
Taken together, Fishes and Forks provide a glimmer of hope surprisingly more substantial than much of the television I’ve seen. The well-orchestrated chaos of Fishes reveals the horror of our sinful nature, particularly our proclivity to be self-centered and angry. It also reveals the generational effects of sin. Forks gives a way out of the cycle: work in a manner which contributes to something good and beautiful, for the sake of others. Not quite Colossians 3:23, but a better vision from the Egyptians than I’ve seen in a while.