Hulu’s “The Bear,” Generational Stereotypes, and Prestige Television

by Ted Kluck

Note: There’s another season of The Bear dropping soon on Hulu, so in honor of that, here’s an essay I wrote about Season 1. Also: if you enjoy this kind of stuff you might enjoy my podcast, called “KLUCK” and also enjoy some limited edition podcast swag, available here.

My wife is a chef so we’re suckers for restaurant and food-related media.  And my family is from Chicago so I’m a sucker for anything nostalgically Chicago-related, as its civic identity is both incredibly cosmopolitan and incredibly tough/blue-collar.  The prestige-tv level of photography reminded me of good times I’ve had in the city, and the characters themselves reminded me of my cousins, whom I love. 

“You often like jerks,” my wife pointed out, as we wrapped up the series last night.  She was referring to the Richie Jeremovich character, a 30-something guy who wears sweatpants, carries a gun, and works at a Chicago-style Italian Beef sandwich place, which provides the backdrop of the story.  Richie is a total jerk whom I would absolutely enjoy hanging out with.  He’s loud and brash-for-no-reason and dumb and funny, but is also extremely loyal.  He fears that risotto-eating hipsters are taking over his city and his neighborhood and his restaurant, and he’s not wrong for fearing this.  “This is a delicate ---ing ecosystem!” he shouts, often to nobody in particular. 

Richie’s younger cousin Carmy is a risotto-eating tough-looking hipster who was once a world-class chef at the world’s greatest restaurant, and has returned to Chicago where he inherited his dead brother’s Italian Beef place, and is trying to make it solvent (a simple-enough, and good-enough plot vehicle).  Carmy is a wildly-talented guy in his late-twenties with a world-class head of hair and a wild-animal work ethic.  He loves food. He loves kitchens.  He loves his staff but is sometimes horrible to them, which makes him exceedingly real and relatable.  They have a rich dirtbag uncle named Cicero (Oliver Platt) to whom they owe a large sum of money. 

Regarding the staff:  they are perfectly diverse, but not in a cloying 2022 cover-of-the-textbook sort of way. More in a real Chicago way.  Sydney is young and full of herself in a way that most naïve young people are, but she also has real talent and failure in her past.  Marcus has a sweet spirit and wants to make the perfect donut.  They’re easy to like and root for and their scene together in the last episode is sweet and perfect.

Regarding morality:  the show is absolutely gritty enough to be real, without delving into the usual utterly-depraved prestige-tv tropes.  There could easily be a version of this show where somebody in the kitchen is a drug addict and somebody else is sleeping with everybody in the kitchen, but this isn’t the case, and the story is leaner and better for it. 

Regarding the soundtrack:  like its subject-matter, a perfect mix of hipster and blue-collar. You’re getting a little Wilco and a little John Mayer and a bunch of other stuff. 

In my job (college professor) I work with Millennials (colleagues) and Gen Z (students), but don’t make a habit out of trying to draw referendums about huge groups of people based on a small sample size.  Though I’m aware that both groups take general “cultural conversation” heat about their respective work ethics (or lack thereof).  As writers, like chefs, we’re chasing magic and chasing a form of perfection that feels elusive.  There will always be people who, regardless of age, chase that, and the chasing will always be interesting.

I’ve spent a summer trying to perfect something that is deeply imperfect (my home kitchen).  It has been an exercise in frustration and despair, and is emblematic of life in general in a fallen, sinful, broken world, in which wanting to do something good often shows me how very bad I actually am, and how deeply I need a savior.    

I see “The Bear” in the same way.  They are a collection of broken people who sometimes reflect God’s image and sometimes reflect total depravity.  They’re fighting a losing battle, but it’s hard not to love them for it.