There’s a really good reason even for binge-averse folks like moi to carve out approximately six hours and fifteen minutes of time over the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer that are now unfolding.  A new season of THE BEAR has dropped on Hulu courtesy of FX and the unquestionably brilliant team of Christopher Storer and Joanna Calo.  And boy, did both the show and the world in general need it.

I don’t need to revisit the state of both the country and its seemingly omnipresent heat domes that would make ten new episodes of such a critically acclaimed series seem like a godsend.  But it might be worth reminding that the general consensus among those critics was that last summer’s tasting menu was a bit of a letdown from the show’s first two seasons.  Indeed, the Emmys that were lavished upon the show and its talent last fall were based on Season 2, due to the team’s commitment to making the show a June perennial, which flies in the face of the May 31st deadline that the Academy puts on shows up for consideration in a given year.  Thus, depending upon exactly how much voters keep to the specifics of judging only eligible episodes, it’s entirely possible that on July 15th THE BEAR may not be quite as omnipresent on nominations list and its haul may be somewhat lighter in September.  But don’t count me among those negative nellies.  Even a somewhat lesser season of THE BEAR is better than a majority of other comedies being produced these days.

And the season that I just plowed through fueled by Papa John’s and migraine medication is a whole lot better than that.  The season is defined by an ominpresent ticking clock that’s unveiled by the ever-compelling Oliver Platt’s Uncle Jimmy (and his WTF sidekick “Uncle Computer”) that reflects the restaurant’s–and his–economic reality.  And amidst this sword of Damocles, we thankfully are drawn back into the drama and yes, occasional lunacy, as NPR’s Linda Holmes frames it:

When we last saw Carmy (Jeremy Allen White), he was swearing at a review of his restaurant, also called The Bear, that had just been published by the Chicago Tribune. Early this season, we find out what that review says, but what it says doesn’t change the trajectory of his efforts, which bend still toward: get better, improve, figure it out, become perfect.  It will probably be a relief that the first episode of the season does not repeat the choices that frustrated some viewers about Season 3, including that season’s nonlinear, contemplative first episode. This one, by contrast, picks up right where we left off, and it takes us back into the kitchen for a dinner service. 

USA TODAY’s Kelly Lawson provided further context:

Much has been written and said about the acclaimed series – which launched its cast into superstardom and took home a treasure chest full of Emmy awards – and its ability to engross and bewitch its viewers. There’s the frenetic energy of its setting in a restaurant kitchen. There’s the aptitude of its talented actors, who spit profanities as sharp as their chef’s knives as they chop and stir and and season and argue. There’s the sense of place in a perpetually overcast Chicago and the triumphs and tragedies that populate every episode. There are the Oscar-winning guest stars and family gatherings that make the Roman Colosseum look tame.

We get all of that and then some, including a return of Jamie Lee Curtis’ dysfunctional matriach of the Berzatto clan that resulted in her own career renaissance last fall, not to mention the over-the-top cameos over other relatives, including ones portrayed by John Mulaney and Bob Oedenkirk.  We’re also treated to the introduction of some other quite talented scene-stealers, including Brie Larson showing up as the appropriately named Francine Fak, the sister to the two Fak brothers that provide comic relief, and apparently the bane of Natalie (Abby Elliott)’s existence.  We’re also treated to the still-brilliant comic timing of Rob Reiner as a business mentor to Ebraheim, who has been running the sandwich window at the back of the restaurant that bears the name THE BEEF, the actual Chicago restaurant that inspired White, Storer and Calo’s passion that has turned into stardom for all parties concerned.

Best of all, we get that amidst the emotional roller coasters that define the show’s more compelling and, we suspect yet again, award-worthy moments.  It’s perhaps best typified in the final two episodes, which with as a bold a  SPOILER ALERT splash as possible VARIETY’  Selome Hailu dutifully recapped last night:

In Episode 9, “Tonnato,” Pete (Chris Witaske) calls Sydney (Ayo Edeberi) to go over the updated terms of the partnership agreement she’s procrastinated signing all season. She has finally turned down Adam’s (Adam Shapiro) job offer and decided to stick things out with Carmy, so she’s feeling more ready to legally tie herself to The Bear, but Pete throws her a curveball, explaining that Carmy has removed himself from the document. If she signs, she will be agreeing to become part-owner with Jimmy (Oliver Platt) and Natalie (Abby Elliott) alone. The phone call comes right before the restaurant opens on the final day of Jimmy’s countdown clock. When the clock runs out, he will stop funneling money into the kitchen and force the staff to see if they can survive on just the revenue they bring in each night. The stakes of her relationship with Carmy have never been higher, and now it seems he has one foot out the door. (To Carmy’s credit, he tried to tell Sydney about this himself earlier in the season, but they got interrupted and he never followed up.)

Titled “Goodbye,” the finale picks up after the restaurant closes that night. Carmy finds Sydney outside behind the restaurant and asks why she didn’t speak to him for all of dinner service, and she confronts him about what she’s learned, accusing him of quitting. He says he isn’t quitting; instead, he’s going to help get The Bear pay off its debts, then leave because he believes that’s what’s “best for the restaurant.” “This is all I’ve ever done. This is all I’ve ever known,” he says. “I think I did this so I didn’t have to do other things.” He goes on to explain that that he’s buried himself in his culinary career as a way to avoid dealing with everything he and his family have gone through, and that he now understands his trauma is the reason he communicates and behaves so erratically. Sydney tries to remind him that he loves cooking and restaurants, and he says that he doesn’t anymore.

It’s those moments that leave me much as I often am after a truly gourmet meal–satiated, full, but still wanting more.  The climactic scenes featuring Carmy and his family members coming to grips with the reality of their clock striking zero, with Sydney slightly out of frame as an omnipresent moral compass yet still determined to chart her own course, are directorial masterpieces.  You can read the rest of Hailu’s detailed description if you wish, but I’d offer you owe it to yourself to actually watch it unfold.

And knowing how even the most by-the-book Emmy voters are still human, I can’t imagine that any of them who watch Season 4 as they are ostensibly casting their votes for Season 3 won’t be subconsciously influenced to see the entire series in a more positive light than they may otherwise have.  I hadn’t felt Season 3 was even worthy of a musing, in direct contrast to the praise I lavished Season 2 with just about two years ago.   At that point I compared THE BEAR to its record-breaking stablemate IT’S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA as a textbook case of how if you have enough talent and passion you can become a hitmaker in FX’s world no matter how obscure you might otherwise be.  Odds are quite good THE BEAR probably won’t even come close to the 18 seasons and hundreds of episodes that SUNNY has racked up–that sort of business model is pretty much obsolete.  But there’s now no question in at least my mind that there’s room in our stomachs–and our hearts–for at least another amuse bouche.

Until next time…