There are good, bad, and middling television finales, but rarely are there those that aim for rejuvenation. The last two seasons of The Bear, while more creatively staged and well-acted than a vast majority of television, were a step down from its first two years, which offered something new within the streaming landscape. The Bear was a workplace series where each episode was an auteur project, and one that featured progressive character arcs without falling prey to needless serialization. It was either a frequently hilarious drama or a pitch-black comedy, and it utilized a group of relatively unknown actors. The confidence that The Bear showed in pushing the emotional limits of its story and the audacity of its episodic format meant that anything less than groundbreaking would be a comedown. As is the case with the high-end restaurant business that it’s depicted, The Bear made it so even the most minor flaws were disruptive.
The biggest issue with Season 3 and 4 was a lack of momentum. The first season saw the lonely, yet deftly talented grande cuisine chef Carmy Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White) rebuilding his family’s Italian beef restaurant after the death of his older brother Mikey (Jon Bernthal) by suicide. Season 2 placed Carmy in a potentially destructive path as he elevated the familiar sandwich shop into a high end eatery with the help of his cousin Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), sous chef Sydney (Ayo Edebiri), and other co-workers whose roles were expanded. While Carmy’s fluctuating ambitions, Richie’s grief over Mikey’s death, and Sydney’s fledgling leadership skills gave Seasons 3 and 4 a strong starting point, the absence of a specific goal meant that the series was burdened by filler.
Season 5 is nearly a statement of defiance in the face of criticism, if not an outright apology for the perceived creative difficulties on the part of showrunner Christopher Storer, who directed all but one of the last eight episodes. Rather than the ambiguous timeline in which the previous two seasons had languished, Season 5 is primarily set over the course of a single night where the staff aim to impress an austere food critic in order to gain a Michelin star. Although it’s always been a bit odd that a show with such a strong fanbase is released all at once, Season 5 makes sense as a binge watch. The flashbacks are fewer and further between, and the pacing is closer to that of The Pitt with its real-time approach.
The preparation of a single course aimed to impress influential cuisine writers is a compelling set-up because nothing about this goal is in a vacuum. This prestige meal has to be served during a regular evening in which other customers come in and out, and the authenticity of a “normal night” has to be preserved. That it’s also set in the midst of a heavy rainstorm that has disrupted electricity, incoming supplies, and reservation plans might seem like overkill, but it’s a reminder that The Bear was once (theoretically) a comedy. The season is the first instance in which Carmy’s mentally-ill mother, Donna (Jamie Lee Curtis), sets foot in the restaurant after most of her scenes were included with prequel interludes. Curtis’ performance had been heightened to an absurd degree meant to wring out tension, but her more subdued acting in Season 5 is the appropriate choice for what is already a cluttered final chapter.
The Bear’s last season has a successful convergence between detail-oriented problem-solving and macro targets. Perfection is something that Carmy has strived for in the abstract, but the intention to boost the restaurant’s reputation is for the sake of its profitability, and not just to soothe his ego. That all of the characters share the same objective is insurance that the season is light on the sort of artificial drama that never would’ve made sense in such a strictly professional environment. The notion that Carmy had become addicted to the high-pressure workplace that allowed him to deteriorate emotionally was previously used as an oblique commentary on obsessive artistry, but there’s a more concrete end point this time around because he’s ceded control of the restaurant to Sydney. Just the slightest shift within the kitchen hierarchy is enough for the weight to be substantially shifted, and at this point The Bear has mastered the subtle, often silent code-speak that is used during a busy rush.
The most refreshing causality of the streamlined narrative is that this season is light on the senseless cameos that had grinded the last two iterations to a halt in believability. It’s understandable that The Bear is a great vehicle for established actors to do a few days with great material, but there’s no reason that a show with so much on its hands needed guest parts for everyone from Josh Hartnett and Brie Larson to John Cena and John Mulaney. It’s more compelling to see an actor like Oliver Platt, underrated for decades, in the role of Carmy’s substitute father figure Cicero. Platt is asked to voice the business end of the restaurant, and Season 5 is able to treat him like more than an obnoxious investor. If there’s an absence that’s felt, it’s that of the late Rob Reiner, whose performance as the restaurant consultant Albert, was a bright spot throughout the show.
That’s not to say that Season 5 is devoid of fan service. There are callbacks made exclusively for those that have buried themselves within The Bear’s lore, and the final episode is a ridiculous hour-long wrap-up after a much stronger penultimate chapter. There’s also points in which everything goes wrong all at once, meaning that there would be no feasible possibilities for the characters’ luck to shift in the opposite direction. Nonetheless, The Bear is a show that is at its best when it doesn’t offer itself a chance to breathe, which makes it more impressive that there are five good seasons in five years’ time. The end isn’t a masterpiece, but it's more than justification for the entire project.