‘The Bear’ Backlash Was Inevitable — But Calling It A “Bad Show” Is Disingenuous

In the final moments of The Bear’s third season, The Chicago Tribune’s make-it-or-break-it review of Carmy’s (Jeremy Allen White) restaurant drops and an intentionally vague selection of standout words flash across the screen. Some of these words (“excellent,” “innovative,” “brilliant,” “delicious”) suggest success, while others (“confusing,” sloppy,” “inconsistent,” “disappointed”, “stale”) scream failure. After taking it all in, Carmy utters a simple “motherfucker,” leaving viewers to ponder his fate until Season 4.

In a twist that is either ironic or a self-fulfilling prophecy, depending on your perspective, it’s easy to imagine The Bear creator Christopher Storer echoing Carmy’s “motherfucker” reaction as reviews for the latest batch of episodes of his Emmy-winning series came pouring in over the weekend. With more than 500 ratings on Rotten Tomatoes, The Bear Season 3 currently has an audience score of 59% — compared to Season 1’s 92% and Season 2’s 95%. And despite a Certified Fresh 94% Tomatometer score from 69 reviews from critics, some professional scribes have had some serious beef with Season 3 as well. Some feel the season is “undercooked.” Others call it “overdone.” And Slate’s Jack Hamilton delivered a gut punch to the series by declaring that “The Bear is not a good show” altogether in an essay that went viral this past weekend.

Before I argue that The Bear Season 3 isn’t THAT bad, let the record show that several complaints do resonate with me. In hindsight, the “Fak Attack” scenes, which shined a spotlight on Neil (Matty Matheson) and Ted Fak (Ricky Staffieri), were far too plentiful. Carmy’s frequent flashbacks and Storer’s ambitious technical acrobatics were, at times, a bit much. And the plot development was painfully slow. But as I binge-watched all 10 episodes in a single day, the season’s overwhelming mental montages, haunting ruminations on past traumas and regrets, and infuriating lack of communication between characters also very much felt like…the point.

Despite the progress Carmy made over The Bear’s first two seasons, the Chairman of the Tortured Chefs Department wasn’t exactly in a solid place, mentally speaking, ahead of his accidental fridge lock-in in the Season 2 finale. He spent the superb second season struggling to better himself while balancing a new restaurant and a new relationship, but he also actively pushed away a slew of unresolved issues and insecurities. After letting his team down on their big opening night, Carmy emotionally regressed, backsliding to his days as an up-and-comer laser-focused on his ruthless pursuit of perfection. In Season 3, as he attempts to make up for his mistakes, he overcorrects to his own detriment, giving into his worst impulses and embodying the very chef who made his life hell (Joel McHale).

From its montage-heavy premiere to lingering finale flashbacks, Carmy’s agonizing actions and behavior towards Sydney (Ayo Edebiri) and Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach) are fueled by memories of past mentors, meals, lessons, mistakes, grief, and inner demons. While some feel the constant throwbacks, isolating introspection, and lack of present-day conversations are a crutch, they’re also palpable proof of Carmy’s self-sabotage, overthinking, and negative self-talk at work. The frantic, jumbled throwback scenes effectively mirror Carmy’s mental torment, both narratively and stylistically, bringing viewers inside the chef’s mind to stress just how relentless and severe his anxiety is. Does the extended execution feel a bit too weighty at times? Absolutely. Does the repetition always result in compelling television? No. In Season 4 the show should take its own advice and “SUBTRACT.” But as someone who struggles with anxiety, the creative choices also feel real and relatable — as does the glacial pace of Carmy’s internal Season 3 progress.

As Vulture notes, “Carmy can’t move ahead while he’s haunted by his past, both professionally and personally; the season also spins its wheels, covering the same ground and unable to reach somewhere new.” Though Season 3’s lack of forward-moving narratives is frustrating, before Carmy can change his feelings, his relationships, and his restaurant’s future, he has to change his thoughts and behaviors, which is easier said than done. While his avoidance may be taking a toll on The Bear’s narrative progression, the show’s bold, unconventional portrayal of his pain shows an incredibly human struggle.

Though Storer chose to take big artistic swings in Season 3, I have faith that he could have gotten the same message across without forcing his audience to experience what started to feel like Carmy’s every thought. Whether you love the creative choices or hate them, however, given what we know about Carmy’s character and his unshakable trauma, it would also feel inauthentic for him to quickly snap out of his Season 2 finale funk for the sake of story progression. The season feels off and aimless, in part, because its characters feel the same.

With two top-notch seasons under its belt, The Bear backlash felt inevitable. And while I agree that Season 3 is the show’s weakest installment yet, it still features several standout episodes plus more powerful performances, directing, writing, and producing that attracted fans in the first place. It still evokes incredible emotion. And it still received immense praise in reviews that called out its flaws.

I think I can speak for all fans of The Bear when I say that no one — not even Carmy himself — wants to be stuck in the chef’s head for another season. But existing in the uncomfortable space Season 3 creates feels intentional and hopefully essential for whatever The Bear has in store in Season 4. To take issue with the season as a whole is fine, but to turn on a show in its entirety because one season fails to let it rip feels like a short-sighted Carmy-level overcorrection.

The Bear Season 3 is now streaming on Hulu.

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