It turns out saying goodbye to The Bear was tougher than I expected it to be. Without going into spoiler-territory, Christopher Storer and the writing room took this metaphorical last service as an opportunity to hone the show into an organically evolved version of the first season and put genuine care into leaving these characters in a place that felt earned and true.
I never understood the hand-wringing over how the show branched out across the previous four seasons. Like any show that gets the opportunity to keep telling itself, there were moments where it got overly ambitious, but it never once felt like it had lost the thread of the story it was weaving. Creative work (especially of an ensemble kind) is a living thing. There’s the intent behind the creation, and there’s what it becomes as you begin to flesh it out. The possibilities expand, the focus widens. The needs of the story change.
This last season plays like one that has an awareness of the criticisms that followed Seasons 3 & 4, but I suspect the finality of the thing drove the framing and direction as much as the complaints. By spending 7 of 8 episodes on a single, stress-filled day prepping for and then delivering on a single night’s service, The Bear pulls a “You wanted the restaurant, here it is in all its messy glory” move that lets the consequences of the prior season’s finale (and the rewards of each character’s journey) bubble up in an organic way.
Thanks to how this season is laid out, it’s nigh-impossible to call out anything other than trailer-moments without spoiling something, so I’ll leave that aside and just talk about the finale itself.
The Bear accomplishes its farewell to itself without any extra baggage. When we do get a moment that feels less story and more like the cast & crew saying goodbye to each other (and the audience), it still manages to pull double duty. The familiar faces we see aren’t just a curtain call. There’s some real implication in who we see and why, and I respect how the show still expects us to infer it. There’s no hand-holding here.
There’s one face from Season 4 that we don’t see—Ebra’s business mentor Albert, wonderfully played by Rob Reiner—but a delicately placed fourth-wall breaking choice of dialogue acknowledges the real world tragedy behind his absence while staying true to the moment in-world. It’s devastating and it works. If your heart doesn’t catch in your throat at that moment, I don’t know what to tell you.
All in all, everyone ends up in a place that feels right for the road these five seasons have taken. The show doesn’t really promise a truly happy ending—I don’t think such a thing exists in restaurant life—but across the board the three core pillars of Carmy, Sydney, and Ritchie are better than when we found them, and that same sense of growth and place extends out to the rest of the Bear Family as well.
I am beyond ready for everyone to catch up because I have thoughts on as to whether White’s final scene means A or B for where Carmy ends up. Without getting into specifics, I think there’s a solid argument that the (excellent) scene goes to some lengths to hint that there’s every chance he’s not going to stay where the show leaves him, but either way it’s both a fantastic final cameo (from a show that was full of them), and another powerhouse moment for Jeremy Allen White, whose Carmy has never been anything other than utterly captivating to watch.
I’m going to miss this show, even if I’m not going to miss the stress-dreams it’s fueled. I’m going to miss how deftly the show portrayed personal growth as a messy, sometimes contradictory thing. I’m going to miss a show that acknowledged that a better version of ourselves is a life-long struggle, and that bad habits we thought we left behind can rear up at any moment.
I’m going to miss the world-class food pornography and the easy camaraderie this cast let shine in every scene. I’m going to miss Ayo Edebiri’s “what-is-even-happening?” exasperation and eye-rolls. Ebon Moss-Bacharch’s Ritchie and his “little kid who suddenly realized he’s an adult and in charge” energy. I’m going to miss Oliver Platt’s foul-mouthed scenery chewing. I’m going to miss Lisa Colon-Zayas’ incredible Tina and that well-earned sense of accomplishment.
And I’m going to be very, very sad that I will never get a table at The Bear.