Netflix follow-up is overcrowded and unfocused
In transitioning from a standalone story to a multi-season anthology, all shows in the genre that Ryan Murphy made mainstream with “American Horror Story” are faced with the same existential question. If a series isn’t defined by a stable set of characters or locations, then what? do define it? For HBO’s “The White Lotus,” the answer is that rich people try and fail to avoid their problems at various outposts of a luxury hotel chain. For FX’s ‘Fargo,’ it’s the battle between moral turpitude and common decency in the American Midwest.
For Netflix’s “Beef,” the 2023 hit and Emmys darling that starred Ali Wong and Steven Yeun as raging enemies, its essence seems to be right there in the name. Wherever creator Lee Sung Jin might take the concept, a bitter rivalry would presumably be its driving force, just as Wong and Yeun’s searing anti-platonic chemistry powered Season 1 through some tonal bumps and big swings. And unlike “Feud,” the Murphy show with a confusingly similar name and concept, “Beef” could do this without the restrictive bonds of a real-life inspiration.
Three years later, season 2 looks to reintroduce itself along these established lines. The biggest difference, in line with all the attention and acclaim Season 1 received, is one of scale: instead of two individuals on a collision course across class and gender lines, we now have two couples. Josh (Oscar Isaac) and Lindsay (Carey Mulligan) are aging hipsters who have traded cool, creative careers in music and interior design for a relaxing gig running a beach club in Montecito – Josh as general manager, Lindsay as his de facto lieutenant. Austin (Charles Melton) and Ashley (Cailee Spaeny) are two low-level employees at the club who decide to blackmail the older couple for promotions when they catch the pair on video in a nasty, violent fight. The generational divide between Millenials and Gen Z, with both sides fighting for pieces of a shrinking pie while still smiling and subserviently serving the aging boomers, is a tantalizing hook further amplified by meta-casting. Isaac and Mulligan are veteran movie stars, while Melton and Spaeny are more recent breakouts. All four are executive producers.
But after eight episodes, “Beef” loses focus and overcrowds this already expansive premise. By the end credits, Season 2 is no longer principal about the bitterness between its anti-heroes and what it brings out from within. Which begs the question: Even if a sequel allows Lee to sign bigger names and make films in remote locations (more on that soon), was “Beef” ultimately worth turning into a franchise?
Doubling the personalities would be enough in itself. Yet season 2 quickly reveals that it’s not really the story of two couples three. The club has recently been taken over by a South Korean billionaire, Chairman Park (Oscar winner Youn Yuh-Jung of “Minari”), who is less concerned with her new toy than with the hand tremors that are the livelihood of her much younger husband, plastic surgeon Dr. Kim, (“Parasite” star Song Kang-ho, so rarely seen that the role is a glorified cameo) threatens. The new bosses’ first-rate problems are always tertiary to the Josh-Lindsay-Ashley-Austin quadfecta and never feel addressed, even when plot contrivances transport the entire ensemble to Seoul for the finale. But they’re present just enough to distract from the core conflict, turning the season from a group character study into a corporate espionage thriller so that neither half feels fully fleshed out.
It’s a shame, because before they disappear, there are discussions worth following. Lee has a gift for creating characters that walk the line between disgusting and pathetic; you feel just enough for these people to continue watching and enjoying their self-inflicted suffering. Josh and Lindsay’s carefree childhood is mired in a tangle of resentment over wasted money and lost potential, with their dachshund Burberry – it’s a good joke! – the thin layer of glue that holds the sexless relationship together. Ashley and Austin are only 18 months into their relationship and newly engaged, but there are already cracks in their freshly laid foundation. Austin, a former college football player, struggles to reinvent himself as a personal trainer, while Ashley clings to the prospect of motherhood as a salve for her abandonment issues. (Her blackmail from Josh is motivated by the need for health insurance to finance ovarian cyst surgery.) Both seem more concerned about holding on to their first love than actually being in love with each other.
Just as Season 1 was a sociological cross-section of Asian-American Los Angeles and its many subcultures, Season 2 gets specific with a different corner of Southern California. Josh and Lindsay live in Ojai, the hippie mountain town that has increasingly become a yuppie enclave; Austin and Ashley find themselves in a more working class Oxnard. None of them can afford to live near their jobs around Santa Barbara, a common trend among service members working in what is increasingly a retirement community for affluent baby boomers.
But instead of delving into these dynamics, Season 2 represents the club’s clientele through one VIP, Troy (William Fichtner) and his trophy wife Ava (Mikaela Hoover). Most of “Beef’s” satirical anger is instead reserved for those lower on the food chain: Josh’s unctuous sycophancy (Lindsay saying he’s good at his job is an insult), Lindsay’s posh permafrost (she thinks Park takes her “colonial” aesthetic as a compliment), and most awkwardly, Austin and Ashley’s stupidity. (He thinks “miscellaneous” on an invoice is a typo for “fog”; she understands a pain scale of 1 to 10 by reasoning that it’s “like Letterboxd.”)
Given their youth and economic insecurity, the show’s disdain for Austin and Ashley may rub off on the mean-spirited, even if it’s not exclusive to them. Ashley complains that she worked “nine whole hours” at her new job, a “kids these days” stereotype that is the most basic form of generational humor. Regardless, the performances are uniformly and unsurprisingly excellent. There are no big discoveries here, like Young Mazino in season 1 – just professionals showing why their success is so justified. For example, Melton follows up his revealing turn in “May December” with another young man in a toxic relationship whose emotions are unfathomable to himself but painfully clear to the viewer.
In fact, this expanded version of “Beef” has so many heavyweights that the entire enterprise begins to feel adrift. Midway through the season, Ashley vows to “take Josh down” by any means necessary. The line gives the feeling that the plot is clicking into place. (Where’s the beef? Here!) Except nothing ever comes of it. “Beef” must take into account the internal dynamics of the marriages, plus the initially rudimentary but increasingly overwhelming storyline about Park and Kim’s plastic surgery clinic. A final set piece is compelling and directed with flair by the stalwart Jake Schreier; the scene still feels disconnected from the previous build-up. Dr. Kim and his physical decline are introduced at the end of episode 2 in an abrupt escalation of the stakes. Despite some nods to Austin exploring his half-Korean heritage through a flirtation with Park’s assistant Eunice (Seoyeon Jang), the subplot is never handled smoothly.
Once the animosity between Josh, Ashley, and their significant others fades into the background, it becomes increasingly difficult to discern what Lee wanted to say with their juxtaposition. Is it true that all couples outside the 0.01% will eventually succumb to financial pressure? Is it the envy of middle age and the desire to sabotage the innocence of fresh-faced twenty-somethings? Or is Season 1 successful enough to demand a sequel, regardless of how much Lee’s current interests aligned with the ‘Beef’ framework? Season 1 of “Beef” was an original idea that took off on its own merits, rather than a brand name. Maybe That was the magic worth trying to replicate.
All eight episodes of ‘Beef’ season 2 are now available to stream on Netflix.
