With an unexplained delay that stretches into months, as often happens with FX, a Disney subsidiary in Europe, the acclaimed The Bear arrives on Disney Plus on a Wednesday around day five. It is a drama with a sharp edge of comedy, exploring the splendor and anxiety of working in a restaurant kitchen before the world fully understands the pain behind the smiles. The show leans into a heavy truth: a shadow hangs over many characters through loss and suicide.
Christopher Storer, the creator known for stand up specials and for directing most of Ramy, faced the suicide of a close friend just before beginning the development of this series. That personal tragedy taints every frame, turning the culinary journey into something violent, restless, and painfully intimate. The Bear could be read as a tale about modernizing a family kitchen, or as a meditation on how to move forward after an irrecoverable loss.
Pay for the loss with others
Storer and his team cut to the chase with urgency and honesty. We drop directly into the original Beef of Chicagoland, a place of greasy Italian beef sandwiches and fierce energy, and we quickly learn who lives there and why the space matters. At the center stands Carmy Berzatto, a young chef who seems out of place in this chaotic Chicago diner known for its heavy appetites and heavier moods. Carmy has returned home to face mounting debts, an upgraded kitchen, and a crew that tests every impulse.
Alongside her is a cast that feels lived in: Richie Jerimovic, the deceased’s best friend; Marcus, a baker and pastry chef hopeful; Tina and Ebraheim, veteran cooks with no shortage of blunt humor; and Neil, a mechanic rotating into the kitchen world. To bring order and fresh talent, Carmy hires ambitious Sydney as her sous chef. The restaurant, a personal landmark tied to Carmy’s family, becomes a space where healing and ambition collide.
What unfolds is a smoky field of nerves and unspoken pain. The series traps its characters in a pressure cooker of grief, trauma, addiction, and the relentless pursuit of perfection. Bad things happen, but the people are not simply good or bad. Even Neil notes that Richie might be a troubled soul, saying he is a bit sad inside.
Matheson, who plays Neil, has compared the setting to a submarine in interviews, describing a place where each person stubbornly guards their own world and rarely lets others affect their space. The ensemble feels tightly wound, each member carrying a private script of fears and loyalties.
Sense of urgency
What began as a movie concept is expanded into eight tightly wound half hour episodes. The season brims with anxiety, a force that feels akin to the intensity in Safdie brothers projects. The Bear is often compared to high energy films about pressure and fate, more than to other kitchen dramas. The show invites comparisons to famous culinary stories about perseverance and the cost of craft, while carving out its own raw rhythm. It nods to earlier works in the genre without losing its distinct voice.
There may be echoes of certain cinematic experiments, yet this series remains grounded in a well observed kitchen world. The tension is earned through the daily grind, the small victories, and the moments when the routine almost breaks. The storytelling centers on people trying to do their best under pressure, sometimes falling short, sometimes rising above.
A frozen moment in time
Storer has emphasized that the Chicago restaurant that inspired The Bear keeps a stubborn spirit alive in its real life counterpart. It is a place that feels both timeless and slightly out of step with the era of fast precision and modernity. In keeping with that mood, the creators chose a musical approach that favors familiar, grounding sounds over avant garde experimentation. Music cues lean toward dad rock and old favorites, underscoring the sense of place and memory.
In scenes of quiet fatigue, Richie is seen driving, listening to Counting Crows. The soundtrack often leans into the familiar, grounding the drama in a shared human language. The series uses music to propel emotional weight, with moments where songs lift the tension or deepen the ache. The overall mood is carefully balanced between urgency and a longing for something steadier, something earned through effort.