The Bear: A Recipe for Grief
Let it rip
SPOILER ALERT FOR THE TV SHOW THE BEAR
And once again, we have something new to obsess over. A friend made a funny observation when I said grief is my favourite genre. They said: tell me you are a therapist without telling me you are a therapist. 🤡
Well, I had no idea what I was getting into before I started watching The Bear. The premise was simple, and it was categorised as comedy/musical. That’s cool. A big time chef, Carmen Berzatto (Carmie) working in the world’s best restaurant leaves his job to take over his family diner. Nothing too heavy. Yeah? Until we find out that Carmie took over the family diner after his brother, Mikey, a drug addict, killed himself, out of the blues. Over the course of 18 episodes the show puts you in a pot full of grief, stirring the pot slowly and steadily, till you find yourself completely absorbed in it.
The Past Lives With Us
The first and foremost thing that stood out for me was a beautifully accurate portrayal of the past. Often, films and tv shows depict the past as something external, a separate entity on its own. It’s easier to divide time in linear boxes when telling a story. But more often than not, time does not work that way in real life. Conventional storytelling conveys the idea of people being “stuck” in their past, therefore being unable to move on with their lives.
Past is not an event to be resolved. As if you move on from your past, your history gets absolved, and you start afresh. We carry our histories. The past lives with us. What changes is our relationship with it, and good storytelling tries to capture precisely that.
The episodes move swiftly between past and present. They take you through all those crucial moments that shaped these characters (referred to as chefs from here on) that we come to know very intimately.
What I love the most about this show is how real it feels. The show plays brilliantly with grayness that is akin to what we experience in real life. You just can’t form an absolute opinion about any character, because there is no right or wrong here. We dip into the most vulnerable parts of our chefs’ lives. In no time you start seeing these chefs for the people they are and not some stereotypical characters used as accessories for telling the main story.
In its attempt to show how the past lives with us, The Bear manages to be one of the most realistic representations of grief. Much like the compartmentalisation of time, grief, too, is seen as something that can be separated from our present. Something that can be successfully resolved. Popular notions of grief suggest that if a person continues to grieve, they are “stuck” in their past. One is expected, yet again, to move on. As if grief is a one time event.
Grief stays. Like our past, we carry our grief. What changes is our relationship with it.
Grief Lingers
Loss is an inherent part of life. Therefore, grieving becomes a natural part in the process of life. The Bear does not restrict to the loss of people (something that is commonly misunderstood) but rather covers the widest terrains of grief. Loss is loss. It has no size, shape, or form. All of us are carrying our losses with us each day as we continue to strive in our lives.
To invest fully in life, we must mourn the past that never was and the futures that never can be. — Dr. Jonathan Shedler, Psychotherapist
Like I said before, one does not get over their loss, it’s our relationship with our loss that needs to change. This is what The Bear captures the best. It shows what it truly means to change as a person. To become better versions of ourselves. A process that requires a patient negotiation with our past and with our grief.
In one of the rare instances where Carmie opens up about his grief, we get a glimpse of the past he carries, and his relationship with it. He confesses to a group of strangers that since he took over the family restaurant, he’s been trying to fix it. And he feels that in trying to do so, he is trying to fix his relationship with his brother, and maybe even fix his whole family.
It becomes clear that maybe the Berzattos weren’t the best of the families. They were dysfunctional, chaotic, had many differences, but still loved each other. Carmie felt the most supported by his brother who gave him the confidence to be himself. But when Mikey grew distant from him, Carmie felt hurt. And his entire pursuit of being this world class chef was an effort to get back his brother’s validation. So when he finally receives a note left by Mikey, after his death, it breaks him.
As I passed through the lives of our other chefs, I could see their struggles with their past as well. Natalie, Carmie and Mike’s sister, longs for her mother’s love and affection. She longs for a healthier relationship with her brother, especially after losing one. In some ways, she longs for a family. Similarly, Richie, a close friend of Berzattos, finds himself reaching the absolute point of loss after Mikey’s death. He finds himself out of place. With nothing remaining from his past he begins to question the meaning of his present.
The reason why I loved Richie’s character so much is because he somewhat manages to reconcile with his past, alter his relationship with his grief, and commit himself fully to his present and his future. The seventh episode of the second season, “Forks”, is one of my favorite ones. Season 2 starts with Richie having a full blown existential crisis. Everything around him has changed. The city he knew all his life is not the same anymore. He lost his wife, lost the possibility of having a family life. And while everyone around him is busy adapting to change, he finds himself lost. A lost man with no purpose. A man who doesn’t fit anywhere.
Richie’s character growth shows that it’s never too late for change. Change requires negotiation with your past and with your grief. Change requires acceptance, and giving yourself another chance. Accepting that past will always be a reminder of who you were, so that you can find ways for becoming who you want to be. Richie finds a new meaning for his life. And I feel it wouldn’t have been possible without finding ways to carry your grief into your present.
the weight,
the weight we carry
is love— Allen Ginsberg
Let It Rip
Losing something or someone is never a one time thing. The loss unfolds in layers. Layers as deep as your connection with what you lost. Grief only shows how deeply you loved. And as you continue grieving, you continue loving. This is what I wanted to say when I was talking about changing your relationship with your past, and with your losses.
The past stays. The grief stays. Love lives on.
People never truly leave us. They keep finding ways of coming back to us. To remind us how strong our love really is. One day out of nowhere you stumble upon something that belonged to them and it feels as if they never left. You meet people who knew them and they share stories of their connection and you find newer sides of this person. There’s always so much to know about a person, even when they are no more, that their presence continues to live with us in newer and newer ways.
I would have never imagined that this show would make me cry so much. But it did. It constantly reminded me how difficult losses can feel. How hard, and tiresome, and emotionally draining it is to cope with them. How it leaves a gap so wide, nothing can ever fill that.
I feel grief is not so much about filling the gap. It is about leaving it as it is. Everything leaves behind a mark. A reminder that it once existed and what its existence meant for you.
Mikey would often say to Carmie, “Let It Rip”. These words almost feel like Rilke’s reminder: Let everything happen to you. No feeling is final.
When Life Gives You Melon
Choose Water over Choly 🍉
Aakash xx