The Bear Season 2: The Silent Struggle of Michael Berzatto (Masterful Character Arc Series)
Disclaimer: This article contains spoilers for seasons 1 and 2 of ‘The Bear’. If you haven’t watched it and would like to, I suggest you click off now.
I wasn’t sure what to make of Hulu’s The Bear at first, which explains why I’m a little late jumping on the bandwagon. After seeing it marketed as a “summer feelgood” show by The Guardian, I felt that was everything I needed to know about the kitchen-confidential dramedy.
But boy, could I be more wrong? Taking a chance on this unusual chef-led offering proved one of the best decisions I’ve made all year, though I struggle to see how this show is ‘feelgood’. While early episodes of the first season had that vibe, The Bear seems to get darker the more we get to know the characters. By the time I shut off the TV last night, having viewed Season 2’s finale, I was feeling depressed, but also deeply excited.
The Bear has got some of the best writing you’ll see on TV this year, and while much is (rightly) said about Jeremy Allen White’s and Ebon-Moss Bachrach’s phenomenal characters, I thought I’d take a look at the spectre that haunts this charming, dysfunctional drama: Mikey Berzatto.
Having taken his own life after a long battle with addiction before the start of Season 1, Michael Berzatto (Jon Bernthal) hardly appears in the first two seasons of the show. Yet, his presence on the screen couldn’t loom larger.
Desperation is… crying by yourself in the cupboard.
When asked their favorite Bear scene, many will point to the flawless Season 2 finale. From Carmy’s dysfunctional back-and-forth with his would-be love interest, Claire, to Richie’s immortal “I wear suits now”, the season is packed with quotable, memorable shots. Yet for me, the scene that most stands out is not in the finale, but in the hour-long episode six, ‘Fishes’.
The Christmas-themed flashback episode provides the viewer with their first real glimpse into Michael’s character. What we know of Mikey until that point is hearsay.
We know he is insanely charismatic, as is attested by Richie and Carmy’s memory of him.
We know, also, by evidence of his addiction, and his haphazard maintenance of the family restaurant, that he is erratic, and unpredictable.
We know he is self-destructive, and struggles with emotional closeness (from his difficult, distanced relationship with Carmy).
What we don’t know — what most of us don’t realize about people struggling with depression and addiction — is the shame. In ‘Fishes’, an extremely loud, all-over-the-place episode, there’s this wonderful morsel of quiet between the two brothers. In it, Carmy presents his brother with a Christmas gift — an illustration of the restaurant they could run together, The Bear. Their dream restaurant.
Carmy leaves, after Mikey promises he’ll think about it, and once left alone, Mikey breaks down in tears. Hauntingly etched on Bernthal’s face is a look of such hopeless desperation, as he struggles to contain his tears, as to not alarm the rest of his family.
Possibly already struggling with a drug habit, Michael plunges instantly into such an intense fear that he can’t control himself or his emotions. And it’s clear it’s not the logical, calculated fear of a rational adult, asking questions like ‘can I do this’ or ‘is this financially feasible’.
It’s not. It’s the fear of failing and hurting the people you love most, and it’s one all too familiar to people struggling with dependence, and mental health. It’s that deeply ingrained, unrelenting knowledge that you will fuck up, that loving you can only hurt others. It’s the reflection of someone who is so deeply damaged, who thinks so little of himself that it leaves the viewer gasping through tears.
Through attempts to control their own emotions. Because all the while, you’re viewing the scene, and you’re thinking, how did you know about that?
That’s my favorite Bear scene. The entire episode, alone, is enough to cement The Bear as one of the best shows of all-time for me. And let me tell you, after I first pressed play, I hated the episode. I thought it was a rambling, star-studded filler episode.
… until I realized it was meant to be annoying. It was meant to make you wish it would end already, because that’s precisely what the Berzatto family is feeling during that Christmas get-together. Although the episode has numerous light-hearted moments, and enough guest appearances (from Bob Odenkirk, to John Mulaney, to Jamie Lee Curtis) to keep you distracted, it’s a monolith of such profound tragedy, you just gotta sit a moment and stare into space when it’s over.
The episode closing scene pits Michael against his uncle Lee (Bob Odenkirk), with Mikey throwing forks at Lee, ruining everyone’s Christmas. The scene serves both as a window into Mikey’s self-destructive tendencies, but also as an ominous mirror of what’s to come. Gathered around the table, all the people who love Michael beg him not to throw that fork, a clear metaphor for addiction, and ultimately, for pulling the trigger on himself. They ask him not to do it, not just because it would ruin the moment, but because they genuinely care about him. In the end, Michael can’t help himself.
Sometimes, the people who love you best can shout it from the rooftops and still not manage to save you.
(and what a fantastic, heartwrenching way to transpose that into film.)
Backliners of Grief
‘Fishes’ also contains a fascinating insight into Mikey’s relationship with Bachrach’s Richie. I think it’s fair to say Bachrach owned Season 2 of The Bear, with his riveting progression, and journey towards finding meaning.
Richie ain’t never been good at anything. He’s fun, but also volcanic. He’s not the brightest. He’s not the handsomest. He’s easy to put down as a sweet, chaotic guy who tries. But I feel that’d be doing the guy a disservice.
What’s worth remembering about Richie is that he’s not just dealing with the trauma and grief of losing his best friend. He’s also working with the guilt of not managing to save Mikey, and we get to see the full weight of that burden in Season 2.
Throughout ‘Fishes’, the glimpses Richie steals towards Mikey are filled with this adoring devotion and so much genuine love. When self-destructive Mikey jumps to attack his uncle, it’s Richie who gets between them first.
In a show dealing with suicide, it’s all too tempting to look at the surviving family members as the frontliners of grief. Carmy’s grief and sorrow is beautifully punctuated in Season 1’s understated finale:
I lost track of time, and then, he died.
Natalie and Donna’s own struggles are quite clear, too.
But where are best friends supposed to go, after a death? In Season 1, Carmy tells a story of worshipping his brother, and that story holds true throughout Season 2. Yet, in ‘Fishes’, it becomes apparent that Carmy’s a holidaymaker in Michael’s tragedy.
He’s home for the holidays from his fancy restaurant in Copenhagen. He’s trying to connect with Michael in his own way. He’s seeing this deeply dysfunctional, deeply worrying side of Michael that’s clear throughout the dinner scene.
But at the end of the day, Carmy leaves. He departs the cupboard, leaving Mikey to cry alone. And he leaves for Copenhagen in a few days.
Richie stays, and endures, watching his closest, and perhaps his only friend on a slow but sure path of self-destruction. You all will leave, but I’ll be here with him tomorrow, and the day after that. That’s the message that Richie’s eyes seem to convey in ‘Fishes’, and it stands a true, desperate testament to our individual hopelessness when it comes to saving the people we love best.
Where were you when I fucking put your brother into the ground?
… Richie shouts at Carmy in the season finale, bringing us to the heart of the problem. Because while all the Berzatto family may be grieving, it is Richie, an unofficial member (as he’s reminded many times throughout), that felt the full brunt of Michael’s drama.
With two full seasons under its belt, The Bear is only just unwrapping the many layers of grief and suffering. And it does so with incredible poise, and gentility. The writers don’t rush. They don’t strip their characters bare too quickly, in the interest of viewer retention.
And that, among so much more, makes it one of the best series I’ve seen in several years.
Thank you for reading. Guess what. I am actually publishing my first novel this fall. Wild, I know. Meanwhile, I’m gonna be documenting my process/journey/slow descent into madness on here, while also dropping the occasional opinion piece.
So if you’re someone who enjoys that kinda writing, well, why not subscribe? It’s free. And I’m desperate. So there, honesty.
