“Beef” Is a Show I can’t Stop Consuming

With Netlfix and A24’s Beef, it’s always something.

Three episodes into Netflix and A24’s Beef, and I cannot consume enough of it. Daniel Cho (Steven Yeun) is first seen returning a cartful of George Foreman grills and a carbon monoxide detector. The cashier, annoyed, announces over the loudspeaker that all shoppers must have their receipts ready, the most petty way to inform Daniel that there’s a line. Berated, Danny storms out, Foreman grills in cart. It’s always something.

And that next “thing” arrives not even a second after a moment of explosive pure that we learn defines Danny as a character, as well as Amy Lau (Ali Wong), who blares an obnoxiously long horn and throws a middle finger at Danny while backing out from his space. With masculine bravado revving this rage machine, Danny throttles his truck backwards and in pursuit of Amy. The chase ends without either of the two truly encountering the other, establishing a game of cat and mouse that captures the two for the fulfillment it brings to their equally stressful, and unequally financed, lives.

So far, the exploration of Daniel and Amy’s corroding anger has shocked me in its wit as well as its drama, its writing as well as its visuals, its pin point accuracy to modern cultural touchstones and applicability to the universal human experience. Beef’s writing is so hypnotically enjoyable because of these reasons that can be condensed to “contrast” and “polish.”

Danny puffs his chest before shoving four BK sandwiches into his mouth from stress, Amy boils underneath her practiced smile; both of these characters are fully realized because of their consistent contradictions and resulting subtext. The writing is incredibly tight and enjoyable because the characters presented are given life from the second they are introduced, which is developed through creatively genius characterization. Danny’s rage when losing his Foreman receipt is obvious and telling of his character, but what makes him human is later in the same episode when he uses the Foreman Grills as a means of attempting suicide. Amy’s preppy, people pleasing masks the fury of gods, which is yet another cover for a deep sense of insecurity and an unfulfilled lifestyle manifested in luxury cars, shroom tasting events and masturbating with a gun. That last note sounds out of place, but in this semi-surreal fantasy world where every character is a well written version of the most annoying modern cultural archetype turned to eleven, it feels natural. More significantly, it is simply an ingeniously creative way of informing the audience on this character's true nature: she loves the thrill, just as much as her prey. Danny may need money, but it’s the ability to express his demons that gives him life. Amy wants to be a house-wife, but she smirks whenever Danny escapes her grasp. As a result of these layered characters, and their layering being expressed through inventive scenarios and actions, every scene becomes a mystery where the audience digs through the character’s clues on what their true feelings are. It is delightful to see Amy become genuinely engaged in a conversation with a complete stranger simply because they asked what she hates because it reveals how hollow her life really is. It’s strangely haunting to see a handyman controlled by his own hate sit in a club, alone, convincing himself that “I am living.” Contrast breeds subtext which breeds empathy and engagement from the audience, which is only further ensnared when the show is as creative as it is with its characterization and scenes.

For example,  when Amy and her bissfully unaware husband George (Joseph Lee) attend an art gallery for chairs, where Amy literally can’t take a seat. Every character says the perfectly wrong thing at the most incorrect times to fantastic effect. Again, we turn to George, who incessantly pries at Amy to tell him what’s the matter, only to immediately cut her off to say she needs to “focus on the positive,” a step below the pretentious musing of “anger is just a transitory state of consciousness.”

But the thing is, for as outlandish as these side characters are, they too help inform our leads by being in the right. George may have visions of phallic vases taking the place of his brain, but at least he isn’t masturbating with a gun. Danny’s brother, Paul (Young Mazino), is the modern archetype of the “finance bro,” whose dreams peak at “traveling with my boys” after magically amounting at least ten grand with crypto, but he isn’t the one breaking and entering people’s homes to pee on their carpet for petty revenge. Our leads are deeply flawed, which makes them deeply human. The contrast between the audience’s empathy for the characters and their persisting ego-driven mistakes creates an engaging viewing experience where we delight in seeing it all go wrong, just as much as we wince when our characters finally break as a result of their own weaknesses.

And it is that audience-character empathy that I find so fascinating about this show, as it is reflective of the strong character writing as a whole. Steven Yeun delivers one of the best crying performances I have ever seen, one that genuinely shocked me that it was in such a comical show, and I felt for him. As much as Beef focuses on fits of rage poisoned with “fuck you’s” and irrational behavior, it is also entranced with the completely rational feelings of two hurting people. Unfulfilled lives breed desperation, complexities, and psychologies that the show explores with a mix of subtle character work, strong and relevant humor, and a tonal balance that never seems it should work, but yet, always does. However, for as similar as I make these characters out to be as a perfect pairing of psychopaths, what further reflects the show’s incredible writing is how they are actually incredibly different as revealed in their nuances. Danny cannot control his rage while Amy can never express hers, Danny fills his unfulfilled life with Burger King Sandwiches while Amy attempts the same with vapid materialism, Danny encounters direct barriers to his goal of achieving and maintaining wealth for his family while Amy deteriorates under years of microaggressions. The leads are the same and different, both with lives and psychologies markedly distinct and yet only a few degrees off from the other. Every angry person is angry about something else, which makes for a fully realized exploration of a core human emotion we have all been experiencing in increasingly tumultuous times.

This is why there is no better word to describe the show’s writing up to this point than “polished,” it feels as though the writer’s have thought through everything, from thousands of broader narrative events to granular word choices, that would perfectly strike our characters for the most effective and entertaining outcome. No line is thoughtless, every character and narrative beat is narratively and metatextuality relevant to our current day. This effortless accuracy and commitment to character and theme, as well as its greater relation to our present moment, is what has made Beef my latest obsession, just as Amy and Danny obsess over one another.