Collision Course
A24 has become such a dominant name brand for independent cinema that it was only a matter of time before it found success on television. Much like its cinematic output, A24’s shows languished as critical favorites that were uncommercial before a breakthrough made them accessible to a wider audience.
Netflix offered the gateway for Beef to become a cultural moment. Lee Sung Jin’s ruthless dark comedy was intended to be a limited series, but after five Primetime Emmy Awards, there was no chance that it wouldn’t be renewed in some form for a second season.
Some shows like True Detective tripped up when they were forced to become anthologies, but the second season of Beef isn’t derivative of its predecessor. The first season had a premise that was fairly unassailable; after the contract worker Danny (Steven Yeun) and the small-business owner Amy (Ali Wong) were involved in a road rage incident, they became locked in a bitter feud along lines of class, heritage, gender, and culture. The second season can’t match the brilliance of a situation that nearly anyone could relate to, but it does offer double the participants in the titular “beef.” The wealthy country club owner Joshua Martin (Oscar Isaac) and his wife Lindsay (Carey Mulligan) are in the midst of an aggressive argument when they are caught on camera by two employees, Ashley (Cailee Spaeny) and Austin (Charles Melton), who are engaged.
The presumption would be that this is a classic example of an overpowered, wealthier couple being more combustible and skeevy, but the divisions in Beef Season 2 are less easily defined. Joshua is, for better or worse, a self-made businessman who has cozied up to his country club’s new owners, including the powerful Korean billionaire Mrs. Park (Youn Yuh-jung). He’s desperate because of a family tragedy has motivated him to never expect anything less than perfection from his employees, which is why Lindsay’s nagging desire to downsize is responsible for such a bitter shouting match. Lindsay’s become accustomed to her privilege, but is also ostracized from the community of country-club regulars because she’s not willing to give into their lurid indulgences.
The rough edges to Joshua and Lindsay aren’t as much a byproduct of their class as it is their age, because no couple in their 40s hasn’t been at each other’s throats at some point. Ashley and Austin are so terrified by witnessing this encounter that they spiral into self-doubt; that they’ve never been so infuriated with one another could be a sign that they aren’t passionate enough. Ashley has more to lose than anyone because she has an ovarian cyst that has caused her considerable pain (and even more stressful hospital bills), but she also has the most diabolical plan when blackmail’s introduced. She’s a young, white woman without a high school diploma, and Joshua is an outgoing, experienced Latino man with an aptitude for finance, but they share a lot of similarities; both are willing to cut ethical corners for a result they believe in, and neither has been entirely honest with their partner.
If there’s an overarching theme within Beef, it’s that characters can be sympathetic and pitiable at once. Just because Joshua and Lindsay are casually cruel to their employees doesn’t mean that the death of their beloved pet dog isn’t a crushing blow, or that the lack of intimacy in their relationship isn’t a tragic instance of emotional unavailability. That Ashley and Austin are underpaid to the point that DiGiorno pizzas are a luxury doesn’t make it any less funny that they are “zillennials” without any marketable skills or critical life experiences; this is evident when Ashley’s overwhelmed with the workload she’s given by Joshua as a result of the blackmail scheme, and by Austin’s dangerous con as an uncertified physical therapist at the country club.
Lee is a writer/director who spent years as a consultant on shows like It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and Silicon Valley, but Beef became his breakthrough because it spoke to his experience as a Korean-American. The first season went beyond Hollywood’s bare-bones efforts toward Asian-American representation because it tackled the significant cultural clash between different ethnicities; Danny was born to Korean immigrants, and Amy’s family had both Chinese and Vietnamese heritage. Season 2 has a pricklier message about the disparity between Korean natives and immigrant families, which is seen through Austin’s inability to find a place for himself alongside Park and her powerful business empire. He’s been accustomed to the notion that all racial minorities in America are united in their battle against cultural appropriation, and is humbled to learn that the visiting Koreans feel no sense of unity with him.
Austin’s desire to become more in-touch with his Korean identity is part of the season’s most fertile subplot involving Park’s personal assistant, Eunice (Seoyeon Jang), who’s also served as her translator. That she’s a relatively low-status employee has put her on a relatively even playing field with Austin, who’s relieved to finally find someone that has shared some of his experiences. Austin is honest with Ashley to a fault, which is why it’s hilarious for him to admit that he has some sexual attraction for Eunice; even though he’s too honorable to ever be unfaithful, he’s satirically come to believe that to not admit his interest in a fellow Korean would be “anti-progress.”
Beef has plenty of interesting conversation-starters, but it's also a platform for excellent performances. Isaac and Mulligan are veterans who do their best work in years, and both Melton and Spaeny have solidified their status as stars on the rise. There’s also a number of great performances on the sidelines, including the great character actor William Fichtner as a country club VIP member, and the acclaimed Korean actor Song Kang-ho (a frequent collaborator of Bong Joon-ho) as Mrs. Park’s husband. The only reason Beef’s second season might not be as seismic as the first is that it’s cynical, but that’s a commercial concern, not an artistic one.