The first season of Beef was a television drama masterclass. Through the medium of a relatable road rage run-in between two strangers, creator Lee Sung Jin fashioned a dark comedy-drama that, escalating with delicious adamance over 10 immensely watchable episodes, focused on an all-consuming feud that took over the warring protagonist duo’s relationships and careers, even as their unsparing vendetta commented on the fallout of class chasm, suppressed rage and, ultimately, grief and loneliness. As adversaries not willing to let go an inch, Ali Wong and Steven Yeun brought in vindictive anger but also profound emotional healing, with the series brimming with rare originality and startling depth of character.
Three years later, the good news is that Beef is back. The not-so-good news? It is not quite Beef. The seed of the first season — a twisted but realistic portrait of struggle and success (and what do they really mean), supremely flawed characters, simmering angst and its powder-keg quality of the increasing alienation in society — is clearly there. But Beef S2, on Netflix, in its bid to expand its canvas and commentary, loses the deeply intimate, if bizarre, vibe and voice that made its first outing such a manic-depressive spiral of mutually orchestrated destruction.
Missing the lightning-in-a-bottle feel of the first season, what we have in Season 2 is more of an exploration of relationships (with a hit-and-miss value to it), and an examination of dwindling wealth and ephemeral youth, with two new couples anchoring the action. Going big on the star-actor factor, it casts Oscar Isaac and Carey Mulligan as the older couple (“I am 39, not 40!”) and promising talents Cailee Spaeny and Charles Melton as the younger pair.
When we first meet Josh (Isaac) and his wife Lindsay (Mulligan), they are the ‘it’ couple, raising a toast to the success of the high-stakes, exclusive country club in Montecito, California, where he is the general manager. But this is, of course, a pretense. Their resentment for each other is nearly as old as the number of years they have been married, and that night, back at home, it spills over into an uncontrolled altercation between the two which turns almost physical. The moment is captured on video by the club’s junior employee Ashley (Spaeny) and her physical trainer boyfriend Austin (Melton).
Austin and Ashley — at a life stage where cynicism hasn’t clouded love — are conflicted on what they should do and what the consequences of seeing her boss raising his hand on his wife might be. As luck (or the lack of it would have it), Ashley discovers she needs surgery, but doesn’t have health insurance as part of her job. Before Austin can blurt out “late-stage capitalism” (The White Lotus redux, anyone?), the duo end up blackmailing Josh and Lindsay into giving Ashley a promotion, along with the perks that come with it. And so begins the “beef”.
Except that there is very little of it. Save for a dramatic moment where an avenging Ashley — straight out of a delirious stay in hospital — sneaks into Josh’s house to “destroy” him, the event ending in an unfortunate death that never should have been, the title of the series is surprisingly, and disappointingly, not as relevant this time around as it was in Season 1.
Unlike the first season, which was a sheer quest for revenge, power dynamics come into play here, with the principal characters forced to exist within each other’s orbits. The drama is further heightened with the entry of Korean billionaire and new club owner chairwoman Park (veteran talent Youn Yuh-jung), as she and her team assess the club and its future. The action swings between California and Seoul, with Park’s plastic surgeon husband’s (played by Parasite’s Song Kang-ho) actions spurring a messy cover-up, which soon embroils Josh and Lindsay, Ashley and Austin.
Beef 2 not only dismantles the myth of the “perfect marriage”, but also questions what truly accounts for a lasting relationship in today’s trying times. Even as Josh and Lindsay (Inside Llewyn Davis co-stars Oscar Isaac and Carey Mulligan are unsurprisingly brilliant, especially the latter) go through periods of reconciliation and estrangement, the seemingly rock-solid equation between Ashley (Spaeny is razor sharp) and Austin (Melton gets the sensitive jock memo down pat) finds itself being slowly chipped away. Throughout the series arc, the makers alternate fast-break action with contemplative moments. The humour oscillates between dark and darker, with chances being that you may not look at orange juice (we thought Delhi Belly had already done the worst with it) the same way again.
The eight episodes of Beef 2, though, with the focus shifting quickly between its plot and subplots, feels a tad exhausting. But that thriller of a finale with an exhilarating screwball comedy feel — and the bittersweet emotional wallop at the end — makes up for all that is amiss in this iteration. Season 2 of Beef is a victim of high expectations but is still a ride worth taking. Well, almost.
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