‘Beef’ Is the Most Stressful Show on Netflix
The first season is ten episodes of utter stress and existential black comedy, where two characters from very different walks of life share the same innate hollowness. Amy (Wong) runs in the upper-class art circles while trying to figure out her work-life balance, and Danny (Yeun) is clutching at straws to remain financially afloat. They cross paths in a parking lot, where a simple transgression triggers an all-or-nothing road-rage incident that leads to an escalating back-and-forth feud. Despite the mayhem, imminent danger, and cascade of negative consequences, these events make Amy and Danny feel alive again, even if we’re breaking a sweat while waiting for the inevitable next questionable decision.
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Oscar Isaac, Carey Mulligan, Cailee Spaeny, and Charles Melton will have ‘Beef’ next month.
Beef is also stressful in its masterfully executed tonal whiplash. Sometimes, the show will be on the precipice of unhinged violence before swerving into pitch-black comedy. The show leans fully into the uneasy laughter that can come from these characters diving into the extremes, filling you with quiet dread that curdles your insides. Beef is just as unpredictable as its protagonists, keeping us on our toes as it pumps along with a frenetic rhythm. All you can do is lose yourself in the storm and trust the notoriously untrustworthy duo to carry you to somewhere satisfying, which they ultimately do.
The most unexpected parts of the show are how cleverly and precisely it pinpoints nuances in mental health and the bitter realities of everyday life, contrasting the wild swings it takes. It is almost jarring how profound and moving some revelations are, especially as the characters are forced to look inwards and reckon with the ugly parts of themselves. The atmosphere’s frenzied boil slows down to a simmer at these points, but the anxiety never fully goes away; it just takes a haunting, lingering form. Beef is stress personified, but only in the most alive and cathartic way possible.
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By no means are Amy and Danny likable at the beginning of Beef — both are deeply flawed characters, and you almost want to root for both of their downfalls. Watching them hash out their issues in increasingly irresponsible ways is as morbidly fascinating as watching a toddler scream in a supermarket aisle, especially with the fervor Wong and Yeun bring to their roles. Their on-screen rivalry is wonderfully acidic, burning with a rage that is more passionate than many TV couples, and they exchange sharp, cutting remarks with brutal efficiency. The actors also drop hints of their respective characters’ inner dread, which lends weight to the chaotic milieu and entices us to stick around for the inevitable confrontation (between the two characters and with themselves).
On top of that, Amy and Danny’s character arcs aren’t linear. There are many times in the show when we’re encouraged to believe that they are about to reach some threshold of self-reflection and catharsis, before another narrative beat or random provocation drags them under the current again. Wong anchors what could have been a straightforward workaholic character with a genuine human relatability, while Yeun nails the perpetual exhaustion of a man who recklessly clutches at straws, making bigger, riskier gambles each time. They sell their characters’ whirlwind journeys while conveying an authenticity that is as jarring as any of the twists in Beef.
The show strikes the perfect balance between mayhem and existential resonance, and rewatching Season 1 is a good reminder of the stress you’re likely to feel leading up to Season 2’s premiere on April 16. We may be saying farewell to Amy and Danny, but hopefully we won’t be escaping the show’s knack for finding chilling meaning in the most extreme and absurd of situations.