Secrets are no longer harbored within the walls of The Bear. Throughout its entire fourth season, the show delicately danced around Sydney's clandestine job proposition, the shifting dynamics of Carmy's partnerships, and the enigmatic workings of Richie's GoFastBoatsMojito mind. However, in a grand, approximately 30-minute 'bottle episode,' all these concealed facets were uncorked and laid bare.
Yet, this revelation does little to clarify the future of The Bear, or indeed, Carmy himself. The season concludes with the restaurant's metaphorical sands running out in the hourglass. Despite the finale being titled "Goodbye," following the events of "Tonnato," I remain hopeful for the restaurant's well-being. Whether through beef-window franchising, Marcus's Food & Wine accolade drawing in fresh patrons, or that elusive Michelin star still hovering in the realm of possibility, there are ample hints that The Bear will continue to tick on steadfastly.
The larger query lingering after "Goodbye" revolves around Carmy's destiny. Through his smoky, scream-laden confrontation with Sydney, we learn that Carmy is bidding adieu to The Bear. He vows to stick around until the restaurant is firmly on the path to success, but with no whispers of a potential fifth season, it's murky whether this signifies a time constraint on Jeremy Allen White's involvement or if the narrative will bifurcate, tracking both the restaurant and the (original) Carmy's journey. I lean towards the latter, considering White's divided commitments between The Bear, underwear campaigns, and Springsteen biopics, yet only time will unveil the truth.
I comprehend Carmy's yearning to depart, as he confesses to Sydney and Richie that he's uncertain of his identity sans restaurants. He's taken refuge in them since childhood, and while his culinary prowess is undeniable, that doesn't equate to genuine enjoyment. Though Sydney and Richie are irked by the notion that Carmy's exit, as he phrases it, is "best for the restaurant," they grasp its necessity for him too. When Carmy utters, "I think I was trying to hurdle real issues," his past madness instantly solidifies, for indeed, that was precisely his modus operandi, even if cloaked in the guise of 'nonnegotiables.'
Sydney wishes Carmy could confront his demons while serving as her restaurant standby, and in an ideal world, he might share that sentiment. Perhaps even if he flees to become an architect, denim designer, or who knows what, he'll retain the prowess to keep The Bear afloat should the Carm-signal falter. Carmy is convinced, however, and he endeavors to persuade Sydney, that she embodies his polar opposite. "You're considerate," he says. "You let yourself feel, you let yourself care. You're a natural leader and mentor, and you undertake all this for impeccable reasons."
The mere presence of Sydney breathed new life into the restaurant, igniting its slim hopes for success. As Carmy later confided to her, "Your potential to steer this establishment through triumphs surpasses even my own unwavering belief in myself, for you embody the very spirit of 'The Bear.'" Whether this moniker refers to the eatery itself, the extensive Berzatto family featured in "Bears," or even the formidable mammal that kickstarted this narrative remains a matter of conjecture. What truly matters is that, to Carm and the seven fiercely loyal souls within those walls who would valiantly leap before a speeding train for Sydney, she stands as their beacon. She alone possesses the prowess to lead them to heights Carmy cannot attain.
Sydney's resolve swiftly underscored Carmy's assertions when, amidst the aftermath of their confrontation with Richie, she insisted on amending their partnership agreement. She refuses to simply split the restaurant's shares between Cicero, Sugar, and herself, and instead pushes for Richie to be included—and that's not just empty talk, it's a genuine commitment. At first, Richie may come across as cocky and underachieving, but over the course of four seasons, he's become an integral part of the show and the restaurant. He's got a firm grip on the front office, bringing in the Ever team to help the restaurant's rebirth. And while he may not understand terms like "circular templates" from the French Laundry Cookbook, he knows the restaurant to the bone. If The Bear is going to fail, he'll be there with it, so he deserves to share in its success.
Moreover, I perceive a reconciliation between Richie and Carm. It seems that any lingering tensions between them throughout the series were finally dissipated during their heated exchange in the alley. Carm admitted to Richie that, though he couldn't recall Richie's attire that fateful day, he was indeed present at Mikey's funeral, albeit briefly. Carm apologized for brushing off Richie's grievances concerning Mikey, explaining that he hadn't fully grasped the extent of Richie's loss. While this confession strikes me as somewhat hollow, given Richie's overt grief over Mikey throughout the series, as viewers, we benefit from an intimate glimpse into Richie's private turmoil and an absence of Carmy's tumultuous, self-centered perspective. Thus, while it may seem incredible that Carm was oblivious to Richie's pain, such oversight isn't entirely beyond possibility.
It's entirely conceivable that Richie remained oblivious to the harrowing reality of Carmy's existence during his years-long absence, toiling in those glamorous culinary havens. We've borne witness to Joel McHale's demonic visage, as he relentlessly lambasted Carmy, but Richie was never privy to that particular circle of hell, nor did Carmy ever confide in anyone about the abuse. Richie remains unaware of the origin of the prominent scar adorning Carmy's hand, and he is equally in the dark about how, amidst mastering a multitude of grueling techniques in Copenhagen, New York, and beyond, Carmy's quest for excellence seems to have exacted a toll on his mental well-being.
Yet, now, the truth has emerged from the shadows. Everyone is privy to every detail, and this transparency serves as a beacon of hope. If, at the close of the previous episode, 'The Bear' leans more towards "redemption" than "ruin," then this explosive confrontation, despite its dramatic and traumatic intensity, can only propel the narrative further into the realm of positivity. The sole question lingering in the air is whether the team will secure their triumph on their own terms, rather than succumbing to the oppressive weight of those omnipresent, ominous red digital numbers. Judging by what we've witnessed thus far, optimism feels like a warranted sentiment.
