The Bear, American Girl, and abortion films
Homecomings, plus some recommendations for this day and age
Hello!
On this week’s episode of Criticism Is Dead, we discuss The Bear and American Girl, a TV series and a film about making the best of the family that you’ve got, for better or worse.
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02:52 The Bear, streaming on Hulu, is one of those rare shows that nails the behind-the-scenes intensity and urgency of a restaurant on the verge of catastrophe.
Just to get this out of the way: Pelin and I are of slightly differing opinions regarding this show. I like it in spite of its flaws; Pelin is a little more “eh” on it. That’s totally fine, because here at Criticism Is Dead, we love to respectfully agree to disagree.
There are a few things holding The Bear back from being a really great work of television. First off, let me just quibble about the portrayal of Chicago, or at least this particular Chicago neighborhood — as comedian Ashley Ray writes, the series “uses Chicago as shorthand” for this air of realness and grittiness that comes off as kind of cliche and inaccurate. The show is also hampered by uneven character development, some characters that just plain don’t make sense, and a fundamental lack of context, beyond some selectively shoehorned instances of exposition (hello, anytime Abby Elliott as Sugar opens her mouth).
Despite all that, however, I really did enjoy watching The Bear, for the most part. I like its ragtag family dynamic, its love of food, how much it tries to create a sense of place within the restaurant. Some of the performances, too, were great (s/o Ebon Moss-Bachrach and Jeremy Allen White). For all that I’ve picked at its holes, I hope this series gets renewed.
27:11 American Girl, streaming on Netflix, is a melancholy, moving, deeply felt film for the diaspora kids.
American Girl, a movie that was won widespread acclaim in Taiwan, checks off some of our personal weaknesses, including complicated mother/daughter relationships and the feeling of displacement that comes from growing up in a different country than the place your parents came from. So much of this movie feel so viscerally familiar: the dream-like state of lugging suitcases up the staircase to an apartment that doesn’t feel like home in the middle of the night; the resentment at your parents for uprooting you from your life, without thinking about they uprooted theirs; being looked at and whispered about as the foreigner, the American girl, and the loneliness that that engenders.
Add in Lily’s cancer, plus the family’s stretched budget and tight quarters, and on top of all that, the SARS epidemic, and you’ve got a very delicate, volatile situation. The resentment is so clearly felt on all sides — between husband and wife, daughter and mother, sister and sister — for good reason. There’s no easy way to live in this moment. There is only, beneath all the acrimony and fear, the tenderness that binds family and loved ones — and, through that, an understanding.
40:18 Plus, three films about abortion.
Maybe it’s hacky to even bring these up. But for those who are so inclined — for whom sinking into our reality in another medium is an act of catharsis or relief or, at the very least, feeling — here are some recommendations from Pelin:
Portrait of a Lady on Fire
Never Rarely Sometimes Always
Vera Drake
Bonus links
Some resources and places seeking donations:
That’s it for now. We’re off next week, but see you the week after that!
— Jenny
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Some credits:
Music: REEKAH
Artwork and design: Sara Macias and Andrew Liu