For most of his life, Richie Jerimovich has been an asshole. Childhood friend Neil Fak doesn’t mince words in The Bear’s series premiere: He’s “always and forever … the fucking worst.” In a restaurant full of damaged, broken, and aimless people, Richie might have been the most damaged, the most broken, and the most aimless, a miasma of resentment and condescension yelling about a changing restaurant in a changing neighborhood to hide his fear. It was easy to hate Richie. The greatest magic trick of The Bear season two is how it transformed him into someone easy to love.
Nearly everyone grows, at least a little bit, in these new episodes. Syd, Sugar, Tina, and Marcus develop their culinary, management, and creative skills; Fak, Ebra, and Gary gain confidence through the responsibility that comes with expanded roles. Though Carmy ends the season spiraling emotionally as he’s locked in the walk-in fridge, he also experiences some long-awaited personal happiness through his relationship with Claire. But it’s Richie, Philip K. Dick fan and Snyder Cut detractor, devoted dad and onetime cocaine dealer, grieving best friend and proud cousin, who moves furthest from the person he used to be to the person he wants to be. In season one, Richie was going through a divorce, afraid of missing out on time with his daughter, blaming himself for best friend Mikey’s suicide, and struggling with feelings of jealousy and irritation relating to Carmy’s inheritance of the Beef. In “Ceres,” when Tina asks, “Where you gonna go, Richie?” in response to his whining that Carmy and Syd are destroying the restaurant’s “delicate fucking ecosystem” with their blue-apron French brigade system, Richie ends the episode on the outside of the restaurant, looking in on a place that might have already outgrown him. The Bear treated Richie’s prescription for alprazolam like a joke, using the pills for a gag in which a birthday party full of kids pass out after he accidentally contaminates the homemade Ecto Cooler. But there was obvious honesty in his “I suffer from anxiety and dread” admission, and season two picks up that thread again, using it as a springboard for Richie’s transformation.
The Bear is a series that believes deeply, sincerely, and unironically in self-improvement and refuses to limit people to paper-thin characterizations. Do bad decisions make Richie a bad man? Can someone earn redemption and forgiveness? Richie isn’t an entirely different person early in season two, still slapping Fak in the face, mocking Sugar’s authority, and taking on projects for which he’s not qualified. But his self-awareness is already a step forward. In premiere “Beef,” as he looks over pictures of the Berzatto family he considers his own, admits to reading more books, and worries that “you guys are all just gonna drop this ass” due to his inadequacies, it’s the most honest and contemplative he’s been yet. Ebon Moss-Bachrach has always allowed softness to flicker through his character — think of the tenderness with which he handles the good-bye note Mikey left for Carmy — and here he adds weariness and a little bit of shame, too.
“Fishes,” a mid-season flashback episode to Christmas dinner five years past, is a snapshot of Richie’s life on the precipice of falling apart. He can’t find a job outside of the Beef but thrives in caretaker mode, peppering wife Tiffany with kisses and attempting to deescalate Mikey’s temper, laying a foundation for the purpose he will find in service and hospitality in “Forks.” This episode breaks Richie out of his comfort zone at the Beef and drops him into a week of staging at Chicago’s best restaurant, where Moss-Bachrach glides effortlessly between the many facets of his character. There’s bitterness (“I’m 45 years old, polishing forks”), a begrudging respect for discipline and decency when he learns the restaurant will cover the check for a pair of high-school teachers, vulnerability (wishing his ex-wife well on her new marriage while still wearing his wedding ring), a childlike excitement as he aids the chef de cuisine in reimagining deep-dish pizza, and, finally, his curiosity, as displayed in an eye-opening conversation with Olivia Colman’s Chef Terry about taking pride in one’s work, no matter how menial or tedious. After telling his daughter he “needed a break” from Taylor Swift in a previous episode, Richie singing along to “Love Story” as he drives home is a triumphant, well-earned moment of unbridled enthusiasm and joy. Like a yeasted dough that needs attention and patience, kneading and time alone, Richie rises to expectations this season, and the proof is in “The Bear.”
The season-two finale, which opens with a lengthy one-shot driven by Richie’s movements through the front of house and communications with the kitchen, introduces a man in control. On friends-and-family night, he smoothly chats with guests, keeps an eye on how quickly (or slowly) the courses come out, and praises his colleagues to their loved ones — a more composed version of the gregarious guy who interacted with the Beef’s regulars. But it’s the climactic five-minute sequence in which he takes control of the chaos consuming the kitchen that puts all of his listening and learning to the test. Richie and Syd, who failed to see the value the other brought to the restaurant last season, now work together to expedite the Bear’s elaborate menu of focaccia, bucatini, T-bone steaks, seven-fish spreads, honey buns, and savory cannoli. Richie’s not turning away from his co-workers but specifically moving to face them; he’s not raising his voice but commanding with measured authority; he’s encouraging Fak instead of belittling him. Richie wears suits now, comfortably, as armor for the new identity he’s crafted: one of a guy ready to spring into action wherever others need him (as long as he can smoke a cigarette afterward).
The fight Richie and Carmy get into in the episode’s closing minutes is shattering and nearly backslides into their season-one dynamic — until Richie shows he’s coming from a place of concern, not anger. The camera vertically divides the screen and sets Carmy and Richie on opposing sides, each of them slamming the door of the walk-in fridge as they argue. Richie makes the first mistake by comparing Carmy with his unbalanced mother Donna, and he’s also still petty enough to wish Carmy would “fucking freeze to death.” But his comments also reflect his acceptance of Carmy’s leadership at the Bear and his frustration with Carmy for not “just let[ting] something good happen.” Even as their screaming veers into a nastiness that references Mikey, the Berzatto family, and Richie’s daughter, Richie’s repeated “I fuckin’ love you” to Carmy reveals the better man he’s trying to be.
“I can’t do this,” Richie says midway through the five-minute rush he ultimately proves he can handle quite well. But Moss-Bachrach’s line delivery isn’t self-belittling; it’s a little cheeky, a little ironic. He can, and he does. The key to Richie’s growth was, as he belted during “Love Story,” just saying yes — to himself.
