I love this new Carmy
In Season 4, Episode 2, “Soubise,” the chaos is quieted, the pressure is real, and for once, it feels like everyone might have a fighting chance—even Carmy.
By this point in its run, The Bear has earned its reputation as the most anxiety-inducing show on television. You don’t watch it so much as survive it. The line cooks bark. The clocks tick louder than they should. Carmy implodes. Richie snaps. Even the warm moments are delivered at a rolling boil.
And yet, in Season 4, something radical is happening: the heat is still on, but the chaos has been quelled. It’s no longer about panic—now, it’s about pressure.
Episode 2, aptly titled “Soubise,” confirms what the premiere quietly suggested: this is a make or break season—not just for the restaurant, but for the show’s emotional architecture. For the first time, we’re not just clinging to every second, white-knuckled. We’re watching people—these characters we’ve come to know so intimately—actually try. Not in a manic, meltdown-prone way. But with clarity. With purpose.
And most strikingly: with peace.
Yes, there’s still the looming threat of the restaurant closing. Yes, Carmy still carries the kind of intensity that makes small talk feel like an extreme sport. But this new Carmy? I love him. He’s focused, grounded, and—for once—not entirely at war with himself. It’s like watching someone slowly stop treading water and begin to swim.
The show hasn’t lost its edge—it’s just sharpened it. Instead of the existential dread that used to hang over every burner and prep list, there’s now a sense of presence. Like everyone knows what’s at stake, but also knows who they are in the face of it.
What The Bear is doing this season is daring: it’s offering hope. Not in the form of sweeping victories or dramatic breakthroughs, but in the quiet, daily act of showing up. The storytelling has softened without losing depth. Each character’s arc is playing out with room to breathe, no longer suffocated by overlapping monologues or breakneck edits.
It’s like watching a plane go down—except now, instead of panic, everyone’s in the cockpit, calmly trying to land it. They’re passing notes, tightening bolts, even cracking a joke. You’re still terrified, but for the first time, you're enjoying the view.
That’s the brilliance of “Soubise.” It doesn’t scream its significance. It simmers. And in doing so, it reminds us that high-stakes storytelling doesn’t always need to induce a heart attack. Sometimes, it just needs to trust its people to do their jobs.
And now, four seasons in, they finally might.
