Finding Purpose in “Forks” and Goodbye Robbie
In which I belatedly talk about "The Bear" Season Two and say a brief goodbye to Robbie Robertson of The Band.
Good morning.
I was going to send a second newsletter last week that was focused on a particular scene in Oppenheimer, but then I realized that I didn’t really have much to say about Oppenheimer that hasn’t already been said. The movie didn’t leave a unique impression on me. And the only thing I felt I could write that was in some way original was a kind of forced extrapolation of a theme that really wasn’t even in the movie. So I didn’t end up sending it out.
This summer, most of the air in cultural coverage—outside of Girl Dinner (please make it go away), the strikes in Hollywood, and Bob Iger’s unforced error in his CNBC interview—has been sucked up talking about Barbie, Oppenheimer, and The Bear. I only saw Barbie last week and, like Oppenheimer, I don’t have anything interesting to say about it. “I’m Just Ken” is one hell of a song and production by Mark Ronson though.
I also don’t have much to add to The Bear conversation. It took me a while to get around to watching Season 2. So I spent several weeks ignoring the rumblings and headlines about “Seven Fishes” and the “instant classic” comments people were making to me about episode seven a.k.a. “Forks.”
Eventually, my girlfriend and I plowed through it all in one week and weekend near the end of July. And I can safely say that The Bear Season Two is my favorite season of television since The Terror Season One. In the post-Mad Men era, I would say it is probably my third-favorite season of television. My rankings would go: Season 3 of The Leftovers, Season One of The Terror, and Season Two of The Bear.
You’ll notice that I didn’t mention Succession. Look, Succession is obviously a great show—the dialogue is phenomenal and lyrical and the narrative is Shakespearean and the actors are all great and as someone who has worked in and among the halls of power in media and experienced the tech world and even the art world a lot of the power jockeying and bull shit resonated with me and etc. But, gosh, sometimes it kind of felt like homework to watch that show, especially when we went back round the merry-go-round again in the last season. And I know that’s the point but I, personally, think Succession won’t have the staying power of a show like Mad Men or even The Bear.
Brian Phillips summed up why nicely in his piece on The Ringer in May. On Mad Men and The Bear you still have a feeling the characters can be redeemed and that they are conscious of their faults and mistakes. Succession was never really that way and, again, I know that was the point but it kind of felt like a slog after a certain number of hours.
That’s why an episode like “Forks” in Season Two of The Bear deserves all the acclaim its gotten. The show put in almost two full seasons of work showing Richie as an obnoxious and infuriating character. Season Two in particular leaned into the pain of his failed marriage and his lack of purpose. So, in “Forks,” when we see things click into place for Richie, we feel something close to elation. Even if it happens at an unrealistically fast pace, we still believe it because this character earned this and we want to see him find some form of happiness, we want to see him put shape and purpose into his life.
The Bear, like Mad Men, is a workplace drama. And maybe it's because we’ve managed people or known people in the workplace, like Richie, who couldn’t find the right place or position to utilize their skills that it rings so true and fills us up so much when he finally does.
When I watched that episode, I saw interns I supervised or other full-time reports I managed and helped find the right way to use their skills. But I also saw myself. For almost half of my twenties I worked dead end office jobs. One was in the industry I wanted to be in (media) and the other was in a field I had no desire to be in but took because I needed a job (law). It wasn’t until I was almost 30 years old that I found a job and a company where I could make the most of whatever professional skills I have. Richie found value and purpose service and I found value and purpose in management, which I suppose is a service in its own right.
And that’s the kind of thing you don’t forget when you see it in an episode of television.
Robbie Robertson died last week at the age of 80. I won’t explain who Robbie Robertson is. He was one of the most influential figures in rock n’ roll and, I suppose, what is now called Americana or alt-country. If you somehow didn’t know that, you can read all about him, his life, his music, and his influence in a variety of places. You can watch Once Were Brothers or The Last Waltz or read his autobiography Testimony. He was a complicated figure and The Band were transcendent, sometimes frustrating, and unfortunately, in many ways, a tragic band.
When someone like Robbie Robertson dies, I feel strange. The Band and their music have been such a large part of my life since I was about 15 or 16 years old that I don’t think much about them anymore. I saw that Neil Young’s long “lost” album Chrome Dreams was finally released last week and felt the same way about him. Some artists and their music are just kind of in your blood and your spirit and you don’t need to think consciously about them. You breathe them or walk with their music in your legs. When I feel good, I walk like “We Can Talk”; when I feel downtrodden, I stumble and nearly succumb like “It Makes No Difference” or “Twilight”; when I’m determined I lean forward like “King Harvest (Has Surely Come)”; and when I wish I was as cagey and graceful as an aging Paul Newman, I tap my fingers to my temple like “The Main Title” from the The Color of Money Soundtrack.
Robbie Robertson died last week but he was already a spirit to me.