Beef‘s impressive 2023 debut proved that its premise of people engaging in increasingly maniacal, Machiavellian schemes and fights with each other to escape reality can make for some very fun TV. Who wouldn’t want to watch talented actors sink their teeth into such absurd characters and circumstances? In season one, Steven Yeun and Ali Wong turned in electric, Emmy-winning performances as strangers entangled in a power struggle after a road-rage incident. Creator Lee Sung Jin perceptively used the clashes to explore Amy and Danny’s pathos, unfulfilled desires, and, crucially, their respective Asian American identities and communities. The latter quality gave Netflix’s series an edge and focus that season two doesn’t always possess. The eight new episodes aren’t as piercing, but the season’s captivating ensemble and swift pace more than make up for it.
The anthology scales up its scope and scenery here but maintains the tonal tightrope of being a darkly funny existential thriller. In its latest iteration, two couples find themselves in a feud full of lies, forgery, blackmail, embezzlement, and worse. What begins as an impulsive decision turns into a life-altering game for everyone involved. In the process, Beef raises the question of whether going bigger with the narrative is better. This time around, there’s an expanded cast and more notable faces (including cameos from Olympic athletes and Grammy-winning musicians), but the show occasionally meanders as a result. Instead of doubling down on the pervasive, fascinating character studies that made season one tick, the story pulls itself in a few chaotic directions, with big swings that don’t entirely connect. Thankfully, any disjointedness doesn’t distract too much from Beef‘s riveting writing and direction (by Jake Schreier) or its nail-biting entertainment and introspection.
Season two is set against the backdrop of a posh Montecito country club, the kind where a young, eager tennis coach sneakily arranges plastic surgeries for his female clients. The general manager, Josh Martin (Oscar Isaac), and his decorator wife, Lindsay Crane-Martin (Carey Mulligan), are beloved by guests and friends. But behind closed doors, their marriage has been rotting away. They’ve been hiding this secret well, until they clash with the club’s lowly cart girl, Ashley Miller (Cailee Spaeny), and her fiancé, the part-time gym trainer Austin Davis (Charles Melton), who are broke but deliriously happy. For now.
Both pairs couldn’t be more different in their attitudes, struggles, and goals. Ashley and Austin warm up a DiGiorno pizza and buy H&M outfits with tags on so they can be returned—anything to save cash to deal with her health crisis. Meanwhile, the Martins party hard, argue harder, and dote on their precious dachshund, Burberry (who plays a pivotal part in the story eventually). One night, when they go to give Josh his lost wallet, Austin and Ashley stumble upon Josh in a vicious fight with Lindsay that threatens to turn physical. Witnessing the brawl becomes ammunition to demand hush money, even if it goes against their morals. “Disparity is systemic,” Austin proclaims to justify their actions. “The people in charge have made it impossible for us.”
With that, Beef unfolds each couple’s mounting problems to heighten the suspense in anxiety-inducing, hilarious ways. But its true strength lies in capturing the universal feeling of being suffocated by corporate culture and the gig economy and the lack of control that brings. The more Ashley grasps this power imbalance, the faster her naivete transforms into slyness, with Spaeny embodying her character’s complexities well. Melton is just as effective, particularly when Austin gets to tenderly examine his relationship with his culture and community or lack thereof. But Beef really comes to life when Isaac and Mulligan are on the screen together. The Drive co-stars are in beast mode here, effortlessly switching from making their characters appear loathsome to garnering immense empathy. It’s impossible to peel your eyes away from the two, whether they’re hurling insults at or running toward each other. (They have the type of potent chemistry Wong and Yeun shared in season one.)
Things get bleaker for everyone involved when Chairwoman Park (Youn Yuh-jung) arrives. She’s armed with her trusted assistant, plans to revamp the club, and a major secret concerning her surgeon husband (played by an underutilized Song Kang-ho). Through her interference, Beef examines other thematically rich ideas of what it means to find “the right person” and if it’s possible to ever truly know your loved ones. In going toe-to-toe with Park, the four leads discover new facets of themselves. This keeps Beef fresh instead of feeling formulaic, as do the fascinating dualities and shifting perceptions in each couple. So even if some elements and (especially) the crime-related twists appear forced, the show still nicely develops its momentum and delivers thrills. Season two might not reach the highs of the first, but it’s boosted by Grace Yun’s (Past Lives) striking production design and assured performances. It also further highlights Jin’s unique ability to turn a petty beef into a juicy and intense episodic adventure.
Saloni Gajjar is The A.V. Club‘s TV critic. Beef season two premieres April 16 on Netflix.