‘The Bear’ Season 4 Review: Jeremy Allen White Anchors a Series Struggling to Evolve
FX / Hulu
Stylish as ever but increasingly repetitive, The Bear’s fourth season simmers with familiar flavors but rarely boils over.
FX’s The Bear carved a niche by serving stress with style, its early seasons defined by rapid pacing, deep character studies, and a chaotic energy that felt both exhilarating and honest. As it enters Season 4 on Hulu, the acclaimed culinary dramedy finds itself caught in a creative holding pattern. While the signature technical finesse remains—from tight editing and pulsating sound design to its immersive direction—the narrative momentum that once made the show unmissable now feels stalled. And it’s not just Carmy in a loop—it's the whole kitchen.
Jeremy Allen White, as Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto, continues to deliver a performance layered with fragility, volatility, and occasional grace. Season 4 opens with a telling image: Carmy zoning out to Groundhog Day. It’s a pointed nod to the cyclical despair that defines his psyche, but also a self-aware wink at a show that seems to be revisiting its own greatest hits without reimagining them. Two months remain before The Bear runs out of money, and every second counts—but the urgency feels more theoretical than felt.
Where Season 3 chased formal experimentation—offbeat timelines, celebrity-packed episodes, stylistic flourishes—Season 4 attempts to return to its core ingredients. In theory, a return to form. In execution, the dish is under-seasoned. Carmy is still obsessing, still grieving, still fighting demons we’ve long come to know. His inability to evolve becomes the show’s central axis, and that’s a choice that carries diminishing returns.
Still, not everything is stuck. Ayo Edebiri’s Sydney breathes fresh air into the season with a standout solo episode. Her day off from the restaurant—a visit to her cousin Chantel (Danielle Deadwyler) and a bonding afternoon with Chantel’s daughter, TJ—gives the show a much-needed detour. The episode’s relaxed tone, grounded intimacy, and warmth make it a quiet triumph. It reminds us that The Bear excels not only in kitchen chaos but in capturing everyday emotional nuance.
FX / Hulu
But moments like that are rare. Characters like Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), Tina (Liza Colón-Zayas), and Natalie (Abby Elliott) remain on narrative treadmills. Richie’s heartbreak persists without new insight. Tina continues to hone a single pasta dish. Natalie juggles motherhood and spreadsheets, her arc barely progressing. Even Marcus (Lionel Boyce), once an emotional anchor, fades into the background. Guest stars appear—Brie Larson, among others—but they fail to inject the spark that once elevated the ensemble.
While the visuals remain impeccable—montage sequences, music choices, and set pieces still dazzle—the emotional undercurrent feels dulled. The sense of constant movement and emotional combustion has been replaced with repetition. A series once celebrated for its unpredictability now telegraphs its beats. A show that once captured the pulse of artistic obsession and grief now feels consumed by its own formula.
Thematically, Season 4 is consistent—perhaps too much so. Conversations keep circling Carmy’s trauma, his guilt over Mikey’s death, his fear of imperfection. The show continues to mirror his psychology, but the result is diminishing resonance. There’s a difference between deepening a character and rehashing their pain. Here, The Bear too often opts for the latter.
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And yet, scattered throughout are glimpses of what could be. Carmy begins to consider letting go of control. He acknowledges, finally, the weight of his choices on those around him. The door that once locked him inside his own mind may now be creaking open. There’s a palpable suggestion that the show itself is debating a pivot—either a shift away from Carmy’s tunnel vision or a broader refocus on the ensemble that once made this series so richly human.
FX / Hulu
These moments of awareness offer hope. Hope that The Bear will, like its protagonist, break free from its own constraints. That it will rediscover its sense of risk, its appetite for bold flavor, its desire to surprise. Because the talent is still there—on screen, in the writers' room, behind the camera. What it needs now is hunger.
Season 4 isn’t a failure. It’s more like a mid-course correction that hasn’t quite landed. Beautifully made, often moving, but less urgent than before, it feels like a show between ideas. A transition episode stretched across an entire season. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. Like any great restaurant, The Bear may just need time to retool the menu.
Rating: ★★★★☆
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