[ad_1]
The Bear, the restaurant-kitchen-tension breakout hit of Summer 2022, has captivated both outsiders of the restaurant world and veteran chefs who have found it to be an accurate representation of the aggressively stressful race against the clock. To underscore the frantic nature of the kitchen, the series employs a variety of filming and editing techniques including harsh cuts, quick zooms and montage sequences. This intense compositional style has been colloquially referred to as a “Hip Hop Montage.”
Originally coined by Darren Aronofsky with his first two films Pi and Requiem for a Dream, the Hip Hop Montage gets its namesake from its hip-hop “sample”-esque nature; a quick compilation of moving images designed to evoke the senses and convey an action. On a surface level, The Bear mirrors this usage with rapid- fire carrot chopping and meat sizzling. Yet the series manages to greatly expand the montage’s utility beyond a mere titillation of the senses.
The Bear kicks off Episode 1 “System” with a defining sequence. An immaculate, wide-ranging setup, the first five minutes of The Bear instantly throws the viewer into the deep end as they are doused with a series of plot and character motivation hints. After attempting to tame a literal bear in a (day) dream sequence, Carmy (Jeremy Allen White) wakes up in the kitchen of “The Original Beef of Chicagoland,” the restaurant gifted to him in his late brother Michael (Jon Bernthal)’s will. The audience is told that much through a series of quick shots synced up to the opening guitar riff of Refused’s “New Noise,” as Carmy explains on the phone that he’s “still trying to figure this place out, to see how Michael was doing everything.” Two individual shots line the frame as Carmy speaks on the phone: the smokey sizzle of a just-finished cigarette and a clay figure of the Virgin Mary. This leads to a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it montage consisting of a smattering of receipts, overdue tax forms, meat vendor contact numbers, and a “FINAL NOTICE” envelope. The final image in the montage: a memorial card for Michael. Remarkably, this entire sequence occurs in the span of 15 seconds. This slick, purely visual exposition in some ways parallels the delegated system that Carmy later implements in the Beef kitchen: no dilly-dallying, straight to the point and without excessive ambiguity.
The next montage brilliantly establishes the setting of Chicago while chronicling Carmy’s dizzying rush to secure a beef order. His trek is juxtaposed with quick glimpses of sautéed beef, family photos, and the Chicago skyline as he sells vintage clothing for beef. The action shifts back to the kitchen as he simultaneously cooks and advertises a tournament for fictional arcade game “Ballbreaker” at the restaurant. There is an overlay of internet comments hyping the tournament superimposed over the Chicago-an photo collage. A series of quick zooms highlights the cooking process from pan to oven, and when the oven door closes, the narrative snaps back to real time. The series frequently uses sequences like this to establish a visual narrative, while also using the technique to exhibit a level of blunt character introspection that is sometimes lost in the current age of increasingly “raw,” cinematic television dramas.
Throughout The Bear, the Hip Hop Montage is sometimes relegated to a fantasy world that, in Carmy’s case, is mostly populated by flashbacks to either his brother or his torturous time in an unnamed high-end New York City restaurant. Episode 2, “Hands,” opens with a tableau of exquisite dishes in the kitchen of said establishment. Dollops, dips, spritzes, and braises blend in a consistent, precise rhythm, all to a foreboding piano score. The music is in stark contrast to the up-tempo, booming soundtrack that often accompanies the quick shots in the Beef kitchen. This marks a tragic confluence between the elegant creativity of the food and the agitating pressure placed upon these talented chefs. The following sequence depicts the restaurant’s head chef (Joel McHale) psychopathically berating Carmy after firing a chef on the spot for not getting the sauce right. He closes out with a brutal verbal beatdown that essentially amounts to a demented polar opposite of a Calm app meditation session: “You are not tough. You are bullshit. You are talentless. You should be dead.” There is a close-up of Carmy’s eyes when he hears the words — for a moment, his staunch apathy present for the bulk of the scene subtly shifts to a hint of bleak despair. He stares, then with his next blink he’s back to business. This sets the stage for the next Hip Hop Montage.
After a garden variety day at the Beef, Carmy returns to his apartment. He cobbles together a PB&J, chips and Coke dinner and falls asleep on the couch watching Pasta Grannies. The narrative shifts to a raucous dream sequence with Carmy aggressively sautéing as he yells out orders. The Hip Hop aspect is present through the order ticket machine, which provides a repetitive motif by spitting out an endless slew of order tickets as the words of the monstrous head chef continue to ring out in the background, eventually making their way to the order tickets which read “1 FUCK YOU” and “1 YOU’RE A PIECE OF SHIT.” The looming threat of time is ever-present throughout The Bear’s most stressful kitchen sequences, and Carmy’s dream sequence underscores this with a constant ticking clock as the increasingly fast cuts intersperse. However, it is the final few images of the sequence that cement the montage’s place in Carmy’s upper consciousness. There is some clear continuity with previous montage sequences, as the viewer is treated to quick cuts of “Ballbreaker” as well as the “OVERDUE” slips that were first seen in the opening sequence of Episode 1. The order tickets now read “1 HE DIDN’T LOVE YOU” and “1 YOU KILLED MICHAEL.” Carmy is revealed to be sleep-cooking, with entire boxes of pasta on the stove causing a fire. He quickly comes to his senses and puts it out with a fire extinguisher.
The Hip Hop Montage largely takes a backseat for Episodes 3 and 4, returning in Episode 5, “Sheridan.” The opening sequence shows Sydney (Ayo Edebri) lying awake in bed, interspersed with swift cuts to a fiery beef roast and a chicken demi-glace. A woodfire grill burning shifts to fish, red sauce and then a shot of an email notification from Greater Chicago Banking: “Dear Ms. Adamu, Thank you for your application with Greater Chicago Banking, however we regret to inform you that we are unable to approve you for th…” There is the ding of a cash register and a rapid succession of seafood shots. As Sydney gets ready to leave for work, one more sequence occurs, bookended by grill flames: a photo collage of Sydney as a child in various eating situations. Back in the real world, the camera cuts to a filing cabinet labeled “Sheridan Road Catering.” In just under one minute, the viewer gets a more personal look into Sydney’s character, motivation and history. This style of silent, third person narration prevails as a beautiful storytelling device essentially immune to even the slightest prospect of cheese (though it should be noted that it is used tastefully and, overall, relatively sparingly), and it is only bolstered by the usage of the Hip Hop Montage. The addition of a smooth, driving rock score for this scene helps to soften the harsh cuts.
The episode ends with the stunningly hypnotic guitar solo of Wilco’s “Impossible Germany” as Sydney returns home in the same dark of night that she entered. While lying in bed, a quick flash of grill fire invades her mind’s eye. The viewer is then treated to an immersive three-cut montage: The sizzle of beef on a pan, a bushel of raspberries, and the crack n’ sparkle of a Coke can. It’s Sydney’s eureka moment. She jumps up, turns the light on, and writes in her recipe book: “Beef Short Rib – Cola Braise.”
When crafting a mile a minute narrative in such a confined space, certain filmmaking and editing techniques can either elevate or ground the presentation. The Bear’s storylines dictate the medium of expression, and in the case of Episode 7, “Review,” the story required the production to be as raw and real as possible. The sheer gravity of Carmy and Co.’s collective breakdown suspends all fantasy, and at this moment the viewer is on the same level as the Beef family. By the end of this early Emmy 2023 contender, the viewer is leveled with the true utility of the montage sequence: to convey to the audience what the characters cannot (or will not) express. Throughout the previous episodes of The Bear, there is a distinct shield of professional composure with certain characters in the Beef kitchen, namely Carmy, Sydney and Marcus. “Review” requires no cuts or dream sequences because each character is baring it all and tearing down this shield they have built up throughout the season. This establishes Carmy as the epicenter of the quake. He takes both Sydney and Marcus down with him, the two co-workers in which he has provided the most guidance and camaraderie throughout the season. It’s uncomfortable, heartbreaking stuff, and ultimately the fuel that spurs the gritty, surreal dream sequence that kicks off Episode 8, “Braciole.”
Episode 8, “Braciole” opens with Carmy dreaming of his own cooking show “The Bear.” With a set that more resembles Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared than The Kitchen and a trigger-happy laugh/aww/ooo track, Carmy introduces the dish he’s about to make: Braciole. He then expunges the sad story of his brother to the audience: that Michael shot himself and left no letter (or so Carmy thinks at the time), just the restaurant in his will. There is then a series of quick shot flashbacks to Carmy’s previous dream sequence, the ticket orders once again reading “1 YOU KILLED MICHAEL.” The next sequence of images blip by faster than one can perceive. There are shots of Michael looking towards Carmy, beef broiling, and abstract white-lined, colorful images accompanied by the sound of static. Carmy is about to cook, yet his utensils evaporate into the void. The crowd’s laughter infinitely compounds and Carmy burns his hand on the pot. There is another flash of images: Michael, the bridge where he shot himself, Sydney, and a variety of dishes. Carmy sees the cage of the bear he tried to tame in Episode 1, as well as a framed art piece depicting a bear in the bathroom of the Beef. The laughter and distorted visions continue to increase, amid Carmy’s cries of “Stop! I can’t do this!” He looks past the teleprompter to see a terrifying man in a bear costume roaring. A final slew of flashing images erupts over the sound of Michael’s voice: “I’m right here.” Carmy runs through the events of the past 24 hours, traumatized by his own behavior. There is a merging of narratives when Carmy looks over at his recipe books, the harsh cuts of him screaming at Marcus juxtaposed with shots of dishes from the restaurants he’s worked at.
The next scene makes it clear that Carmy’s cries of “Stop! I can’t do this!” were really directed toward himself. He now understands the awful ramifications of perpetually holding in his baggage, and he’s finally come to terms with it. The gripping monologue that follows, though grim in its content, bookends the series in such a way that grants the viewer ultimate catharsis — to see Carmy just finally let it all out facilitates a sigh like no other. Just as The Bear’s breathtaking, marvelously acted one-take sequences work to demonstrate the often impossible pace of working in a restaurant kitchen, its frenzied narrative grants the splice and dice Hip Hop Montage a new legacy, hopefully one that will expand in its already greenlit second season.
[ad_2]
Original Source Link
