The one thing that both seasons of Beef do well is their depiction of sexual desire. In Season 1, a fantastic Ali Wong, as Amy Lau, made the act of masturbation look like the hottest, wildest thing on the planet with just a gun. In the second season, Austin (Charles Melton), an aspiring fitness trainer, asks Eunice (Seoyeon Jang), a billionaire's personal assistant, to tell him to stop if she feels uncomfortable while he stretches her legs. He keeps stretching and stretching until he almost ends up lying on top of her. No, they don't have sex, but the scene ends at just the right moment, leaving so much to the imagination. Oh, there is a masturbation scene in the second season as well, courtesy of Josh's (Oscar Isaac) frustrations, but it's nothing compared to Wong's, um, nutty onanism. Creator Lee Sung Jin, though, adds an amusing angle by having Josh listen to podcasts about porn so that he can feel better about himself. Many people, especially men, experience guilt after masturbating: they assure themselves they'll never watch porn again and seek comfort online by finding posts that tell them it's healthy to jerk off. Josh, too, promises himself he will not indulge in online erotic content and confidently deletes his OnlyFans account. Don't be surprised if I tell you he returns to it later. The promise of celibacy lasts only a few days, weeks, or even hours at most.
Why is Josh so frustrated that he has to log back into his OnlyFans account? He has a beautiful wife, Lindsay (Carey Mulligan), but theirs is one of those marriages that seems to have worn out. She complains that they haven't had sex for 11 months, and when they fight, they yell at each other and break objects around the house. During one such fight, Austin and his fiancée, Ashley (Cailee Spaeny), catch them, record them, and later use the video as leverage for Ashley's promotion. Josh, you see, is the general manager of a country club, and Ashley is a low-level employee there (Austin works part-time at the club). After Ashley receives terrible health-related news and Austin goes on about income inequality, she decides to blackmail Josh and Lindsay for a career upgrade—mainly for health insurance. However, it's the scene after the negotiation, when Ashley and Austin drive back home, that feels more notable. As Austin wonders whether they could have made a better deal by demanding benefits for him as well, you can't help but chuckle at the comical display of craving and consumption.
Season 2 consists of more such recognizable moments. One example is the scene where Lindsay and Josh's dog goes missing, prompting debates that range from fixing a door to blaming each other for not being able to watch Top Gun: Maverick in a theater. Even at a loud, ridiculous pitch, Season 2 offers details that feel real. One episode exaggerates America's broken healthcare system but does so by touching on practical aspects—waiting in queues for hours and the absurd logic of insurance deductions—so the whole thing feels both nightmarish and humorous.
With the second season, Sung Jin keeps Beef's dark, demented humor intact, although these new episodes are nowhere near as delightful or jaw-droppingly insane as Season 1. Keep your expectations in check, and you might chuckle at, or feel nauseated by, the sight of Ashley mixing orange juice with her vaginal blood. At first, the series toys with you by having the target pause just as the glass nears their mouth. Nonetheless, the payoff to that delay is genuinely funny and somewhat unexpected. This gross-out moment works far better than a later one on a flight, which is neither amusing nor unpredictable. It's simply... yuck.
There's a larger issue with Season 2: all its idiosyncrasies and questionable choices add up to little more than enjoyable fluff. You might relish a weird dream sequence, a discussion about a red-and-yellow juice bottle, or Lindsay apologizing to a coyote for taking its land before thrashing it to death. But none of these moments linger. They offer temporary pleasures and evaporate as soon as the show ends. The reason for this disposable quality is that the story itself feels disposable. The show touches on subjects like beauty standards, clingy relationships, and crumbling marriages, only to turn them into plot devices or vessels for humor. Only Austin, with his precise words and honest disposition, comes close to being memorable. He openly admits his attraction to Eunice, and when his honesty is met with lies and secrecy, he begins to crumble from within. Melton dramatizes these internal shifts remarkably well; in that respect, no one else quite matches him in the show.
The first season of Beef ran for ten episodes; the second has just eight. By the end, it feels as though Season 2 needed those extra two episodes, as the final minutes seem rushed, as if Sung Jin were forced to wrap things up. It works on a theoretical level—you understand what he's aiming for—but what's missing is a persuasive punch. The final shot of Season 1 neatly tied a bow around its chaos. The one in Season 2, by comparison, feels looser, more contrived, and less focused. Overall, things aren't terrible, but they do feel expendable. Season 2's biggest flaw, perhaps, is that it exists in the shadow of the first. What might have worked as a standalone series now leans toward forgettable. People will surely tune in with high expectations; it's a pity many will find the new episodes falling short.
Final Score- [6/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times