Despite its aggressiveness, the Beef anthology series is about romantic love in all its forms. The final scene of the first season led us to believe that, despite the conflict, drama, and toxic traits, the main characters would end up together and, most likely, live happily ever after. The whole “beef” plot was the prelude to their love story.
I’m not a romantic, but I do appreciate the enemies-to-lovers trope when it’s done well, especially between flawed protagonists. To me, the first season of Beef felt like the kind of meet-cute story people tell at parties. Drawing from that, most romantic movies and TV series focus on the beginning of a relationship, and they always leave me wondering: “Do they really live happily ever after? Is George Costanza right that the way you meet your partner determines how the relationship will unfold?” “What if the story of how they met is the very thing keeping the relationship alive?” “What if they eventually realize they’re wrong for each other despite this wonderful, fairytale-like beginning?” In other words, the romance genre has always felt open-ended to me.
Maybe the gods of cinema heard my questions, because this season explores exactly that—albeit from a satirical perspective I hadn’t considered before watching. It follows four married couples, each at a different stage of their marriage. Together, they represent different versions of what marriage looks like when you marry the wrong person—or the right person for the wrong reasons.
If the first season showed the escalation between two people feuding with each other, the second season’s conflict is far more complex and political. There are layers upon layers of “beef” in this new story, ranging from the usual tensions between spouses to deeper resentments toward capitalism and the American healthcare system.
This season focuses on the moment when the financial aspect of a relationship rears its ugly head and begins to ruin everything: the connection between partners, their understanding of one another, and the relationship itself. The couple most affected by this are Ashley and Austin, who have only been married for a few years. They are still in that honeymoon phase where everything seems manageable as long as they stay together. Still innocent about the ways of the world, they are still learning who the other person truly is. A low-income couple struggling to get by, they both adopt an “adapt and survive” mentality when health issues begin interfering with their lives and their dream of having children. They compromise their morals to obtain health insurance, and they both choose to look away when confronted with what the other is capable of.
Intertwined with Ashley and Austin’s story is that of the show’s central couple. Lindsay and Josh, played by the wonderful Carey Mulligan and the charismatic Oscar Isaac, seem to be at the end of their rope. Their marriage, after more than a decade together, is on its deathbed. Years of resentment over not being where they imagined they would be in life have reached a boiling point. Desperately trying to save their relationship, both resort to questionable methods to make their dreams come true, almost like a swan song before the end. Thanks to the incredible performances, you can tell they know each other intimately. They have already accepted that the unethical and unlawful behavior they display is far from the worst either of them is capable of.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, Beef also portrays two couples who embody the superficial kind of love only wealth can sustain—the kind that turns “companionship” into something purely transactional. These couples are Josh’s wealthy friend Troy and the polished yet shallow Ava, as well as Josh’s boss, Chairwoman Park, and her second husband, Dr. Kim. None of them seems interested in discovering what a genuine human connection looks like. Their relationships function through an unspoken agreement built on affluence and superficial happiness. They do not care who they are married to as long as their spouses make life easier and continue providing that shallow form of companionship.
All of these couples allow money to shape the way they behave toward each other and toward the rest of the world. Even their love and personal beliefs are influenced by money. Their wealth or lack thereof shifts and molds their perspective depending on where they are in life and where they want to be. Every decision they make—as individuals and as couples—feels like a test of their own boundaries and each other’s limits in pursuit of fulfilling their needs.
Personally, I don’t like this cynical view of married love, but that doesn’t mean I’m unaware of its existence. People are not perfect, and they are driven by wants and needs. When push comes to shove, how many of us would truly hold onto our principles and resist the temptation to improve our lives, both individually and within our relationships? How much of ourselves are we willing to sacrifice to survive and make our dreams come true?
Perhaps that’s why romantic movies and TV series tend to keep things light and sweet by focusing only on the beginning of a relationship, rarely venturing much further beyond that.
