The streaming site’s No. 3 TV series in Singapore this week simmers with rage as it delves into the psyche of a wounded inner child
A run-down truck nearly backs into a white luxury SUV in the carpark of a corporate superstore. A high-octane road rage incident ensues, going viral on social media. Thus begins a dangerous game of brinkmanship that will eventually claim more than the neighbour’s flowers on his lawn.
I’m talking, of course, about Beef, one of the most highly acclaimed miniseries to grace Netflix in recent memory. Created by Lee Sung Jin and produced by the minds behind indie hits Lady Bird and Midsommar, Steven Yuen stars as Danny, a failing contractor living with his directionless younger brother, Paul. He’s trying to gather enough money to bring his parents back to the US after being forced to move back to Korea after they lost ownership of their motel. Ali Wong stars as Amy, a successful small-business entrepreneur in the midst of a US$10 million acquisition who’s questioning the value of hustling every single day. Their first meeting is forged in rage and fury, setting off a tit-for-tat competition that forces them to confront their inner demons.
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For most of the series, Amy and Danny scheme separately from each other, but when their paths do collide, sparks fly. It’s these moments of singing riparte that the series sings—Yuen and Wong are masters of their craft, sharing electric moments of catharsis through biting accusations and furious outbursts. Unfortunately, they are surrounded by dry wood, and soon their actions, be it catfishing Paul to get to Danny or using Amy’s husband, George, to get to her, ignite a bonfire that consumes whole livelihoods (and lives) in its wake. What they don’t realise is that they’re more similar than they think. Their anger responses are the same, and it’s difficult to watch as simmering undercurrents of rage escalate into high-stakes deceptions and charades.
At first glance, Beef looks like it’s about the devastating collateral damage of repressing rage. Anger, we are told, is a forbidden emotion, a “transitory state of consciousness”, something that’s meant to be kept down lest it burn bridges—or worse. It turns out the opposite is true, and that the refusal to confront these negative parts of ourselves leaves a dumpster fire of resentment, hate, and even blood.
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