Originally conceived as a miniseries, showrunner/writer/creator Lee Sung Jin’s Beef was a major surprise—and big Emmy winner—back in 2023. Three years later, Jin follows up his compact story of road rage anger issues with a searing take on two entirely different types of romantic relationships. Coming into center focus are newly engaged Gen Z couple Austin (Charles Melton) and Ashley (Cailee Spaeny) and toxic long-married Millennials, Josh (Oscar Isaac) and Lindsay (Carey Mulligan). This sophmore season bears little in common with its predecessor, being far more consistent in tone, but it does share equally great writing of its complex and deeply flawed characters. The central storyline is, forgive the pun, far more beefed out. Charged once again from the power of its central players, Beef tees up for round two with an even juicier, darkly hilarious effort from Lee Sung Jin.
As the season opens, we meet both sets of couples under decidedly different circumstances. Josh is the club’s general manager, whilst his wife, Lindsay, acts as the space’s interior designer. With a new owner incoming, they are understandably a bit on edge. Austin and Ashley, however, could not be more carefree. They are still in the honeymoon stage of their relationship, and as staff at the club, on an entirely different social level than their somewhat older counterparts. The parallelisms jump out early on in establishing this set of relationships. At times, the couples are like a mirror image of one another. When Josh leaves his wallet behind, Austin and Ashley are tasked with bringing it back to his wealthy home. They discover an altercation that Ashley films in its entirety on her phone. Just on the verge of actually getting physical with one another, Josh and Lindsay are like a deer caught in the headlights.
From there, the season unfolds in a tapestry of social climbing, with constantly shifting gender and power dynamics at play. Each episode peels back another layer of illusion: financial stability, intimacy, and ambition are all on the chopping block. Ashley’s desperation for security intensifies after a medical scare threatens her ability to have children, while Austin drifts further into complacency and self-obsession. The duo become seduced by their proximity to power, taking whatever shortcuts necessary to achieve their ultimate goals. Are they at least aligned in their endgame, if not morally speaking? That’s a murky question made all the more complicated when it comes to their individual roles within the club. Opportunity waits for no one, and when blackmail gets involved, who would want to achieve their milestones in a normal way?
Josh and Lindsay’s marriage implodes under the weight of their secrecy from one another, yet paradoxically becomes more emotionally honest once it starts to collapse. The sexless marriage stands in stark contrast to the one shared by Austin and Ashley. Josh assumes more money can fill the growing void between the couple, while Lindsay focuses on physical appearance. All four become inseparable from the main narrative, tethered together by a multitude of circumstances. Whilst the inciting fight links them initially, the new billionaire chairwoman Park (Youn Yuh Jung), and her assistant, Eunice (Seoyeon Jang), juggle a scandal involving Park’s husband that could shake the club to its core.
How far will we go for love… and status? What does love really mean, and what do we do when we finally find it? Lee Sung Jin has all this on his mind and more, weaving it into Beef with the help of fellow collaborators. What distinguishes Season 2 is its structural symmetry. The show carefully positions Ashley and Austin at the beginning of a cycle in which Josh and Lindsay are already deeply enmeshed. Can people escape toxic environments, or are they simply doomed to inherit them? A cyclical seed takes root as Beef barrels towards an altogether riveting conclusion. The gear shift of the last two episodes this season stuff in plenty of shock and awe. The production is pure A24, and all eight episodes vary in length—the longest is the finale at fifty-two minutes, while the shortest is episode five at just twenty-nine minutes. Differing runtimes always feel in service of the story being told, and often end in crazy exclamation marks that encourage a binge-watch.
In early episodes, all four actors do an especially admirable job of fleshing out their characters into leaving, breathing people with clear-cut motivations and complexities. Melton stands out almost as a reflection of his tenure with May December, trading emotionally-stunted stagnancy with Austin’s frustrating blend of charm and ineptitude. As Austin begins exploring his Korean identity further, he becomes even more enthralling to watch. Spaeny brings a naivety to Ashley’s unraveling, and still holds enough space for the quiet rage building inside. Isaac and Mulligan, however, provide the emotional core—their characters’ failed marriage stays messy and honest in the midst of utter chaos.
Even when it gets ridiculous, the intentionality behind Jin’s vision puts Beef among the Netflix greats. The cyclical storytelling lands in a way that lingers. Proving that the concept perfectly suits an anthology format, Jin manages to surprise and titillate through bold close-ups and a bright visual aesthetic crawling with spine-chilling ant symbolism. The performers elevate his material around every bend. With tongue firmly in cheek, season two of Beef makes a meal of its tight storytelling and thrilling final stretch of episodes. Round three soon, anyone?
Monte Vista Point Country Club warmly welcomes you to Beef season two, crawling to Netflix globally on April 16th.
