*For those who have not yet viewed the series, spoilers are included below.
“I’m a bad person.” – BEEF Episode 8, “The drama of original choice”
Amy Lau, portrayed by Ali Wong, sees this as her life-defining narrative. Lau’s self-assessment is one of many personal reflections in BEEF, showrunner Lee Sung Jin’s latest project streaming on Netflix. Throughout 10 episodes, Lee’s characters wade through an identity-crisis marinade shaped by their Asian American experiences and seasoned with cultural nuances that are more easily seen by those who have lived them. The show offers observations of humanity served on a platter, giving viewers an opportunity to chew on and, hopefully, digest the beef.
Collateral Damage of the American Dream
Amy Lau has lived her whole life on the run from herself. Her childhood trauma and shameful choices made over many years confirm her belief that she is a reprehensible person. She can never truly deserve “the good.”
At first glance, Lau’s life does seem “good.” She has a successful career, perfect husband, and beautiful daughter. And yet she only lives in close proximity to this elusive external goodness, rather than being able to claim it as her own. The road rage incident with Danny Cho, portrayed by Steven Yeun, begins a journey back down a path to a horrifying yet refreshing vision of her true self—a self she masks in public yet indulges in behind closed doors.
On the other hand, Danny has spent his life chasing success defined by Korean American cultural expectations. He tries to be the good son who provides for his parents, the hyung that his little brother looks up to, and a successful small business owner with Yelp ratings to match.
Despite his best efforts, whether it be an honest day’s construction work or eventually a dishonest day’s fudging of accounting numbers, everything he does is marked by mediocrity and insecurity. He fears being left alone, or worse, left behind. While Danny desperately needs the affirmation and approval of other people, nobody truly needs or wants him.
Together, Amy and Danny represent two Asian American millennial experiences in pursuit of the American dream. One has risen to a place of prestige through her own hard work aided by connections, while the other remains stuck in the same place no matter how hard he works. Though they have vastly different incomes listed on their tax returns, they harbor the same rage stemming from the dehumanizing burden of the American dream. The loneliness and pain they both embody is inevitable collateral damage in attempting to achieve something that promises so much but guarantees nothing.
“Everything fades. Nothing lasts.” – BEEF Episode 7, “I am a cage”
While Amy already viscerally feels the “nothingness” of her success mid-series, Danny is not yet convinced. For a while, his efforts to increase his net worth results in improving his quality of life. Episode 7 opens with his acapella:
My chains are gone, I’ve been set free
My God my Savior has ransomed me
And like a flood, his mercy reigns
Unending love, Amazing Grace
A smile lights up his face as the beat transitions and he leads the congregation into the fast-paced stanzas of this modernized hymn. More so than the improvement of his finances, his ascent to become the church’s praise team leader signifies true success according to the Korean-American Christian worldview. He’s made it. Danny’s vocals rally the church to praise God, but Netflix viewers know that he is swimming against the riptide of his latest con.
Just a few episodes earlier in “that” church scene, Danny was inconsolable in the midst of O Come to the Altar, presumably his first time back to church in many years. The first verse and chorus pour a balm on his soul, which had been wounded by a sense of personal worthlessness.
There isn’t a scene in which Danny processes this moment out loud. So while many commentators have weighed in with their analysis1, viewers are left with no choice but to make their own observations. Danny was clearly moved to tears, yet he still carried through with his plan to con the church. Was his weeping real? Was it all a show to be accepted? Are all Christians just like him, gleefully inhabiting a hypocritical duality for personal benefit?
This duality is far from a modern phenomenon. Humans have been creatures drawn to religious syncretism, the blending of differing belief systems, for many centuries2. The first commandment is, “You shall have no other gods before me.” Time and again throughout the Bible, it is the transgression of this commandment that begins and perpetuates humanity’s downfall.
Though God promises to draw near to us, we instead try to hold onto both God and lesser gods一relationships, financial security, political party, social status一until we have a fully-fleshed syncretic belief structure. God becomes our back-up plan and safety net—our Hail Mary should anything hit the fan.
While Danny may have experienced momentary catharsis and spiritual renewal, his syncretic belief structure gets exposed for the ephemeral sand it is. It all disintegrates, and he comes to the same conclusion as Amy. In confessing his life-altering bad deeds to his younger brother, Paul, he finally says the words he had been holding back, “You gotta get away from me.”
Those Danny loves must stay away to be safe from his innate depravity一this is his life-defining narrative. Both he and Amy cannot fathom a power robust enough to withstand the destructive fall-out of their sinful nature. In the end, their brokenness bonds them. If they were to go to hell, at least they wouldn’t be alone.
The narrative arc of Danny and Amy’s experience is not unique to those in hot pursuit of material success. We trade grace for grumbling when the ethos of the American dream, that life rewards those who work hardest, seeps into our subconscious spiritual expectations. Some of us don’t shoot for the stars at all. We just want enough to cover for childcare while we work. We’re not looking to climb a corporate ladder, and are fine with whatever will help us pay for six-dollar-a-dozen eggs.
But when we’re left scrutinizing our bank statements wondering how we managed to get behind once again, rage manifests as frustration. For others of us, our low-bar ambitions lay outside of material comfort. We just want to wake up and not automatically think of suicide. But when our daily experience is cloaked by thoughts that asphyxiate our will, rage manifests as despair.
As long as we believe God is holding something back, we won’t have eyes to see all the gifts we already have. The longer this loss of vision persists, the more likely we will cultivate a sleeping rage within.
Life and Art
One of BEEF’s great achievements is its portrayal of the Asian American experience without hyperbole that makes its viewers feel seen, whether they like it or not. Even if the characters themselves are not 100% relatable, the dynamics portrayed in the show very much are. The precarious bond between older and younger siblings, dealing with blood relatives, eggshells surrounding other-culture in-laws, the relationship between generational versus first-generation wealth, church wolves hiding in plain sight一once we finish the series and return to our regularly programmed lives, we must deal with these very real dynamics.
Left to our own devices, we may be prone to channeling rage sharpened by rationality. If we are already heading down this path, it may be worth it to stop and ask ourselves if there is a better story, making sure to digest it all before carrying on.