With just a glance at the poster, you know "Beef" is going to be something different.
On a stark red background the two leads, played by Steven Yeun and Ali Wong, face off, their bodies forming the outstretched middle fingers of two hands giving a well-recognized gesture of great disdain, to put it politely.
But there's nothing polite about "Beef" — and that's the point.
Angry, profane and full of people making very bad choices, "Beef" is in many ways a groundbreaking moment for Asian American representation in media.
To be sure, there have been complex and nuanced portrayals of Asian Americans for decades, such as the early 2000s indie films "Better Luck Tomorrow," or one of my personal favorites, the queer dramedy, "Saving Face." But within a Hollywood ecosystem that has given short shrift to Asian American stories, these films were not widely seen.
"Beef" on the other hand, is a cultural phenomenon. Last week, according to Netflix, it was the country's most-watched show on the streaming giant.
The show's success has also surfaced horrifying revelations that show actor and artist David Choe described sexually assaulting a massage therapist in 2014, in an incident he called "bad storytelling." He denies the assault allegations.
In 2018, I wrote that "Crazy Rich Asians" — the first mainstream Asian American hit in decades — was not at all my cup of tea, but that I hoped it would be a success and open the door to more stories about Asian Americans. Now, we are finally seeing artists walk through that door and present a more multidimensional depiction of Asian American life.
"Beef" drives the Asian American model minority myth off a cliff. In it, you have characters who are messy, flawed, petty, manipulative and vindictive. Even more illuminating and unusual, you see a wide range of socioeconomic and ethnic groups portrayed within an Asian American context.
Every time I write about racial inequity, I get a flood of emails asking why other communities of color aren't more like Asian Americans. Asian Americans, readers explain to me, are hard working, family oriented, well mannered, law abiding and, as a result, have higher incomes and educational achievement.
But what Asian Americans know and what "Beef" depicts, is that our community is not a monolith.
Like the cousin of Yeun's character Danny Cho, there are Asian Americans in prison who have hustled and grifted. Like Danny, there are working-class Asian Americans, who work hard but barely manage to eke out a living. And yes, there are affluent Asian Americans as well, like Wong's character, Amy Lau. But even with Amy's newfound economic privilege, the deep well of unhappiness that leads to her rage-fueled beef with Danny is shaped by unresolved generational trauma, war and displacement. In a therapy session, for example, Amy says something a lot of Asian Americans can relate to, "I think growing up with my parents taught me to repress all my feelings."
But repressed feelings have a way of coming out, and the depiction of Asian Americans as incapable of rage removes the fullness of our humanity and leaves the larger society shocked and confused when that rage finds an outlet.
Show creator Lee Sung Jin said in Variety he didn't want the show to focus on race, but in some ways, by not making racial conflict a central theme, he created an even more authentic depiction of the more subtle ways in which race and racism insinuate themselves in daily life.
Amy's relationship with a rich, white, potential business benefactor, Jordan Forster — chillingly played by Maria Bello — is full of the slights and daggers of racism, in a sort of death by a thousand cuts. Jordan's breezy entitlement and oblivious cultural appropriation — like her massive collection of crowns of dubious provenance — might be a caricature, but it's darkly funny because it rings true. The way Jordan forces Amy to swallow her dignity and become complicit in her own dehumanization is a familiar source of rage.
The nuances of race are also present in the show's cultural specificity, such as the depiction of a Korean American church community or the fine art-world pretentiousness of Amy's Japanese American husband and family.
It was way too late in coming, but I am delighted that younger generations are seeing themselves reflected more fully on screen. Representation matters and the success of "Beef" and "Squid Game" and "Everything, Everywhere, All at Once" are a testament to the fact that there is an audience for complex, well-told stories about Asians and Asian Americans.
As Ian Kumamoto wrote in the Huffington Post about the show, "I'm glad we got to have 'Crazy Rich Asians,' but I'm infinitely more excited about seeing crazy broke Asians and crazy tired Asians. Thanks to 'Beef,' we have crazy angry Asians now. Perhaps anger is what we needed to find our way to each other all along."
