“Fishes”: A Masterclass “How to” on cameos.

“The Bear”(FX), the latest TV sensation seemingly on track to fill the hole left by HBO's most recent cultural cache hit “Succession”, built the foundation for it's reputation in its initial season. A Chicago-ish show ostensibly about the restaurant business, ultimately about family and character, that made the foundation of those themes characterization, (both in terms of writing and acting) told in the frenetic anxiety ridden style of Uncut Gems, was a bonafide word of mouth hit by the time it was midway through it's inaugural season. I call the Chicago based TV show Chicago-ish, because as far as I, an outsider from California can tell, it seems clear that it loves Chicago and wants to be identified as an authentic Chicago show but that that authenticity from everything I've read is polarizing. I bring that up because I believe the goal of authenticity is a vital aspect of the show overall and thusly of the shows characterizations and then subsequent to that, it's casting. The television landscape today is mostly filled with three types of actors; former or current movie stars, character actors that have now become recognizable brands, and of course TV stars who have now become recognizable brands. Many times it's a mixture, 911, The Old Man, The Morning Show, Little Fires Everywhere boasts/boasted current and former movie stars like Angela Bassett, Reese Witherspoon, and Steve Carrell, some of whom like Carrell or Tina Fey (SNL, 30 Rock) had originally started on TV. “Succession” would eventually make recognizable names of its core cast of then mostly unknowns but it's original pull was clearly Brian Cox, a character actor who had long since left behind that “What's his name” component of character acting. This makes a show like “The Bear” refreshing not only in the sense that it was a show that became popular completely off of what it is, rather than who was in it, but also in the sense that it's casting and centering of actors who might be known to some, but we're not yet recognizable brands is vital to that authenticity. John Bernthal was by far the show's most recognizable face and his character wasn't even alive, he was only seen in flashbacks. When the most recognizable regular on your show is Oliver Platt, and that becomes apart of your identity, it makes total sense then that littering your second season with a lot more recognizable faces and brands could end up looking like a betrayal of a lot of what made your show great.

Cameos are one of televisions/films most tightrope-like inventions. On the one hand the whole point of it is for you to go "oh my gosh that's such and such!" On the other it is that very thing that could be your undoing if the element of this surprise visit from a very recognizable face outsizes the audience's ability to see them as a functioning character or a real definitive part of the tapestry created. One of the most egregiously ornate examples of the latter is Ed Sheeran's appearance in HBO's mega hit “Game of Thrones”. In one of the more recognizable signposts of the dwindling quality of that show during its eight season run, Sheeran was not only a poor performer, but he didn't at all seem to fit into any of the realities of that world. It was a pointless appearance that didn't add anything to the show, didn't contextualize anything, and because of the former two, actually hurt the overall production. There was no rhyme or reason to why Sheeran appeared in the episode besides the fact that somebody (maybe Sheeran, maybe the writers themselves) wanted him to be in an episode. There seemed to be no consideration as to whether or not he had skill as an actor, because he did not. There seemed to be no consideration for whether or not his music was a good fit for that world, because frankly it was not, and when you center him in a show that had by that time built it's reputation on having seemingly small and/or minor events play a significant role in the past or the future of the series, you are calling attention to his significance, which at the end we all know was only that it was Ed Sheeran on Game of Thrones. Stunt casting is a very close cousin of a cameo. Both of them are often meant to garner some form of publicity. Both (especially in TV) are often employed, or appear when the product is struggling with staying true to what it is, or seems to be losing ground from its original popularity. Which wouldn't be a problem in and of itself except that often it seems that is the only impetus for a particular casting. The effects of a casting like this aren't always so readily apparent, or ruinous. Sometimes they are only a minor hit on the show overall. Sometimes they can be subtle and based in something that seems ultimately positive like Meryl Streep's performance in season 2 of “Big Little Lies”. When I originally watched the season I loved watching all the little details that Streep had added. The intricacies of who this woman was, and what she stood for, but upon a revisit later I found it to be ill-fitting and aberrant within the tapestry of this show. A lot of it called attention to the fact that Meryl Streep was on this show rather than allowing her to disappear within the interwoven threads of this community as all of the other big names in the show had done. The extremely memorable scene at the dinner table with Nicole Kidman's children is a great example of this. The performance in and of itself if you're just watching Meryl Streep for the sake of Meryl Streep is good, brilliant in fact, but understanding it within the context of the show it's akin to watching picture in picture on your TV. It felt like you were watching something else, while watching this show. It takes you out of that out of body experience Roger Ebert once spoke of as it relates to watching great films and television, and plants you firmly in the space of recognition that you are watching a production. Once she screams that's it, the last remnants of the bubble pop, because it is all too recognizable this doesn't bring anything together, it illuminates little, means even less, and ultimately disrupts the shows integrity and dedication to its own world and characters. Even while to some extent that is the purpose of her character, it doesn't do so in such a way that fits, but rather becomes disruptive outside the context of the show as well. I say all this because when you're going to spend so much time talking about why something is working then you want to talk about what it looks like when it doesn't.

Enter episode 6 of Season 2 of The Bear titled “Fishes”. As directed by creator Christopher Storer, The episode is a flashback to one particular Christmas party in which many of Carmy's extended family appear for the first time. The episode is shot vibrantly and with a specific intention and attention to details and tension that mirror the way horror is shot to create anticipation, even while cheery Christmas music and conversation can be heard in its opening, something feels off. It's not long into the episode though that we end up going inside the house and once there, there is a procession of recognizable faces one after another playing family members. Much of these introductory family members buck the trend of the Bear's mostly understated casting. Besides Bernthal's Michael, there is Bob Odenkirk's Uncle Lee, Sarah Paulson's cousin Michelle, John Mulaney as her partner Stevie, and Jamie Lee Curtis as mother Donna Berzatto, and this is where a friction in my mind began that could've easily become a fire before it was put out by the steadfast integrity of these characters, their characterizations, and the context they added to the story. It was not only the fact that hiring such recognizable actors in and of itself was a departure from what had previously been a part of the shows charm, but it was also so many being bunched into one episode that sent klaxons going off in my head, but as the episode went on it became more and more apparent how thoughtful this casting was, most especially Jamie Lee Curtis. The nature of Curtis's performance, the size of it makes it easily the most standout performance, ( by using the word standout I don't necessarily mean the best) but that same size, that same theatricality, that forcefulness, also makes it a handy target for the idea that it is maybe the most obvious example of a case of stunt casting even if only on the lower levels of the spectrum. It's a real and valid temptation, but it is nonetheless a temptation that must be battled with a contextual understanding of what the performance means to the episode, to the character and to the characters at the center of this show. Her theatricality is not just for the sake of showing off or displaying her range, or for the overall prestige of this show. Her theatricality is central to understanding who Donna Berzatto is and the damage her illness and her own flaws have done to her children. When the episode opens Bernthal's “Michael” is speaking to his sister “Natalie” (A very good Abby Elliott) about their mother. Before they even begin their conversation the first thing we hear as an audience is Jamie Lee Curtis yelling in the background, we just don't know yet that that it's Jamie's voice, and that that voice is the very mother that they are speaking of, but it lays a subliminal foundation. It's not just what they're saying about who they're discussing that matters, it is also how they are saying it. Natalie and Mikey are outside with no one around yet their voices are low, and they are very close to each other, almost huddling and speaking into each other, and it is telling as to just how much reach this woman has and just how much she's present even when she's not ( a recurring theme). This is the text and the context Jamie Lee must make come alive, the table has been set, she must provide the meal, she does. Curtis's kinetic, emphatic gesturing is directly related to the amount of space she takes up, which is directly related to her moods, which is directly related to the children, and as a more specific example, Carmy's anxiety around “the other shoe dropping”. When we first see her the kitchen is a mess, there doesn't appear to be any organization to it but in her head, and no one is privy to it but her. This in and of istelf is sad both in how it's affected Donna and how it affects her children. Later in the episode when she cries “I make everything beautiful, but no one makes things beautiful for me” it's a gut wrenching example of how alone Donna must feel despite being surrounded. Jamie moves through space like she's making her way though a dense jungle. The movement of even a cigarette from her mouth extends far enough from her body to qualify as throw or a hack. She actually doesnt move very fast, she doesn't try and match the hurried nature of the camera with her body, that she does with her voice, which is modulated ever so slightly to a certain pitch that ossilates between sweet and vexing. Go back and listen to her voice in “Everything, Everywhere All at Once” you'll notice the subtle difference. It will be through Jamie's inflated performance we will see just how her children were affected over time. How all her kids learned to both clean up after her and/or be preventive care. Curtis for her part plays it like one of those anime explosions that start out as a very noticeable but small bubble that eventually swallows everything in its path. The movements, and line deliveries need to be big, they need to be forceful, they need to be charming, they need to be alluring, and all in a big way, because this is how the kids shrunk until one of them literally disappeared.

When we first meet Donna she seems very warm, very big on personality, very funny, your average Italian matriarch, but there is something about the intensity of that warmth as well as the intensity of the intimacy implied by Storer's camera that sets you on edge immediately. We then start to see the cracks and the fissures that show something isn't right and it starts with Carmen. Tiny little needles about how we never comes home and implications as to the reasons he came home. Multiple hurried commands that contradict each other, constant movement and constant alarms both real and imagined. Something Storer and the writers do well is draw these little pricks and pinches in such a way that “who” or “what” is the matter is a bit ambiguous. We can't immediately take sides, we can't immediately tell whether it is true that Carmen is too big for his family and doesn't like how small they seem, or even if it's true that he doesn't come back home alot,(though the guilt Jeremy Allen White allows to creep up on his face at least implies she's not too far off about it) after all we are all guests in the Berzatto home. Later it starts to become more apparent, like when she tells Carmen to go and grab a specific ingredient and he does, and then almost immediately goes into a fit about the fact that he didn't move a pot that she definitely did not ask him to move, but believes emphatically that she has. “WHY IS NOBODY LISTENING TO ME!” she exclaims. Curtis is all hands and face as she embeds in the plea a certain patheticness, a desperation, and most importantly a sense of recognition of what she's doing. If the performance rings false, it is because Donna is “performing”, not Jamie Lee Curtis. Many of us will probably recognize this particular brand of guilt tripping from our parents, but fewer of us recognize it in this particular kind of space and this particular intensity. What is even more telling is the way Carmen and Richie immediately move and the way in which they move. There's a delicate weightiness to the way they move around Donna similar to the way one might move if they were on the moon or in actual space, but also similar to the way a thief might try to procure a very precious item without touching any of the exterior elements that surrounded it so as not to trigger alarms. It's not just Carmen and Richie using what could be viewed as completely normal and ambiguous interactions, Storer and crew show just how everyone has to move around Donna in this way. Oliver Platt's “Uncle Jimmy” enters the kitchen and immediately starts raising his hands and letting Donna know he's not going to mess anything up, it's light-hearted and again very normal for anyone who has a mother who lords over her kitchen like a King would over his manor, but it is also indicative of the way that people who aren't even constantly around her are aware of her presence and her fire. Throughout the episode you notice that everyone is constantly paying attention to what Donna is doing even when they're pretending they're not. She interrupts scenes of silence, violence or comraderie with her flare ups or her luminosity. Her kids float around her like moons providing balance, and walking on eggshells so as not to set off a bomb that might lead to her loudly holding space for suicidal thoughts. They check on her when she's loud and mean-spirited and when she's funny and just spirited. Even then they can do no more to stop the explosions than she can.

In one of the best bits of acting in the episode, Curtis is alone in the kitchen after exploding on poor Natalie with a large dose of suicidal ideation and guilt. She screams gutterally and with a surgical fury that if she blew her brains out they wouldn't even care. John Mulaney's Steven enters and instantaneously, the fallout hits him. Curtis stands up erect with an immediacy that carries years of hyper-attunement to her surroundings, and unleashes a visceral beating upon him. Natalie, already damaged from taking direct shrapnel leaves and Curtis is left alone, radiating from her face, the wake of the explosion still pushing into the corners of her face and lips causing them to quiver as she silently repeats “They won't fuckin miss me”. Actors studio legend Stella Adler always talked about the actors job as not being to relay facts but to experience them and give us the audience that experience back through them. This may not be a factual event, but it is a truthful experience, and it's one that allows us to feel the tragedy of Donna Berzatto and her family, as well as the deep love. The proverbial exhaustion of both being Donna and being around her, and how it sucks the air out of you, epecially Natalie, who as a woman socialized into maternal instincts is far more hands on than her two brothers and subsequently far more susceptible, knowledgeable, empathetic, vulnerable, and sensitive to her mother's violent swings in mood and ideations of self harm. When she walks out of the kitchen after the blow up with her mom, Steven is there to ask her if she is okay. Natalie asks for a hug, and after a bit of holding in her own large emotions, Abby Elliott has Natalie blow it all out as if she has consumed all that her mother had thrown at her. All of her children including our main protagonist Carmen have been deeply affected by growing up and around not only her illness but the parts of her that either negatively or even positively impact her illness. Because the good parts, the good times, the intensity of those good moments may be largely affected by the intensity of the downside or the downswing. Those good times are a part of the rollercoaster-like instability that is vital to understand our main characters going both backwards and forwards in the timeline of this show. Mikey lived in constant fear of his own psyche because he saw his mother. Natalie ran directly towards some instances of stability in her husband Pete, (who you can tell provides some sense of a rock) but is also rooted and somewhat stuck in being a support system for others, many times to the detriment of her own care, as when she almost fainted from hunger, before Syd makes her an Omelette. Carmen ran right to the exact same environment where chefs treated him just as his mother did in that kitchen. Everything that we can grasp from the various anecdotes and conversations that were thrown around in the episode tells us that this is normalcy for them, even while they recognize the abnormality of it. In various scenes involving Jamie Lee Curtis and through her performance we are given all the context, imagery, background, that we need to understand exactly why Carmen is so unnerved by stability in his life. We saw it in present with the return of Claire into his life, but this episode wants to take us back to origin points, beyond even his mother. In the closet that same fear is expressed towards his brother Mikey, as Jeremy Allen White endearingly and achingly pleads with his eyes for his brothers love and acceptance, by way of working on the Bear together. Carmen doesn't know what his brother is going through so in his own world his brothers distance is read as personal and directed at him. Through Bernthal's performance we can see Mikey clearly loves him, but is also fighting his own demons, after Carmen leaves from that talk Mikeys feelings almost engorge him he fights back violently with a slap to the face. It is a direct parallel to Donna fighting her own ideations in the kitchen. It's all source coded back to Donna and to the livewire act that is Jamie Lee Curtis's performance. A performance not of mental illness in and of itself but in the ways that mental illness interacts and melds itself to the personalities of those it affects. It is not a stunt cameo, this is not a stunt casting, these are not stunt performances, they are performances that live in service and true understanding of what is needed from the characters and that goes for every single character that was put in that episode. The thought and care put into each character, whether something that was intentional or happened by accident, offers many a lesson on how to cast, how to cameo, and how to thread the needle of procuring that particular excitement the audience may get from seeing people we love in tiny roles and places we don't expect them to be as well as staying true to the spirit of your work. The cameos and the performances, each one of them distinctive specific and outlined with such detail to the minutiae of personality, created a sense of family, of what it really is and what that really means on such a profound level that that episode even with its obvious cultural, ethnic, and other aesthetic differences felt like the most universal representations of family of any episode of television that I've watched, and that is truly saying something.