I’ve Got a Feeling

Have you ever wondered what it was like to work in the kitchen of a restaurant? Slice and dicing, sautéing and filleting. After over a decade of reality food competition shows, I thought I learned a thing or two about the culinary lifestyle of dinning back of house. But nothing prepared me for what I’ve experienced watching the FX show The Bear.

Bear is a frenetic show about a high-end auteur chef bringing his vast experience of French brigade-style cooking structure and discipline to his family sandwich shop. Almost every episode is, in its entirety, a stress inducing, blood pressure elevating, tension gauntlet that doesn’t let up.

Basically, living in the kitchen is hell, but the energy and team atmosphere brings it all together where some people thrive off while others have no other choice. For me, the balance of the give and get doesn’t connect for me (though I’d suspect that writing endlessly for hours alone doesn’t connect with many people either.) Generally speaking, the heats too hot, so I get out.

That’s not to say that I don’t find myself in my kitchen, after watching an episode of Bear, making a sandwich like I’m Anthony Bourdain or Gordon Ramsay. I’m grabbing the mayo, the bread, the meat, moving from the fridge to the toaster to the counter. I’m put ting the frying pan on the stove, turn that gas, crack an egg into the piping surface.

The wife then asks me to make her something lite. I start grabbing random ingredients— nutcrackers, hummus, cucumber, cherry tomatoes, then begin to slice, scoop, and chop. This is while I have toast in the oven and eggs frying up on the stove. Then I need a tool that’s dirty in the sink and need to wash it. AHHH!

It’s pandemonium…in my mind. It’s all in my head. But I have this energy and POV that I’m in the lunch crunch whipping up masterful plates to be savored. It’s a rush.

The funniest part about all of this is that I don’t like to cook or make food. I do it out of necessity, not love. But in this moment, I have the energy of the show locked in my brain somewhere that changes my perspective of the kitchen, even if I’m just making a sandwich and veggie plate.

However, this feeling isn’t new. I’ve had this it for as long as I can remember. You know that experience. That buzzy feeling that stays with you after watching a movie or show that makes you think you’re in that world, giving a visceral experience to your regular life.

All shows have a point of view that starts with the story, but it goes beyond that when all the pieces of a production come together. There’s a chosen vibe and tone that resonates deeply if done well and with care and intention. The clothes, the lighting, the shots, the pacing, the sets, the sounds, the music. When it all comes together just so, it transports you.

It’s the most intrinsic experience we get from performance art. The feel, the aspiration, the connection— it becomes a part of you.

I most often have this feeling when I leave a movie theater, especially from a spy or thriller story. Everything seems just a bit different. You start thinking that everyone or anyone could be a government agent out to get you. The way you walk, how you drive, has a bit more edge. You perceive those around you differently.

Or after watching Mad Men, wanting to embody their cool their wit while downing a bottle of whiskey. Or after seeing a Fast Series movie, you want to street race. While typically, it’s harmless, we do have to check our impulses.

I assume this is akin to the itch of acting, they are feeling it rather than just doing.

I believe this is what draws me to writing screenplays, the ability to drift into worlds and characters. Press play on a curated playlist, close my eyes, and start dreaming up worlds, characters, and connections. I get a rush of living in that world.

I love this feeling, but the problem is that the world around me doesn’t see it that way. The feeling quickly fades as real life comes back. But even though this conscious continuation of the show world does end, I think there is a subconscious part that lives on with you, changing you in a small way or further emphasizes inner parts of one’s true personality. It’s why we seek out the same types of stories, movies, and shows, with the hope to reignite that feeling.

I often wonder what effect movies actually have on people, worried that the impact is fleeting, as most experiences are nowadays. But considering this aspect of art makes me hope that it does engender change, even if it’s in a small thousand paper cuts way (good paper cuts though).

But at a minimum, this feel reveals one of the magical and unmatched creative aspects of film and tv, how multiple disciplines come together to create the most immersive work of fiction. In books, you are given the outline of the world, but you must create that in your mind, in theater and dance you have worlds mimicked, but are asked to stretch the disbelief to make the world real. In films and shows, you are given a replica of the world you are inhibiting. This is part of why these feelings of connection are so ardent and strong. You see it, up close. You feel the characters feel it, you are in their space.

In the show Bear, they create palpable tension that causes anxiety in you, the viewer, that the characters are feeling. There is simply no other medium that can create that trigger visceral sense of agita.

So whether feeling zippy in a car after watching a chase scene, or trying to find your cool like Don Draper, or working the line during lunch rush at The Beef, these shows are a part of you now.