Crime
Wayward
Wayward tries to make a statement about intergenerational trauma, but it comes with a lot of content issues that will make the show a nonstarter for many.
We’re good people. Good, I say.
We care for others, you and I. We work hard. We pray every day/week/whenever we can. Oh, sure, sometimes we have bad days. We might accidentally cut someone off on the road or speak to someone else more harshly than we should. We can do things we’re not proud of. But life is stressful, right? We can’t be perfect. Nobody’s perfect.
If only the people around us tried to live life as we do. If only that stupid jerk who cut us off on the road would be nice and considerate, like we try to be. If only that inconsiderate heel didn’t speak so harshly to us. Why are people so terrible? Why don’t people on the road/school/meeting/church act like we do? Why? WHY?!
Danny is a good person. He works harder than anyone he knows—fixing toilets, installing doorbells, whatever he can do to pay the bills. And man, are there a lot of bills to pay. More than anything, he’d love to bring his parents back from Korea and set them up with a nice place in California. Make up for past mistakes. He’d love to put his younger brother, Paul, on a more productive track. He’d love to pay back all the money he owes.
But the world won’t give him a break. And when that BMW driver (that he, admittedly, almost ran into while backing up) honked at him and flipped him off and generally acted all high and mighty, something in Danny snapped. That BMW driver instantly became a symbol of all that’s wrong in the world: the rich-and-hoity-toity jerks treating hard-working, well-meaning people like dirt. Well, he’s done with that. He’s got nothing to lose anymore. He’s going to make that BMW driver pay.
Amy is a good person. She works harder than anyone she knows—selling plants online, forcing smiles constantly, trying to support her artist husband and troubled daughter. People tell her how calm she always is, how together her life seems to be. But Amy knows the truth: Try as she might, she’s barely holding it together.
Maybe that’s why, when the jerk in that ratty old truck nearly backed into her, something in Amy snapped. She held her honk button down for nearly a minute, tore off in a huff and then—before she left the parking lot, she raised her middle finger in salute. Maybe she’s not proud of what she did that afternoon, but c’mon! People need to watch when they’re backing up, right?
The confrontation didn’t end with the honk and the flip. It didn’t end when Danny—chasing Amy through the streets—drove through someone’s front yard (obliterating months of someone’s conscientious gardening). It didn’t end when Amy very nearly (and very purposefully) rammed Danny’s truck with her BMW. And it didn’t end even there.
Danny still has bills to pay and parents to bring to America. Amy still has a family to care for and a business to nurse. But those worthy elements are slowly receding into something more primal: Each wants to make the other’s life an abject misery.
But deep down, they’re still good people, right?
Beef might be one of the saddest, strangest comedies you’ll ever see. Danny and Amy indeed have a beef with each other. And as this Netflix miniseries trundles on, more and more people within their respective spheres will be touched, tarnished and traumatized.
The same might be said for the viewer.
Don’t get me wrong: Beef is a “good” show. Rotten Tomatoes reviewers have given it a 99% “freshness” rating, with Vox calling it “perfect.” Writing and acting are both top tier.
But as we’ve seen, good is often measured on a sliding scale. And by some of Plugged In’s measures, Beef isn’t very good at all.
The show feels constantly on the brink of cataclysmic violence, with the threat of self-destruction (of one form or another) forever in play. Sex (including some graphic and disturbing expressions of it) is inescapably woven into the show’s tapestry—whether it’s seen onscreen or referenced in casual conversation. And the language can be extraordinarily harsh, too.
And interwoven into the show is a spiritual message, too. On one end, it takes a literal approach, such as when Danny joins a church, breaking down in tears when the worship team’s performance of “O Come to the Altar” resonates with him. On the other end, it lies in the musings of its two broken protagonists when they consider how God could create such a broken world—and the two come to a rather depressing (and unbiblical) conclusion.
Are we good people? The Gospel is clear: no, not really. Underneath our smiles and good intentions, we’re filled with hurt and rage, sorrow and sin. Beef reminds us of that—but not always in some imperfect ways.
After unsuccessfully trying to return several hibachi grills, Danny leaves Forsters home improvement center frustrated and angry. He starts backing his truck out of the parking space—and nearly hits a very angry BMW driver. He doesn’t know it yet, but that driver is Amy Lau, who runs a plant-selling business that she, in turn, hopes to sell to Forsters. The two race through the streets in a terrifying road-rage incident (endangering a great many people along the way). Amy’s BMW winds up escaping unscathed, but Danny memorizes her license-plate number—and he’s determined to track her down.
[Spoiler Warning] He does—and he knocks on her door while she’s in the bathroom, masturbating with a gun. (We see her holding the gun between her legs, though we don’t witness anything else critical. She seems aroused by the “click” of the trigger pull.) She makes herself presentable and, not recognizing him, lets him in. She seems to be open to having a one-afternoon-stand with him, pointing out that her husband won’t be home “for quite some time.” He’s oblivious to the suggestion, and shortly thereafter, Danny uses Amy’s restroom—urinating over everything.
Danny falls from a tree. (He would’ve been seriously injured had it not been for a harness holding him.) We learn that his cousin (Isaac) was recently released from jail (perhaps for counterfeiting baby formula). Amy attends a mushroom-based dinner with spiritual undertones. (“If I go to a spiritual place tonight,” she tells her husband, “just let me go alone.”) The hostess says she doesn’t even like mushrooms, “except for the magic kind.”
Characters drink wine. Someone tries to kill himself. Bingeing on fast food nearly causes someone to vomit. Characters play with money—some of it borrowed—in the crypto market. Danny’s mother tells him that he should “find a nice Korean church and get married.” Someone tells Amy that she has a “serene Zen Buddhist thing going on.”
Characters say the f-word more than 50 times (several of which are paired with “mother”); the s-word about 16 times; and a variety of other profanities, including “a–,” “h—” and “d-ck.” God’s name is misused seven times, and Jesus’ name is abused once.
Danny turns to an unexpected place to deal with his anger. Amy and George discuss the issues within their relationship.
Danny attempts to light Amy’s car on fire, but he stops when he sees Amy’s daughter inside. George accidentally sends a photo of a woman baring a lot of cleavage. We later see him masturbating to the photo, and though nothing critical is seen, we hear sounds. Amy references a coworker’s breasts and butt, and she makes a crude reference to arousal. A man kisses Amy. Amy uses another woman’s photo to lead a man on.
Danny decides to attend Living Glory Church, where he enters to the worship team playing “O Come to the Altar.” The moment causes Danny to break down in tears, and the pastor prays over him. Later, Danny tells his friend about the experience, saying “it’s like I actually felt God’s presence.” But his friend isn’t as interested. “Well, Jesus did all those nice things, and look what they did to Him.”
The f-word is used 17 times, including once preceded by “mother.” The s-word is heard 13 times. We also hear the occasional “a–” and “b–ch.” God’s name is used in vain twice. Someone makes a crude reference to a woman’s breasts.
Danny and Amy, stuck in the wilderness following a car crash, discuss what comes next in their lives.
Two cars careen off a cliff, and Danny and Amy emerge bloodied. Danny pushes Amy down a hill, injuring her ankle. Amy breaks Danny’s arm. Someone is shot. The two eat poisonous berries and vomit extensively onscreen. Someone flatulates in a drawn-out scene.
Danny and Amy discuss why God would make a world with so much brokenness. They wonder “if God is everything, then we’re God.” They conclude that God must be like us (at odds with Psalm 50:21), and that He is “just trying to not feel alone in nothingness.” Later, the two conclude that there’s nothing after life.
The two discuss a variety of other things, too, including evolution, pornography, sexual kinks, sex, masturbation, suicide and urination.
The f-word is heard nearly 30 times, and the s-word is used 17 times. We also hear “a–,” “b–ch,” “d–k” and “p-ss” a handful of times. God’s name is used in vain over 15 times, including once in the form of “g-dd–n.” Jesus’ name is abused once.
Kennedy Unthank studied journalism at the University of Missouri. He knew he wanted to write for a living when he won a contest for “best fantasy story” while in the 4th grade. What he didn’t know at the time, however, was that he was the only person to submit a story. Regardless, the seed was planted. Kennedy collects and plays board games in his free time, and he loves to talk about biblical apologetics. He’s also an avid cook. He thinks the ending of Lost “wasn’t that bad.”
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.
Wayward tries to make a statement about intergenerational trauma, but it comes with a lot of content issues that will make the show a nonstarter for many.
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