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Spoilers for The Bear's season 3 finale follow.
In The Bear’s third season, ghosts are a major theme—not actual spirits, but the specters of life’s past antagonists and mistakes. This is especially true for our ever-tortured protagonist, wunderkind chef Carmen Berzatto. His biggest and baddest apparition, his 10-story tall Stay Puft? That’s chef David Fields—another character in a long line of indelible dickheads played by the great Joel McHale.
Chef David was introduced in a single, memorable scene in season 1 that alluded to a trauma back in New York’s punishing fine dining world that explains Carmen’s at times manic, contagious, and corrosive intensity. The role has grown from there, with the chef appearing when Carmen is at his lowest points, looking on, still disgusted, still smug and proven right by his failures. David Fields is composed, tall, ice-cold, good-looking, and has a withering rebuttal for every question or accusation. He’s not just the ghost of a bully chef, he’s the representative spirit of abuse, power imbalances, and the white-male dominated French brigade system that has been terrorizing the restaurant industry for centuries, a toxicity passed down from one generation to the next.
If the tension at the heart of The Bear is how to exorcize this ghost from the restaurant industry while maintaining the excellence the system was created to demand and enforce, David Fields is that idea personified. The Bear season three finale, “Forever,” finally makes the ghost of David Fields corporeal, ending with a confrontation between David and Carmen that doesn’t go the way Carmy envisioned—and instead leaves us with more questions than answers when it comes to what Carm truly wants from the kitchen.
The character could be a single-note, sour cartoon, but in the hands of McHale, the chef is given compelling power and dimension. We’d expect nothing less: From the moment Mchale broke onto the scene, first as a host on The Soup, then on the cult NBC sitcom Community, he made an instant on-screen impression with his unique blend of smarm and charm. The quintessential McHale character is an intelligent but aloof smartass—someone you’d still want to get a beer with, against all odds. Over the last 20 years, McHale has made this archetype a calling card—despite, by all accounts, being a standup guy in real life.
McHale talked to GQ about how a Community connection and a half-day of shooting turned him into The Bear’s boogeyman, and where he lands on the questions of motivation and excellence his character provokes.
Joel McHale: I worked at an Espresso Cart in the '80s and '90s. It was one of the first portable Espresso carts in my town of Mercer Island, Washington, before there was a coffee place on every corner of Seattle. And so I worked after school and super early mornings in the summer times. That is where I was, dragging this huge espresso card out and making hundreds of cups of coffee.
Holy crap. It does keep you busy, and I am still fully addicted to caffeine.
I got very lucky that I was friends with him beforehand. So Gillian Jacobs started dating Chris in maybe 2012-ish, 2011. This is before he was “Chris Storer.” He was just a guy who was a writer and happened to be a lights-out chef. But it was one of those things where the show started, and he asked if I wanted to come in for a day and shoot. And Chris, as we all now know, is a freaking genius, and I would do anything he asked me to. So I was like, “Absolutely.” And that first appearance, we shot it in a single morning. And that was before the show exploded to what it is now. And my part is very small, but holy shit, I'm glad to be a part of it.
Oh, I think I have a natural affinity to play assholes. It's a God-given talent. It's just a natural ability. You can't teach that. I have played, I think, a larger percentage of assholes than a lot of actors. I think I probably just had that look on my face, and the right level of hair transplant.
Well, David is apparently based on Thomas Keller and Daniel Humm. (Editor's Note: FX reps say the character is not actually based on Keller). There wasn't any material. I've never met them. Chris didn’t send video of them or anything like that, because I really wasn't doing an impression. I think it was more the psychology of the guys, of how they were treating people in the kitchen. There's no secret that there were a lot of tough places to work, and some of them were pretty dehumanizing, and I think it’s a depiction of that mentality.
I think for them it's a small kingdom. It's a small government where they have all the power. And you can use that to be benevolent or not. I think the precision of that job and the pressure reaches levels that are tremendous. Some people can be kind and good in those situations. I think a lot of them get drunk on the power. I think there's a small portion of them that are sadists and are enjoying the cruelty. I don't know if Daniel Humm and Thomas Keller go that far, but my character certainly does. I think that my character enjoys it.
It’s a level of hazing that you see in sports and all sorts of different industries that is totally unnecessary, but I think some people believe that is a way to weed out people who can't handle the job, as opposed to nurturing people and letting them decide whether this is something for them. Personally, I always responded to coaches that were loving and helped to craft you, as opposed to the screamers, which—I guess that works for some people, but not for me.
I think if it's not perfect quickly, I think he thinks his cooks are idiots. If you can't hack it, then he has no time for you. So it's like building a wrist watch or a pocket watch, where if you get one fucking thing wrong, the whole thing doesn't work. David is a genius chef. He's very talented and very successful. And if you can't hack it in his kitchen, then it's like, go do something else. And I would say that he enjoys it, there's a bit of sadism to him. Because there's people like that. And they're making really good stuff, but it might not be so pleasant for everybody else. That's how I looked at it. Demanding perfection.
The fact that David's like, “Hey, man, what are you so worried about? Unclutch your pearls. You shouldn't be so upset about all this stuff. You did it. You got there” is deeply unfair on David's part. He approves of him because it worked out. But there are probably so many chefs that didn't achieve the same thing. Obviously, Jeremy's character is extremely skilled, and has worked his ass off, but he’s just like everybody in every profession—he had to have some luck. So the piles of other sous chefs and line cooks that worked for David who didn't make it? You forget about those people. So I think it's unfair, because he didn't have to be a dick, but he was, and that's how he is, and that's what worked for him.
And obviously, I'm more than happy to show that up and exploit it as an actor playing that part, because people keep telling me, “You're such a dick in it.” And I’m like, “You mean I'm the protagonist? Because I really spurred him on.” For David, it all comes down to what Jeremy's character pulled off and ended up doing with his life. And David thinks, “I’m in his brain.” He takes credit for the success. I mean, I played it that way. But I think the psychology fucked up. I think the conclusion is a little rough, if we're just talking about David’s psychology.
That's a real big human question there.
You're asking a question that priests and people of the cloth and counselors and psychologists and psychiatrists have been asking forever. I think David's methods are deeply flawed. I think that's also why the culinary world is so hard. Do the ends justify the means? No, they don't. I think there's a false thing, when people have great success, I think a lot of people assume that you shouldn't complain about anything after that. “What are you talking about? You made it. Why should you be upset?” But I think with that great success, it doesn't mean that people aren't hurting and struggling, and it wasn't horrifically traumatic. And I don’t know that it was necessary. And so, yeah, I think David was probably just cut from a cloth, and he will probably break down and at some point and wind up running down the street without any pants.
Well, I’ve heard from people that I triggered them, but—from the chefs that were in that room for the season 3 finale, and then anecdotally, going to restaurants and stuff—The Bear is beloved. So many people have said to me, they really got it right. And, fuck, that’s so great. I've done a bunch of stuff like this that doesn't have nearly the visibility that this does, and I think it’s because all the performances are so spot on that it's a little disturbing and crazy and wonderful.
You can read it in my book, Portraying a Compelling Dickhead. I think I probably look like one in general. So there's that. And for me, there's a joy in it. I enjoy all performances, but I think it's like, well, I get this gift of playing an asshole. I think I can be pretty unrelenting. But I think I enjoy horror movies because it simulates emotions and reactions that I haven't really experienced in real life. So I think there's a wish fulfillment in getting to play this horrible person with no consequences. I just get to be on camera doing it, and that exploration as an actor is really fun. And so I hopefully gave it a nuance. You need villains in these stories, so I'm happy to play one.
Oh, well, it hasn't been shot yet. It will be. And I don't have a definitive update because we thought for a moment it was going to all happen this year, and then it didn't. But we have the money, and that is a huge step. And hopefully, people still want to see it. And Peacock's paying for it. And so I can't wait to do it. I'll say vaguely next year. How about that?
No! If it's anybody's fault, it's my schedule on this one. It's not his at all. He was available. No, no, no, no.
Ok. I will say, and please print this. That was definitely not true. It was not Donald's schedule. We love Donald. You can fully blame my schedule.
This interview has been edited and condensed.