Verified by 
The recent Netflix series Beef has received critical acclaim for several reasons: spirited acting, raw and honest portrayal of second-generation immigrant anger, and wild juxtapositions of humor and violence. While the show has clearly resonated with America in general, given its spot-on capture of the zeitgeist of general rage and anxiety, it hits at a sharper angle for Asian Americans, on multiple levels.
Given the improving but still rather limited portrayals of Asian Americans in entertainment, Beef has felt bolder and more truthful than anything to date in terms of showing some of their common cultural struggles—the constant pressure of parental expectation and guilt, including the need to fulfill the immigrant narrative of outward success and stability, the inner competitive tension even within the community, the potential for self-loathing and self-sabotage, and more.
Another open underlying theme is that both the protagonists, Danny and Amy, are deeply unhappy people, who have not truly faced their underlying depression. Both cry out for psychological solace but have rejected most conventional methods for rescue. Danny even openly chides Amy at one point for trying psychotherapy, saying, “Western therapy doesn’t work on Eastern minds.” But clearly, after coming to the brink of suicide and then turning instead to the vengeful escalation fueling the show, whatever Danny has tried isn’t working either.
Asian Americans are a broad group themselves, including first-generation immigrants who grew up overseas and came to the United States for its opportunities, the growing second generation who were raised with Asian cultural expectations but grew up educated in America, and other groups, such as adoptees and multigenerational Asian Americans who may be more culturally integrated in America but still face the fallout of racism and stereotyping as “perpetual foreigners” and more. The mental health needs of each of these groups may vary, but especially for the earlier generations, mental health is not yet a well-accepted or well-understood concept and prone to stigma and dismissal.
Mental health utilization among Asian Americans is one of the lowest per capita, exacerbated also by a lack of Asian American mental health providers and up-to-date curricula of Asian American-related training. In my experience, when Asians end up in our mental health system, they present after very serious crises giving them no choice but to get help—inpatient hospitalizations after suicide attempts or frank manic or psychotic episodes.
Culturally, there can be a tendency amongst Asians to hide or minimize variations from the norm, even if the “norm” is in actuality a nebulous concept. There is a fear of being the odd nail sticking out, needing to be hammered down, else you risk shame, gossip, and more. Keeping up appearances may matter too much and at a particular cost.
Beef succeeds greatly in illustrating the price of the push to maintain appearances, even when the insides are rotting. Danny is something of a ne’er-do-well who constantly cons his way out of the deep holes he digs for himself, all the while guilt-ridden over how his parents’ American dream was put on hold because of him and projecting the same harshness onto his younger brother. His cycle of failure and self-entrapment leads to the rage that boils over when Amy, his alter ego of sorts, a wealthier mirror, flips him the bird. Although on the surface Amy has everything he seethingly wishes he had, he doesn’t realize at first that Amy is just as unhappy in her own way.
Amy is certainly more conventionally successful, but she has gotten there also through choices that sacrifice her emotional well-being. An obsessive workaholic who runs her own small business, she knows she doesn’t spend enough time with her husband and daughter. She feels she has no choice but to sell her business to an arrogant, wealthy white woman to get some of that time back, but the sycophantic process starts to backfire in ways she didn’t anticipate. She also feels underlying resentment towards her well-meaning husband, who grew up more sheltered and wealthy than she did and doesn’t bear the same angst and scars but also doesn’t have a deeper understanding of her struggles.
Neither Danny nor Amy has a true outlet for their inner suffering, hence their pathological blowout with each other. Amy does make some attempt at seeking therapy and verbalizes in one key scene the chronic sense of anxiety and dread she carries with her (rather classic symptoms of depression and anxiety), but it’s not clear whether the therapist she briefly sees is truly clued in to how her cultural background feeds into her emotions.
On the other hand, as many Korean Americans do, Danny attempts to find solace in a Korean evangelical church. Initially he feels some comfort for his burden of familial guilt, which such churches often specialize in addressing, saying Jesus will take away your sins and love you unconditionally. Unfortunately, the churches also consist of the communities that can both bolster and burden with the cultural issues, as the people bring to each other the same problems that they came in with.
Danny ends up roping the church into a financial scam involving his shady contracting business while also fighting with a jealous friend in the church. In the end, both Danny and Amy still have not truly examined what plagues their souls.
Tragically, the only time they finally are able to open up and heal is after both have nearly killed each other and driven off a cliff. Ironically they indulge in the latest psychiatric treatment fad without realizing it: They consume hallucinogenic berries and have a psychedelic trip together. In their vulnerable state they are finally able to unleash the angst that has filled them and led to the unhealthy battle royale, but at last in a tender and compassionate way.
They admit the core problem of trying too hard to hide their inner ugliness in ways that ultimately causes more suffering. The cost of keeping up appearances has been too high. They realize they need to forgive each other, because they are really the same wounded souls. But the realizations come too late, although the ending gives a sliver of hope.
The show demonstrates the extreme price of not having a safe outlet to openly discuss and address one’s darkest fears and frailties over time; ideally that safe outlet could be someone who may have a shared cultural lens trough which to process those fears. Professional help via psychotherapy can certainly be that, if Asian Americans become more willing to access it. But, in turn, the mental health world also needs to educate and acclimate itself to that particular cultural experience and encourage mutual trust.
At the very least, Beef has opened up a much-needed and candid dialogue about the ugly side of the Asian American experience, without prejudice, even with compassion. Hopefully, that willingness to be vulnerable can open the door to Asian Americans addressing their mental health needs.
