Warning: This story contains mild spoilers for “Beef,” available to watch on Netflix now.
Lee Sung Jin, the creator and showrunner of Netflix’s “Beef,” first worked with Steven Yeun and Ali Wong on the animated series “Tuca & Bertie.” But their latest collaboration sees the three reunite to craft a Netflix show along an A24 sensibility. “Beef,” which dropped on the streaming service on Apr. 6, traces the intersecting lives of Yeun’s Danny and Wong’s Amy after the two engage in a vitriolic road rage incident that sets both on a collision course to chaos. “Amy and Danny may differ in gender, class and career path, but they share a self-destructive nihilism that each seems to recognize in the other, even if they can’t articulate it,” writes PvNew TV critic Alison Herman.
Rounding out the main cast are Young Mazino, who plays Danny’s younger brother Paul, and Joseph Lee, who takes on the role of George, Amy’s husband. Ashley Park, Justin H. Min, Patti Yasutake, Mia Serafino and David Choe also star.
Recently announced as a writer on Marvel’s upcoming “Thunderbolts” — which sees him reuniting with Yeun, director Jake Schreier, production designer Grace Yun and editor Harry Yoon, all of whom worked on “Beef” — Lee sat down with PvNew to discuss the nuances of the characters’ dynamics in his critically acclaimed show, the nostalgia he embedded in the Korean church scenes and why he conceives of himself as a character-first writer.
This show is a study in contrasts. Despite their differences, why do you think Amy and Danny are still so drawn to each other in a way that they can’t even articulate to themselves?
Both of them assume incorrectly that they cannot show their true selves to anyone in their lives. Maybe that assumption is correct — I don’t know that either can, and so part of the reason they’re drawn to each other is they’re not sure why, but they can feel this other person that is as broken and messy as they are. When you have that, it almost feels like a safe space where you can take off the mask, because you’re like, “Oh, that person also looks that way, so maybe it is OK for me to have this little secret thing that allows my messiness to exist.” I don’t know how conscious of that they are when they begin their journey. But I think definitely by the end, it’s pretty clear that they’re very desperate to stand naked before someone and not be judged — and really, who else is gonna do that in their lives?
How would you describe some of the implicit assumptions underlying Danny’s and Paul’s dynamic as brothers?
Danny assumes Paul to be locked into a certain age. With family members, we tend to view them at a certain age, and then they never really evolve past that. I have a younger sister, and she’s in her 30s. To me, she’s still 12 years old. When Danny looks at Paul, he doesn’t see a grown adult; he sees his baby brother. For Paul, he absorbs that perception and assumes the same, because he can’t see himself for who he is, either. That was part of the fun of casting Young, because Young’s actually tall, he’s built. But then in his performance, he’s crouching, he has such bad posture, and he mumbles and he’s always looking down, and he never really makes eye contact. That’s his physical body absorbing these perceptions from Danny.
Amy and George’s relationship is a marriage in crisis. Similarly, what were some of the implicit assumptions and dynamics underlying their relationship that you wanted to capture?
For Amy, it’s this assumption that if she just checks all the boxes, that this feeling goes away. She probably knew that George wouldn’t understand a lot of her internal things, but it’s almost by choice that she picks someone like that, because she doesn’t want to have someone be capable of the same things she is. What’s ironic is, George doesn’t really get the void. But I think Amy incorrectly assumed that George would never do anything bad. Then, obviously, a lot of bad things do happen on George’s side through the show. I almost feel like George lives in ignorance. Ignorance is bliss for him. I think he makes assumptions, but I don’t know if they ever get really broken.
The episode titles in this series draw from quotes from various figures, including Simone Weil, Simone de Beauvoir, Joseph Campbell and many more. What was the process behind choosing those?
It was fun. We had a shared document in the writers’ room that throughout the writing season that writers threw quotes into. For most of them, it wasn’t until all the scripts were finished that I went back and tried to couple them with the right ones. There are a few that we found early on, like the pilot [“The Birds Don’t Sing, They Screech in Pain”], the Werner Herzog one. One of our writers, Alex Russell, day two of the room was like, “Oh, you guys have to see this Herzog clip” and played the clip of Herzog in the jungles saying how basically all of nature’s suffering. That cracked me up, and it felt very appropriate for the pilot. The finale quote [“Figures of Light”] is probably the one quote that I’ve had since inception. The Carl Jung quote is probably the main North Star for the show, even before I pitched it. It’s “one does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious,” and that is ultimately what this show is about.
The Werner Herzog quote reminded me of the Bible verse that says, “Creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.” There’s a throughline of spirituality and religious experience in the show — for example, Danny and Paul go back to the church they attended when they were younger. What about that experience were you trying to capture, and why does Danny feel that particular desire to go back?
Steven grew up in the Korean church; I did as well. It’s such an almost quintessential part of the Korean American experience — not even in a religious sense, but just as a hub for the community, and I’ve always wanted to explore that in some way. It just felt natural here, because you think about the character Danny, and he absolutely would have grown up in the church. I think someone like him would return in a time of need, when he can’t get a W anywhere else, you return to what you know and your comfort blanket. That’s why it made sense for Danny to revisit. But then, as Danny does, he can’t help but even take that little W and turn it into a loss. That was the impetus of exploring that world, and then a lot of the textures were just mined from conversations of sharing stories of church experiences.
Did you choose the Chris Tomlin version of “Amazing Grace” to be the song Danny sings in church?
It was actually Steven’s choice. I wanted to originally use a Bethel Music song, I forget which one, but then the next thing I know, I had a voice note from Steven. I was like, “What’s this?” and I hit play, and it’s just him singing a cappella “Amazing Grace,” the Chris Tomlin version. It was four minutes long, and it was in perfect pitch, it’s beautiful. I have it saved somewhere. But I heard that and I’m like, “All right. It’s got to be ‘Amazing Grace.’” And then we had fun, especially me and [Citizens Church LA pastor] Jason Min, who’s Justin Min’s older brother, who did a lot of the church music. [We] tried to do a very Korean church, happy version of “Amazing Grace.” That felt very nostalgic as well, because that’s something that that my praise band growing up would have done.
I talked to Steven about how he’s in a lot of things that involve fire in some capacity — in “Burning,” “Minari” and now “Beef.” When you wrote the big fire scene, was that in the background of your head at all?
That’s so funny. I had totally forgotten that. Even before Netflix signed on, that was in the PowerPoint pitch. I was photoshopping a picture of a house burning, and then I was instantly like, “Oh, no! ‘Burning,’ ‘Minari.’” I remember texting him, “Hey, you cool with fire again?” He was like, “Oh, yeah, let’s make it a trilogy” — he said something funny, and he didn’t care at all. But that did cross my mind, and it is very strange, but hopefully this is the end of the trilogy.
Maybe there’s a fire scene that could be worked into “Thunderbolts.”
I don’t think there is right now, but I’ll keep that in mind.
In another interview, you mentioned that Amy’s character was initially conceived as a middle-aged white man. If that had stayed the same, “Beef” would have become a very different show. Was that a factor when you were deciding to change the character, or did it just happen when you met Ali?
A little bit of both? The reason I abandoned Stanley Tucci-type very quickly was because — especially in the modern era — you have to talk about race, and there’s so many other shows that do that very well. I really didn’t have much interest, nor the capabilities to handle that, to write about that. So that was a factor. But I think it wasn’t the factor in working with Ali. If Ali were another race, I still would have wanted to work with her. She really embodies so much about this character that is perfect, and she brings so many nuanced layers to the role. The fact that she is Asian American does help, because it allows for so many other doors to open and for us to explore other themes without having to address the card of race, which would take up a sizable amount of narrative real estate.
The tagline that everyone keeps saying in reference to the show is “This is nothing like you’ve ever seen before.” It’s interesting that “Beef” is not being marketed specifically as this history-making, revolutionary Asian American show. Is that a label that you were consciously trying to avoid? How do you see those dynamics play out in this industry?
That’s a great and complicated question. I am very proud of all that’s happening in Asian American culture today. But I think especially as a writer, you’re always wanting to lead with character first. Yes, these characters happen to be Asian American, but there’s so much more to them than just that. It really isn’t an act of dodging, but it is more of an actively pursuing character. The marketing has been great, both on the Netflix side and the A24 side, wanting to really capture the mood and tone of the show and the mood and tone of these characters. Just the fact that they are Asian American says a lot on the posters, so allowing the show and the world and the characters to overtake that. It just happened organically more than anything else.
Do you feel that, as a writer, there’s a particular pressure, especially in the industry now, to be able to write things that are about race and your own identity specifically?
I personally don’t think about it much. I just try to chase the ideas that are exciting to me. There’s certainly a lot of pressure to impress. I understand — it is an ongoing narrative that I certainly want to be a part of — but yeah, I leave that to the outside world. Internally, I tried to just focus on the ideas and the characters and just mining from real life, trying to try to touch something true every once in a while. I think if I just keep my blinders on that, then everything else organically bubbles up.
