‘Beef Season 2’ Review: Oscar Isaac and Carey Mulligan Anchor Netflix’s Darker, Colder Study of Power and Resentment

The first season of Beef revolved around a very specific kind of escalating violence—the kind of conflict that begins with a minor disagreement and, because no one backs down or takes responsibility, spirals into something wildly disproportionate. Season two significantly reshapes that dynamic. While “beef” remains the central engine, the way it manifests is different. This is no longer open, declared warfare. Instead, it becomes something more insidious and calculated—a quiet, manipulative way of making other people’s lives miserable.

That’s not the only shift. Another key difference lies in motivation: actions here are less about personal revenge or emotional release and more about economic convenience. Most importantly, the conflict is no longer confined to two individuals. It expands into a chain of interconnected resentments, forming a murky socio-economic web in which everyone is trying to gain leverage over someone else, regardless of where they fall on the social ladder. If anything, with this structure the show might more accurately be called Blackmail rather than Beef.

Josh Martín (Oscar Isaac) and Lindsay Crane-Martín (Carey Mulligan) are a married couple living and working at a California country club. He manages the sprawling, luxurious property—a kind of middleman between wealthy owners, demanding clients, and the staff who keep the place running. It’s an inherently uncomfortable position. They have no children and dream of owning a place of their own, but lack the financial means. Their relationship is tense, often erupting into sharp, volatile arguments.

Ashley Miller (Cailee Spaeny) and her boyfriend Austin Davis (Charles Melton) also work at the club, though in far more marginal roles. One night, near Josh and Lindsay’s home, they witness a violent argument between the couple. Ashley, shaken, records it. When Josh and Lindsay notice them, they quickly downplay the situation as nothing serious. The moment seems to pass—until Ashley and Austin, burdened by debt and stuck in underpaid jobs, make a risky decision that edges into blackmail. They confront the couple and threaten to release the video unless Ashley is promoted. Reluctantly, Josh gives in.

Things grow even more complicated when the club is purchased by a Korean billionaire, Mrs. Park (Youn Yuh-jung, an Oscar winner for Minari), whose presence immediately instills fear of layoffs. Beneath her stern exterior, she harbors secrets of her own, tied to problems caused by her husband, Dr. Kim (Song Kang-ho, known for Parasite and The Host). Add to that a series of shady financial dealings—some committed, others discovered and leveraged—and the tension only escalates.

What unfolds is a narrative built on overlapping acts of blackmail—real or implied—that force characters to maintain appearances while harboring deep resentment and contempt for one another. Each couple is also unraveling internally: Ashley and Austin grow increasingly disconnected, while Josh and Lindsay barely tolerate each other. Other figures populate the club—some real life celebrities play exaggerated versions of themselves as wealthy members—often intensifying tensions from positions of privilege.

The divide between Ashley and Austin and Josh and Lindsay—and even more so Mrs. Park—is not only economic but generational. The former are in their twenties, the latter in their forties, and Park in her seventies. Yet age proves irrelevant: across generations and class lines, everyone is equally capable of cruelty when it serves their interests.

Season two of Beef is intense, winding, and often nerve-racking, especially in its early episodes as the story expands outward. Around the fourth episode, however, it falls into a curious slump, drifting into somewhat absurd territory (including a hospital-set storyline that takes up nearly an entire episode). It eventually recovers—though not without effort—in its final stretch, which shifts settings and leans more heavily into the conventions of a traditional crime drama.

As in the first season, one of the show’s challenges is emotional connection. With few exceptions, these are cruel, self-serving characters, willing to do almost anything to secure an advantage—whether or not they feel entitled to it. Each has their justification: Ashley and Austin struggle to afford healthcare, Josh and Lindsay chase the economic power of the club’s elite clientele, and Mrs. Park is determined not to lose what she has built. The result is a constantly tightening web of deceit, as they exploit one another in increasingly unpredictable ways.

Where the season truly stands out is in its broader social perspective, echoing the kind of class-conscious storytelling often found in South Korean cinema—clearly an influence on creator Lee Sung Jin. Films like Parasite or No Other Choice place economic conditions at the center of their characters’ decisions, and Beef operates in a similar register. What proves more difficult is the show’s pervasive misanthropy. It not only complicates viewer identification but at times feels like a worldview in itself.

Still, when the series moves beyond its catalog of cruelties—when it allows for unexpected alliances or moments of reflection—it opens up. It suggests that these characters are not simply monstrous, but shaped by the conditions surrounding them. Everyone wants more than what they have. And when effort isn’t enough, and no help is coming, survival may depend on deception, manipulation, and blackmail.

And so, the world keeps turning.