This isn’t your average comedy special.
Just a few days ago, I was only mildly aware of Bo Burnham. A vine here, a meme there – I knew him primarily as some kid who got famous on the internet and made fun of my parents. I certainly would never have guessed he would be the one to hand deliver the gut-wrenching, soul-cleansing, out-of-body catharsis I’ve needed desperately since the start of the pandemic.
In Burnham’s new Netflix “comedy special,” Inside, that’s exactly what he does, taking his audience through the exhausting task of creating art in quarantine while trying to resist the urge to kill himself. The classic Existential Crisis is on full HD display here, from early stages of anxiety as Burnham questions a comedian’s role in the modern world (Oh, shit / Should I be joking at a time like this?) to the crushing despair of a man on the verge of finishing the lone project that’s kept him going. We’re invited to watch as the single room in which Inside is shot falls into complete disarray – along with our host – and sing along to the bleak deterioration of the ego in the juxtaposing throes of hyper-stimulation and loneliness.
That’s not to say Inside is without humor. It’s hilarious, just not in the thigh-slapping sense. There are a couple of brief stand-up routines and a few clever sketches commenting on the nature of “woke” marketing and self-immolation by way of YouTube, which are depressingly fun. He also sings upbeat songs about classism and not showering for nine days that are damn catchy. More than anything, though, and especially through the show’s masterful production design and semi-linear format, Burnham taps into the darkest of comedy by offering raw exhibitions of all-too relatable mania loosely woven together with visceral bouts of ambivalence. One has to laugh to avoid total paralysis or an onset of tears.
Thankfully, after each fragment of uncertainty, maniacal laughter, or ennui, comes the catharsis. I can’t speak for everyone, but I personally have never related to anyone as intensely as I relate to Bo Burnham during Inside‘s 87 minutes of runtime. He’s managed to capture the entire pandemic experience in a way that is poignant and devastatingly human, then delivers it in bittersweet spoonfuls (which makes his opening song all the more apropos, as he sings: Look, I made you some content / Daddy made you your favorite / Open wide / Here comes the content).
And it must be said again that a huge contributor to the effectiveness of Inside is its production. Burnham wrote, directed, shot, and edited this entire special alone in one room over the course of a year, utilizing a wealth of everyday objects to create mood lighting, visual effects, shockingly accurate parodies of Instagram photos, and even a subservient co-host. Venetian blinds act as prison bars (a noir staple), patterns of suggestive emojis are projected across his face during a soulful song about sexting, and shadowplay creates the illusion that he has backup dancers as he wails his way angrily into his thirties. If nothing else, Inside is an absolute feast of ingenuity and creativity within its medium.
I’ve used several food metaphors in this review, haven’t I?
Like I said… Apropos.
Whether the wide array of emotions we witness here are sincere or performative, only Bo knows, but I don’t think it really matters. They feel incredibly, painfully real and their impact is deafening. Most of us have, to varying degrees and in myriad ways, been worn down by the pandemic, the political climate in America, systemic racism, cancel culture… We’ve spent seemingly endless months in conference with ourselves, trying to make sense of it all, wondering what will happen – and how we will live – when the madness has passed and the time comes to move forward. We’ve had a lot of time to think. Clearly, so has Bo Burnham.
Through Inside, he’s given voice to those thoughts, asking all the right questions and finding that perhaps there are no easy answers, uniting his audience in solemn deliverance while remaining six feet away.
No rating for this one.
It’s too good for my silly little pink skulls.
Final Girl Friday 