Feature
Bo Burnham’s ‘Inside’: The Perfect COVID-era Time Capsule
How the comedian captured a radicalising, overwhelming, and demoralizing year in isolation with his new special.
Warning: This feature contains minor spoilers for various songs in Inside.
Introduction
On 21 December 2006, a 16-year-old Bo Burnham published his very first video on a then-nascent YouTube; a comedy song titled “My Whole Family,” in which he described the ways that — from his perspective — each of his family members seemingly believed him to be gay. The video promptly went viral, quietly launching his career as a sharp-witted musician-comedian, and he continued uploading songs and videos to online platforms. In 2009, he released a self-titled album under Comedy Central’s record label, containing many of those songs he’d published online, after coming to the cable channel’s attention.
Since then, Burnham’s had three separate stand-up tours from 2010 to 2016 — Words Words Words, what., and Make Happy. While all three of them are wildly different in nature and thematic focus, there’s a couple things they have in common: his sarcastic brand of absurd humour, and his attempts to expose the artifice of his honest yet exaggerated emotions expressed his shows. Even with this in mind, however, Burnham still suffered from his own issues, as he began having panic attacks on stage, and in an attempt to recover from his anxiety he indefinitely retired from stand-up comedy after Make Happy.
Afterwards, Burnham started making a name for himself in the realm of independent film. Eighth Grade (2018) was his debut film as a writer-director, and it premiered at the Sundance Film Festival to critical acclaim, particularly for its earnest portrayal of teenage angst. As for his skills in performance, he utilised them on the silver screen for Emerald Fennell’s Academy Award-winning debut film Promising Young Woman (2020), in which he starred alongside Carey Mulligan in a big supporting role. That film also premiered at Sundance in January of 2020 — the month in which he considered re-entering the world of live comedy.
On 11 March 2020, the world collapsed. The World Health Organization (WHO) classified the novel coronavirus as a pandemic, and in the days that followed, Burnham, like millions of others worldwide, found himself stuck in his home.
On 30 May 2021, Burnham released his latest comedy special, Inside, which he wrote, directed, shot, and edited by himself over the course of the previous year. It’s easily Burnham’s most mature special yet, and that’s not just because of the fact that it’s absurdly well-shot and put together for an entirely one-man, one-room operation. While many of his previous comedy specials may have lacked a certain kind of unity due to how thematically disparate their individual segments and songs were, that same brand of chaos is exactly what unifies Inside as a comedy special representing the COVID-19 era’s malaise.
For the vast majority of people, the past year in quarantine has not only brought on a wave of deep introspection, but it’s also paradoxically given people a heightened awareness of the outside world — its complex systems, its divisive politics, and the flaws in both that ultimately led to untold amounts of infections and deaths. If there’s one thing that makes Burnham perfect for reflecting these developments, it’s his knack for not just satirising these same systems, but also for examining his identity as a performer and as a person — someone who makes a living from getting an audience to laugh.
Whether it be the increased cognizance of sociopolitical dynamics, the growing dependency on the Internet as the only means of communication, or how both factors have contributed to a troubling spike in mental illness, Bo Burnham’s Inside is nothing short of a perfect representation of the COVID-19 era, and a fitting time capsule for a year that we’ve all spent indoors.
1: Social Responsibility
“The world is changing
The planet’s heating up
What the f-ck is going on?
[…] Should I be joking at a time like this?”
So begins the second song of Inside, “Comedy” — a number that seemingly starts self-aware enough, as Burnham reflects on the merits of comedy in a world where there seems to be “nothing to joke about.” In classic Bo Burnham fashion, however, the song promptly transitions into a parody of the self-importance of relatively rich, white male comedians — himself included — and what exactly gives them the right to believe their comedy to be the only thing to save the day when they have untold wealth and influence at their disposal.
At first glance, it’s another example of the typical shtick Burnham’s embraced for his past few specials. For instance, Make Happy features a song titled “Problems” that mocks the entitlement of white privilege, and what. has “Sad,” a song that comments on the sociopathy of exploiting tragedy as a means of black comedy. What makes Inside’s rendition of this trend more potent, however, is the sheer specificity of the time it exists in. The litany of crises that have emerged over the course of the past year are difficult to sum up merely as — in Burnham’s words:
“Systemic oppression. Income inequality… the other stuff.”
Breaking this down seems almost obligatory. Various racial minorities across the United States have faced higher odds of testing positive for the coronavirus and being admitted to the ICU over the past year. Unemployment in the US reached a jarring high of 14.8% during the start of the pandemic, and as of May 2021, still remains higher than it was a month before global lockdowns were put into place. From March 2020 to April 2021, the collective wealth of American billionaires leapt by $1.62 trillion all the way to a dizzying $4.56 trillion. Gender inequalities have been amplified, in part due to the prevalence of women in frontline and essential jobs that have now come under particular strain during a global health crisis. Violence against Black and Asian Americans in recent months has reinvigorated the Black Lives Matter movement and Asian American activism. And as “the other stuff” implies — the list continues on.
Burnham doesn’t dedicate much time in Inside to relentlessly remind us of these developments. What he does instead, however, is remain aware of how the rest of the world has reacted to these drastic social changes. Throughout the first half of the special, Burnham introduces a handful of comedic segments and songs that satirise these trends and reflect how various kinds of people are adapting to the times. Some of it’s sarcastically comedic; all of it is bitingly honest.
For one, the “income inequality” that Burnham mentions during “Comedy” makes frequent appearances all throughout the special, albeit in subtle ways. For instance, Burnham satirically congratulates Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos with two short songs (titled “Bezos I” and “Bezos II”), both of which seemingly celebrate his newfound status as the world’s richest billionaire. On the other end of the income spectrum, Burnham sings a brief, jazzy tune called “Unpaid Intern,” a song that takes a jab at the sheer expendability of interns and other low-income jobs in a growingly commercialised world.
As for Burnham himself, he’s not entirely blameless, either. The song “Problematic” directly addresses how Burnham’s more crass and carelessly offensive brand of comedy in his early years hasn’t exactly done him any favours — as penance, he even projects a cross on the wall and poses in front of it as he sings about wanting to be held accountable. At the same time, however, Burnham uses the song as a chance to point out the hypocrisy of modern celebrities and the half-baked apologies they use when called out for something negative in their past, particularly in the wake of a newfound social reckoning.
Inside’s depiction of social responsibility makes itself most clear with the tune “How the World Works,” a song that likely would have been used in Burnham’s upcoming repertoire for Sesame Street if not for its entire second half. Burnham starts out the song by singing about nature and the various cycles of life, citing that the world can only work if all of the animals, plants, and other forms of life in the world fulfill their respective roles. However, the sock puppet he introduces moments later — dubbed Socko and fitted onto Burnham’s left hand — has another story in mind.
Anyone who’s been particularly privy to the social changes of the past year is likely to resonate with the musical diatribe that Socko unleashes, as he describes the classism of the education system, the threat of neoliberal fascism, the wide reach of the corporate elite, and other systemic problems. However, as Burnham states, Socko is ultimately on his hand, and he soon yanks Socko off using — of course — his right hand, uncomfortable with Socko’s radicalism. It’s a frank reminder that while progressivism is part of a democratic process, the establishment is in charge of which ideas get propagated, a status quo that’s supported and sustained by conservatives. The truth is that fighting for change — even in such an obviously difficult time — is nothing but an uphill battle in the face of such an unmoving system.
2: The Internet
“Apathy’s a tragedy, and boredom is a crime
Anything and everything, all of the time!”
Discussing Inside and its depiction of the internet requires acknowledging some important context — namely that its creator and subject’s career was jumpstarted because of it. Burnham seems to be forever indebted to online video platforms; his comedy first took off because of his YouTube fame, he continued posting comedic material on platforms such as the now-defunct Vine, and his comedy specials can be found on streaming services such as Netflix. That association has brought for Burnham a keen understanding of what the internet is doing to a generation born and raised in a post-noughties world — a generation that’s inevitably become reliant on the internet as a result of not knowing a time before it.
With the pandemic, that same reliance has extended to just about everyone across the world who’s been affected by quarantine lockdowns. Usage of communication and work platforms such as Zoom, Google Classroom, and Microsoft Teams spiked enormously in the days and weeks following March 2020. US household broadband usage rose dramatically in the early months of the pandemic and stagnated at that same height after a brief resurgence in June 2020. None of this should come as a surprise; we’ve been using these very same platforms and the internet at large far more frequently because we simply can’t find a safe way to interact, work, and socialise in person.
For Inside, the end result of this newfound over-dependency is a barrage of songs and sequences that either spoof internet trends or touch on the inextricable flaws of the internet as a means of connection. When it comes to the former, one of the more noteworthy sequences in the special is found in the moments immediately following Burnham’s performance of “Unpaid Intern.” Burnham, playing a streamer, films himself reacting to the song and explaining the song’s themes — until the video loops again, and he finds himself reacting to his reaction to the song. Burnham criticises himself on his pretentiousness the first time this happens; the second time around, he points out his self-criticism as a defense mechanism, a pointed insight about the pressures online creators face from the instantaneous feedback of comment sections, live chats, and tweets.
“White Woman’s Instagram” plays into similar territory, as Burnham recounts the images of the titular, emblematic white woman’s Instagram page, describing her hobbies, performative activism, and aesthetic camerawork. The middle of the song contains a surprise, however — a deeply earnest post about the woman’s mother, who passed away ten years ago, as well as the grief that resulted from her loss. The aspect ratio expands from the format-appropriate 1:1 to 16:9 as Burnham sings through this emotional post, before it reverts back to the usual frame as the woman returns to posting about her activities. It’s a glimmer of insight into this woman’s life that’s immediately squandered by superficial images — a moving moment in the special that exposes the human shortcomings of social networking.
With that said, communication is also a key throughline in Inside, and the special pulls no punches in exposing the unfortunate inadequacies of online social platforms. The third number of the special, “FaceTime with My Mom (Tonight),” is much more melancholy than the song’s lo-fi aesthetic lets on; Burnham seems visibly irritated by having to talk with his mother about uninteresting and trivial topics while she fumbles with her phone camera, and the song’s lyrics describe the experience as nothing more than him “wasting his time.” Yet there’s no relief that comes out of the experience ending, either — the moment he hangs up, he’s sitting alone in the dark, with the only light in the room being the moonlight leaking in through the windows from outside.
“Sexting” is also relatively similar, delivering on the idea that sexting is effectively — in Burnham’s words — the “next best thing” to sex itself, and pointing out the deficiencies that result from this compromise. As the song plays out, describing a sext conversation between Burnham and his partner, Burnham continually overthinks his every message and response, unable to convey — even through both emojis and text — exactly what he’s thinking or what he wants out of their interaction, and not wanting to come off as insecure or a pervert. The last refrain of the song is probably the most lyrically sobering moment of the whole affair:
“Another night on my own, yeah
Stuck in my home, yeah
Sitting alone
One hand on my d-ck and one hand on my phone, yeah”
It’s a rather crude visual to imagine, but it’s effective at conveying the lack of physical intimacy that’s often come about between close partners during quarantine, and the subtle effects it’s had on these relationships. Even though Burnham’s technically still able to connect with his partner through text, the miscommunication that emerges between them, as well as the continuous self-doubt that Burnham exhibits, only exacerbates his loneliness at home — something that may end up straining their relationship if left unchecked.
The fittingly titled “Welcome to the Internet” is where these elements coalesce. Burnham — playing a personification of the internet itself — first bombards the audience with a host of items from all corners of the web, ranging from material such as cooking recipes, Buzzfeed quizzes, and fantasy sports to erotic fan-fiction, gore footage, anti-vaccine conspiracies, and incel violence. It’s a chilling summation of the internet’s sensory overload; a reminder that the information at an average internet user’s disposal often expands and spirals out of control, whether that be a result of the algorithms at play or merely because of the user’s morbid curiosity.
The most unsettling part of the song isn’t here, however; it’s the ballad-esque middle verse that contains much bleaker implications. In it, Burnham sings through the origins of the internet, pointing out that its creation in 1999 — a shockingly early beginning for such an integral part of our lives today — was merely for catalogs, travel blogs, and chatrooms; a far cry from the all-encompassing information that modern social media feeds contain. He then goes on to address the generation of people born after this development; an “insatiable[…] unstoppable, watchable” young audience that’s unknowingly being turned into fully exposed, algorithmic variables for advertisements and corporations to exploit, all before they’ve even graduated high school.
As far as Burnham’s maniacal laughter towards the song’s end is concerned, everything is falling into place. And given the pandemic’s skyrocketing effect on online usage, he has all the more reason to gloat about it.
3: Mental Illness and Fatigue
Warning: This section contains explicit discussions of depression and suicide. Resources are provided at the bottom of this feature.
“There it is again
That funny feeling
That funny feeling…”
It’s safe to say that Inside doesn’t contain much optimism for the future, especially given that each of the aforementioned numbers don’t exactly have happy endings. “How the World Works” ends with Socko being violently ripped off of Bo’s left hand. “Sexting” ends with Bo singing a refrain about his sexual frustration from his lack of physical intimacy. “FaceTime with My Mom (Tonight)” ends with Bo singing about how he’s wasting time calling his mother, then sitting by himself in the dark the moment he hangs up. “Welcome to the Internet” has Bo’s personification of the internet basking in the absolutely dystopian dominance it now holds over billions of minds.
Consider these moments in the context of our current situation. We’ve been fed an unceasing stream of information online about societal issues, all of which — as we soon come to believe — we can’t do anything about and are only getting worse. We’ve been robbed of intimacy and in-person communication with our friends and loved ones, replaced instead by low-quality video squares. We’re living past what were supposed to be major opportunities and milestones in our lives, all while we’re stuck at home.
These are immensely disillusioning times, and while some of us have found the fortitude to persevere through them, nearly all of us have suffered a significant mental toll in some way or another. From January to June of 2019, 11.0% of adults reported symptoms of anxiety and/or depressive disorder — a number that spiked to 41.1% on January 2021 in a newer study conducted by the Household Pulse Survey. Another CDC study showed that 25% of essential workers and 11% of nonessential workers started or increased substance use to cope with COVID-related stress — even more distressingly, 22% of essential workers and 8% of nonessential workers seriously considered suicide in the wake of the pandemic.
These statistics are not exhaustive. There is a clear sense of anxiety, fear, and hopelessness that’s been inflicted or amplified as a result of this crisis; one that is going to last long after the dust has settled.
That anxiety makes itself clear in Inside from the outset. In Burnham’s spoken introduction to the special, he quite bluntly states:
“I hope this special can maybe do for you what it’s done for me[…] which is… um, to distract me from wanting to put a bullet in my head. With a gun.”
And while the first half of the special is mostly dedicated to more satirical bits, it’s from the exact midpoint of the show — the moment that Burnham turns 30 years old, sitting alone inside, with no one to celebrate with — that things take a more serious turn.
The song that directly follows his birthday, aptly titled “30,” serves almost as an epiphany for Burnham, and even though the song itself sounds relatively upbeat, the lyrics tell a different story. The song primarily functions as Burnham grieving his bygone youth; something that made him particularly stand out from his comic contemporaries, and something that allowed him to remain in touch with a rather devout younger audience. Overwhelmed by this realization, Burnham proclaims that he’ll commit suicide when he turns 40 at the end of the song, immediately followed by a sequence in which he advocates against suicide — despite saying seconds later that he’d genuinely follow through with it if he could remain “temporarily” dead for 18 months.
Later songs don’t get much better. “Sh-t” and “All Time Low” are shorter numbers, similar in nature to “30” in terms of being energetic songs with deeply depressive undertones. However, they deal much more explicitly with Burnham’s declining mental health in quarantine and his recurring panic attacks, with lyrics such as “Wake up at 11:30 / feeling like a bag of sh-t” or “My heart, it gets to tapping / And I think I’m gonna die!” being more obvious pointers. The lack of an audience is also something Burnham utilizes to further drive his point home in several numbers; despite his incorporation of a pre-recorded audience and canned laugh tracks, it quite purposefully doesn’t do enough to distract from the lonely reality shown on screen.
Where all of this culminates is a number titled “That Funny Feeling,” a simple acoustic guitar song that initially sounds like a calmer, more solemn version of “Welcome to the Internet,” especially with its listicle-style lyrics:
“The surgeon general’s pop-up shop, Robert Iger’s face
Discount Etsy agitprop, Bugles’ take on race…”
Here, however, the “funny feeling” referenced in the title and repeated in the song’s chorus reflects a sense of fatigue and depression after months on end of helplessly watching the world tear itself apart. This is where the other two factors come in — the song is ruinously compelling at presenting the belief that greed, broken politics, and unrestrained capitalism have ruined this world beyond simply allowing the pandemic to spread, and have completely devalued or exploited genuine causes and ideas. And if the similar lyrical structure to “Welcome to the Internet” is any indication, the online world has only exacerbated these beliefs by algorithmically inundating him with society’s apocalyptic ills. By the time Burnham reaches the end of the song, this is all he repeats:
“Hey, what can you say?
We were overdue
But it’ll be over soon
You wait”
There’s seemingly not much hope to be found in the way “it” ends.
Conclusion
If one thing is clear about Inside, it’s that a fair majority of it is, in fact, artifice. Nearly every scene of this special — even the ones in which Burnham seems to be in the middle of producing it or authentically expressing his emotions — are framed so meticulously and deliberately to a point where it almost entirely rules out the possibility of Inside being a quasi-documentary. It’s also worth noting that Burnham is currently in a relationship with Hustlers (2019) director Lorene Scafaria, and they — along with their pets — are currently living together in a house that is probably much bigger than the small room Burnham’s seemingly stuck in. That said, if the slew of positive reviews from viewers and critics alike are any indication, there is a real, authentic honesty in how it depicts the past year and three months in isolation — something that wouldn’t have come about had Burnham not genuinely felt these changes and emotions to some degree.
Towards the very end of the special, Burnham asks the audience if he’s “right back where he started 14 years ago.” It’s a rather poetically appropriate question — just as “My Whole Family” came about from Burnham filming himself in his room, so, too, did the vast majority of Inside. Yet there’s an evolution here that Burnham neglects to address with this question; one that exemplifies his growing maturity not just as a filmmaker, but also as one of the most socially aware, honest, and introspective comedians of our time.
Again, there’s not much hope to be found towards the end of the special, but there’s still something consoling about watching someone else honestly convey their personal experience in such a difficult, harrowing year. No one is going to leave the COVID era fully unscathed — that’s for certain — but maybe there’s also some solace to be found in that none of us are going through this alone.
If you or someone you know is currently struggling with depression and thoughts of suicide, please contact these resources.
For US readers:
Lifeline website: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org
Hotline: 1–800–273–8255
(Español: 1–888–628–9454. Deaf and hard of hearing: 1–800–799–4889)
List of crisis services: https://afsp.org/suicide-prevention-resources
Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741–741
For UK readers:
Samaritans website: https://www.samaritans.org
Helpline: 116 123
Support the Campaign Against Living Miserably (CALM): https://www.thecalmzone.net
Shout Text Service: Text SHOUT to 85258
Header image: left to right: Bo Burnham in Inside, performing “How the World Works,” “Sh-t,” “Problematic,” and “Welcome to the Internet.” Graphic created by James Y. Lee. © Netflix.
