Bo Burnham’s INSIDE

COVID grief and closure

Introduction

Many folks already wrote critical analyses of this piece of media immediately after its release. I highly recommend the Dissect podcast’s series analyzing the full special. The podcast keenly breaks down all the contextual and explicit elements that speak to the main narrative in Inside. This narrative is generally related to the commodified performance of self and politics through social media in the age of capitalism. It is also a reflection of some of the realities of Bo’s own mental health, which we’ll touch on briefly. Unlike many other analyses, I believe that the discussions of Bo’s mental health are missing some of the points. Bo is using himself as an example of how his mental health looked during COVID, how mental health impacts artistic performance, and cues to the audience to reflect on how their performance of self impacts their mental health. I believe there is a healthy detachment between Bo’s true mental health and how it is enacted in Inside - though that detachment is intentionally hidden from the viewer. The performance itself is recreating the true realities of mental decline in a deliberate, packaged way. 

Outside of the multiple narratives that Mr. Burnham expertly creates in this art, Inside fulfills a purpose for its viewers: closure. Inside debuted at number 1 on the Billboard Comedy Albums chart and number 116 on the Billboard 200. Bo won six separate awards for this special, and there are endless reviews of it, including from NPR. Outside of the timeliness of this piece, I want to explore what makes it so well-received and moving. In Bo Burnham’s other directorial work, “Eighth Grade” the reception of viewers was that it was near impossible to watch because of how cringey and uncomfortable it was - not due to poor directing but exactly the opposite. Eighth Grade uses pathos strategies to elicit emotion from the viewer, and it does it exceptionally well. This movie was intended to make viewers recall and connect with the discomfort of being an awkward tween and the anxiety associated with that time. Bo’s skills of implicitly forming a connection between art and his viewer are documented in Eighth Grade, and now, in Inside. 

One Slate article discussed how the author (Lili Loofbourow) felt that the special fell flat for her. This article specifically referenced a quote from a Reddit page that said, “I wept openly during the latter half of that song. I didn’t know I was still experiencing such immense grief, but there it was. Thanks for helping me process my shit, Bo.” This quote, I feel, summarizes how the success of the special was not just isolated to critics but echoed throughout the public for over a year after its release. This author of the Slate article finds Bo’s performance to be disingenuous and an issue of exaggeration. I think that Bo’s choice was an exceptional use of privilege to normalize a common, taboo experience. If he can recreate his mental struggles (and ours) for the big screen to help us process something we would not have even spoken about, why would we risk higher stakes of the reality of someone’s real confessional?  

Instead of critiquing the appropriateness of Bo’s narrative or choices, I will be talking about the function of this piece in the lives of many. Its viral fan success reflects an emotional connection. It’s clear this piece emotionally moved most everyone, and a majority can tell you it’s because they were connected to the universal experience of COVID. Here, I want to analyze the pieces of the special (narratively, cinematically, psychology) and how they speak to each facet of our personal experiences of COVID, and give us a resolution to the ambiguous loss we experienced. Ambiguous loss is a theory that describes the effects of suffering from a loss that is not tangible. Usually, this is a continuous loss for a period of time or something that you cannot put your hands on. For example, when a parent is incarcerated, the children of that parent may feel ambiguous loss. In other words, you feel grief, but you cannot define where it is coming from because there isn’t a single instance of loss. 

This breakdown will include what I recognize as potential factors in the media that are emotionally manipulative. I mean this neutrally, in the way that art and therapy (allegedly) are benign manipulations. Without ever mentioning COVID, Mr. Burnham does a better job than many in helping us name the losses and pull out the stagnant grief left in us during the initial isolation of the pandemic. I want to be clear that this analysis will discuss potential function and not artistic intention. Although I am invested in my interpretation of how this special created closure for many, I do not necessarily believe that each of these techniques were uniformly deliberate for that purpose. 

In the interest of brevity and digestibility, I will first review the general techniques that I have identified and how I believe they work for the audience. Then, I provide a full chronological discussion which identifies all factors for comment. The section “a broader look” at the end of the paper (which you can skip to) will discuss audience reception and some recommendations for recognizing and processing COVID-related grief outside of this special. 

Techniques and Overview 

The structure of the special as I will describe it follows this trajectory: 

• The exposition of the story is built from songs 1 through 6. We find out who Bo is, what has changed, and watch as the tone eventually shifts from normalcy.

• The build-up of tension for the viewer occurs in songs 7 through 12. We witness Bo’s mental decline and become disoriented along with him.

• We get some clear, though unpleasant answers, in songs 13 through 17. This is where the viewer is inundated with extreme emotions and overwhelm. 

• The climax, resolution, and conclusion all occur suddenly in songs 18 through 20. 

Overall, Bo Burnham has curated an exceedingly impressive special that knocks us down in order to help us back up. The framing of the special in a single room creates a claustrophobic perspective where we get very little stimulation outside of what he intentionally delivers to us. A level of sensory deprivation is used so that the visual and musical cues are more impactful. Throughout the special, we are disoriented and overwhelmed. The more erratic we feel, the less we can focus on inhibiting our feelings. 

Through the use of his own personalized narrative of mental health, an approximation of the truth, he builds an intimate parasocial relationship with his audience. We spend the entire special growing more familiar and empathetic with Bo and his struggles. This is a key to the ultimate release we feel, as the humanization of his story allows us to empathize with ourselves. Although that may seem redundant, the collective trauma of COVID required us to repress the overwhelming amount of grief we all felt in order to survive. So, by making Bo’s struggles the center of our empathy, we connect to our own experiences. 

Religious imagery is used throughout the special to prime us into a faithful and spiritual mindset. Religion and especially christian imagery connects us to themes of forgiveness, loss, the afterlife, and connection to something larger than ourselves - even a pandemic. This religious undertone is necessary for the final release of grief, as Bo draws on specific emotional tactics from christian mediums to encourage us to vent our feelings. 

Chronologically

1. Opening & Content 

The first scene of Inside is a dark room with a single chair, no personal effects on the wall, and a keyboard. The empty walls and set-up are de-personalized to the point that it becomes personal for all of us. Similar to how romance novels have protagonists that are poorly described, which allows everyone to project themselves onto the main character. This chair and keyboard set recall images of being in a church. The room grows bright at the door’s opening, potentially symbolizing the overwhelm of the outside compared to the stillness of the inside. This light, additionally, is godly. I know you’re thinking Lizard, you sound like an English teacher symbolizing curtain color. I will take that point. However, the reason I point out these peripheral images is because the religious symbolism continues throughout Inside. Additionally, for this special to resonate with so many, the images must be varied but personable. By having smaller imagery that places us in specific mindsets, the payoff is larger. Any possible imagery is worth noting because they are simply possible cues. 

In the first song, “content,” we are faced by a disheveled Bo who begins by singing “if you’d have told me, a year ago, that i’d be locked inside of my home, I would have told you, a year ago, interesting now leave me alone.” This immediate framing of a year ago is meant to elicit from the viewer a recall of the “before-times,” and the flippant response is instantly relatable. Even for someone who may not know what Inside was about before clicking into it on Netflix, would immediately recognize the COVID context. That recognition is set up immediately to be a reflection of ourselves during COVID. 

“Robert’s been a little depressed,” is the first cue we have in the special of Bo detaching from his stage-character that we are used to. It may not be immediately obvious that Robert is his full name, as the viewers are used to his stage name: Bo. This not only highlights the disconnect between performer and performance, but viewer and the “relationship” that they form to the artist. This disorientation is just the beginning of a long and tense build up throughout this special which is meant to make you confused and unsettled. 

The next lines, “And so today I’m gonna try just, getting up, sitting down, going back to work, might not help but still it couldn’t hurt.” With the return of workers prior to vaccines, I can imagine that this phrase is familiar to most. We all, to some degree, tried just getting up and going back to work. This was a loss, as well; a loss of our time and our ability to properly grieve what was happening in COVID, especially with the overwhelm of the news cycle at that time. The rest of the song continues about content. Digital media and self-commodification through social media is a huge theme in Inside, but it is not why we’re here. 

2. Comedy

“The world is changing,” the choice of changing versus changed is a small decision but one that I think makes a much larger impact. By placing us in an ongoing active mindset, it reminds us that COVID is not the only change in our social lives at the time this was released. He follows this with one other major event, “The planet’s heating up, what the fuck is going on?” I believe that any more in the opening and many viewers would be too overwhelmed to continue watching. The second line, the questioning, is relatable to everyone’s constant fear and discomfort with current situations. Especially as the daily news contained a constant stream of reports that were apocalyptic but contained very little explanation. Example: “Murder hornets have been AWOL for the past year.” Sensationalization creates a feeling of the other shoe dropping but we never heard it land. “It’s like everything happened all at once, um, what the fuck is going on?” 

After this line, we hear a laugh track that is played by Bo as he moves his hand outside of the spotlight to a soundboard. This is a jarring moment in the dark room of Bo’s recording. It becomes emotionally apparent that Bo is adding that laugh track manually as we’re watching. Is that for him or for us? This moment elicits an immediate sadness by reflecting the change of Bo’s career and that where there once were live individuals, there are now digital composites of their purpose. It is also interesting that this is the only moment throughout the special in which laugh tracks are used, potentially demonstrating the delusional optimism for things to be like they were before, until that optimism runs out and the remaining special is delivered to us - the silent audience. 

“The people rising in the streets, the war, the drought, the more I look the more I see nothing to joke about.” Vagueness, I believe, is a deliberate choice here. By phrasing as “the war, the drought,” Burnham allows us to fill in the mental blank with whichever war or drought we have the easiest recall of - exploiting our accessibility bias. In the next lines, we get our first glimpse of Burnham’s grief. “Is comedy over? Should I leave you alone? ‘Cause really who’s gonna go for, joking at a time like this?” Knowing Bo Burnham as a comedian first, this line clearly denotes his loss of safety in comedy, potential loss of career, and loss of sense in the world. Even if comedy is still okay, he is lamenting the possible loss of something he previously used to understand the world - a coping skill and a framework of communication. “I wanna help to leave this world, better than I found it, and I fear that comedy won’t help, and the fear is not unfounded.” The final piece of that line, and the fear is not unfounded, is something that many have felt. I’d argue that many have even heard this in therapy, as the pandemic brought very well-founded fears that could not be rationalized away. Fear of illness, fear of loved one’s death, fear of public places, fear of physical contact, all suddenly became very rational fears in light of COVID, especially during periods of massive uncertainty in the early part of the pandemic. 

This song is where the persona of Bo, for this special, grows. Throughout the special he calls out his own privilege as a white man multiple times and uses himself as a character (and vehicle) for the larger narrative he is spinning. However, I’m not here to talk about that, I’m here to talk about the function of this narrative as I’ve seen it play out psychologically for viewers. So he feigns ignorance to “the other stuff” happening in the world besides systematic oppression and income inequality. This also makes him more accessible. The viewer does not have to know everything that is going on to be overwhelmed by it, and that makes the connection to the piece even easier. 

We also see the return of the biblical and Godly imagery in the moment where the spotlight on Bo becomes a blinding light leading the booming voice that provides guidance for Bo to continue comedy and follow his path. In the next verse, the camera zooms out to a background that is projected on Bo’s wall with clouds and beams of light. The next few lines are sung as we see different clips of Bo doing things around his home. This is noteworthy because although other scenes will involve footage of other things, this is the only scene where it is fanciful and almost represents a magical surrealism. It is light in a way that the remaining material is not. It seems as though the scenes and “skits” themselves represent the motivation and energy that they took to conduct. Perhaps even connecting to our initial naivety and optimism in the early stages of COVID’s discovery and the “two-week” shutdown that we were originally promised would be sufficient. Although we are aware of Bo’s home in this scene, it is not oppressive in the way it becomes in the remainder of the special. 

It is only after the issue at hand has been introduced that we get an introduction from Bo. The title screen is the same room as we saw first, much more cluttered and haphazard, with INSIDE in large, red letters. This brings recall of the opening scene, shows time passage, shows mindset, and leads us to see Bo again. For this “camera test” we see short clips of Bo over what we can assume are various behind-the-scenes attempts to create what we are watching. This creates a feeling of vulnerability because we can relate to the feeling of creating a final product and having lots of unseen selfies, tiktok drafts, or other materials. It cues us to empathize with what it is like to show the raw material of anything to anyone. As he zooms into the black center of his camera lens, it gives us time to sit with the discomfort of that feeling. This moment of zooming into the camera also may be playing into his self-commodification theme. However, it also lends itself to the parasocial relationship that we are building with Bo. I will talk about this later when I discuss the public’s response to Inside. 

For now, suddenly, not only are we in his house, but we are seeing behind that to the “unedited” Bo. In this scene, Mr. Burnham is clean shaven, with much shorter hair, which makes us think of the time before the Bo we saw in the beginning. It preps us for decline that we know is coming based on our first look at the ragged and somewhat aged Bo in the opening. As we move through the different camera checks, his hair grows, as do the bags under his eyes. Even throughout these, we don’t catch up to the point of hair-length that is in the opener. This immediately creates tension for the viewer, we are waiting to see how we get to that length and what other decline is present. We are also taking subtle cues from the background scenes, such as the trash and clutter on the floor of his home. In the last verse of this song, the lighting in the scene comes from Bo’s desk and that light source is from below which distinctly highlights the eye bags and general distress that is worn on his face. This is followed by lasers and a pseudo-emphatic delivery of the remaining lines of the verse. This creates a jarring whiplash type transition, possibly mimicking the ups-and-downs of COVID. Especially as we can all relate to at least one minor hypomanic experience throughout COVID lockdown — perhaps when we all decided to learn to make bread. Otherwise, this creates tensions, again, as we progress through the narrative because we do not have time to process it. This tension brings release later - but we’ll talk about it.  

So, as Inside has so far built tension for us awaiting Mr. Burnham’s mental decline and through the religious messaging by providing an “outside” voice in the Inside-verse. The transition to the next scene begins with birds chirping outside the window. This is a reminder of the outside world, nature, and all the things that are missing from COVID isolation. Don’t get me wrong, a bunch of people went for walks. However, the half-drawn blinds and sounds of chirping from the INSIDE, pull us to sympathize with Bo in his solitary confinement. We cut, then, to a monologue explaining what the special is and what to expect. 

The way that Bo speaks about his special is a lot like the way that COVID was spoken about, “instead of being filmed in a single night, it will be filmed in uh, however long it takes to finish.” An interesting choice here is leaving the filler words in. This not only increases that parasocial intimacy and vulnerability but also denotes his hesitancy and mental capacity (or lack thereof) at the time of filming. Even if we do not consciously know it, it is clear that Bo had enough time to refilm that scene as many times as he needed to remove the filler words - which means they were intentional (for intimacy) or “unintentional” (to denote mental capacity.) “That our Lord intended” is brought in, an explicit nod toward religious messaging. 

We get the first note of suicidality in this initial opening monologue. “I hope this special can do for you what it’s done for me these last couple months, which is, uh, to distract me from wanting to put a bullet into my head…with a gun.” This not only makes us feel closer to Bo because of how intimate that disclosure is, but also puts us in closer relation because his statement acknowledges the likelihood that we are experiencing the same thing. It is important to note that through these cues so far - we know we’re reflecting on COVID but it has not been stated. This scene ends with “I can already sort of tell that this special is going to be a little all over the place, so don’t expect an incredibly smooth transiti-” with an abrupt cut to the next scene. 

Although this cut is humorous, because of the irony - it is also the beginning of what I will refer to as dissociative cutscenes. Even leading into this scene, when we are looking at the blinds - the angle from which we are looking at them is one that would be visible, realistically, we would see looking at them from below, as if laying in bed. 

3. Facetime with my Mom (Tonight)

The noteworthy technique in Facetime with my Mom Tonight, is not just in its relatability. The reminder of distance communication is accessible and it is another impressive piece without explicit reference to COVID. Additionally, we get a brief moment of connection and sadness in a look at Bo’s (hypothetical) relationship with his father in the lines, “Look who’s here say ‘hi’ to dad, He says ‘how ya doin’ bud?’ I say, ‘I’m not so bad’ and that’s the deepest talk we’ve ever had.” This exchange plucks on the emotional harp strings of all of us who had distant relationships with our parents, before or after COVID. This glimpse also recalls ideas of how avoidant everyone was in conversations regarding anything that could be potentially emotional. 

Theoretically, this piece can stand outside of the isolation and lockdown context. However, the visual cues we get from Bo are striking. At the end refrain of “my mother’s covering her camera with her thumb” we get a split screen of three angles of Bo’s frustration with his mother. It is an outburst that shakes Bo physically from the aggression. Irritability and grief go hand-in-hand. This seemingly skewed reaction to a small frustration is a strong milestone in the mental decline that is being documented. We see Bo mouth the words “I’m sorry” four or five times before “I’m sorry okay?” and the song resolves. Bo is left in a dark room. For viewers who experienced distance from relatives, or even experienced family dysfunction at any point, this scene is a familiar one. The juxtaposition of a song that is humorous in isolation to an extreme emotional explosion that subverts the general tone creates an opportunity for a strong response from the viewer. It’s the emotional equivalent of having a good day when Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car starts playing over a store PA system - when we fall into strong memories that elicit a feeling that is contradictory to our mood, we fall hard. 

After this song, we see Bo shuffle around his house into the room where his computer and production equipment are set up. There are various pieces of paper and general mess that he steps over to get to his work station. We hear an airplane fly overhead which highlights the stark silence of his room and creates tension for us. As a viewer, we’re having to sit in the silence of our thoughts during the special, as well as watch Bo sit in his. Around this same point - there is a small image that flashes in the bottom right of the screen over the footage. It’s so quick you could miss it after multiple watches. This blip, if recognized, brings the viewer back into context that this is digital media that has been edited and is not the true reality of something like a livestream. Additionally, this adds to the dissociative effect of the special which is primarily maintained through the sudden cuts and jumps between various tones and topics. This can remind us how even in moments of silence, we are inundated with blips of thoughts, memories, or content we’ve consumed. 

4. How the World Works

Perhaps the most intellectualized exploration of grief, is the fourth song: How the World Works. By using a lighthearted tune and eventually a sock-puppet named Socko - we see childish themes emerge immediately. Similar to a children’s show, the “host,” Bo directly addresses the audience. Although we have been addressed by Bo in the opening monologue, this time frames us as a young audience in a mindset of learning. The lyrics begin with simple images like bees, flowers, and elephants. This framing helps us access a more youthful understanding of ourselves in the context of Bo’s story. However, the education that we are receiving is delivered in an ironic context of childish images that evolve into high-level socio-political theory. For example, the line neoliberal fascists are destroying the left could never be understood by the youthful audience this is tonally set for. That irony provides some semblance of humor or at least ironic discomfort. However, the song itself reflects the pain and loss under capitalism. For those who are tuned in lyrically, that grief of capitalism may be paramount. 

However, there is an exchange between Bo and Socko that is abruptly in the middle of the song and represents a much larger structural exchange of oppression. I have to talk briefly about this to talk about what it pulls out of us. 

Socko delivers his version of how the world works, critiquing the “simple narrative taught in every history class” as “demonstrably false and pedagogically classist.” Bo then asks what he can do to help and receives criticism from Socko who recommends that he educate himself. Bo apologizes and states that he is just trying to become a better person. Now this exchange mirrors some of the conversations happening in the general public (and specifically on the internet) about social issues in the current day. However, they continue with Socko further fighting against Bo’s feigned ignorance and self-serving intentions.

Eventually, Socko loses his cool and says “why do you rich fucking white people insist on seeing every sociopolitical conflict through the myopic lens of your own self actualization? This isn’t about you! So either get with it, or get out the fucking way!”” To which Bo responds, “Watch your mouth Buddy, remember who’s on whose hand here,” which is not only a reference to the puppetry of Socko, but to the control of the dominant class on policing the speech of the oppressed. Socko’s continued arguments fall on deaf ears as Bo attempts to remove Socko from his hand right when it sounds like he may be beginning to talk about white supremacy. As he begins to remove him, Socko protests and cries “I don’t want to go back!” This could mean to the liminal space of not being puppeted but could also refer to the loss of rights and “back” to a worse time. Patronizingly, Bo requests that Socko behave himself, apologizes, falls in line, and this is punctuated by Bo requesting that he say “Yes sir.” 

Demeaning Socko primarily represents the narrative of the dehumanization of life under capitalism. However, we’re analyzing how this special pulls grief out of the viewers. So, I want to draw your attention to the viewers mindset and the conflict we’re presented with. By providing us a frame of reference to a children’s show and making the audience (us) the children - this power exchange between Bo and Socko can also look similar to any displays of authority. The common experiences of unjust behavior of authority toward children means that a majority of viewers have experienced, at some point, an authoritarian adult. Now, alongside the explicit grief exposed lyrically, we have another emotive layer. 

When Socko submits to the requests of compliance, Bo states “are you gonna behave yourself” prompting the eventual response we discussed, “yes sir.” While this exchange is spoken, it is followed by a musical rejoining after the conflict is “resolved.” Bo initially sings a call of “I hope you learned your lesson” and Socko responds, “I did and it hurt!” This musical coming-together with clear tensions despite the agreement is a reflection of unhealed pain in our larger communities. It can be reminiscent of the continued fights toward progress that many activists and general people are witnessing or leading themselves. However, more simply and perhaps more importantly for our topic, is this explicit mention of Socko’s pain. We are once again asked to empathize with another character who is able to call out their pain. This is not only a reminder of the pain that we each carry from the pandemic, but also an invitation. As silly as it sounds (and it’s meant to be somewhat silly), this sock puppet is following in the footsteps of many puppets that have come before him. The common career for puppets across the world - modeling behavior for an audience working through emotional difficulties. By stating the simple phrase of “it hurts,” the viewer is shown how easy and necessary it can be to admit that we’ve been hurt. 

Through the children’s TV show and imagery, we are placed in closer access to our childhood memories and possible connection to the exchange between Socko and Bo. The grief associated with our loss of innocence is apparent in reflecting on how we as adults can understand what the lyrics mean. This stands in comparison with the immature imagery, which reminds us that just yesterday, it feels, we were children. This time of childhood brought fewer responsibilities but a lot more authority to answer to. This is the deeper connection to Socko’s coalescence. When was the last time you had to, in earnest, look an authority figure in the eyes and be told to address them appropriately. How does that make you feel? Small and sad.

In the context of Bo’s mental decline, this song provides two major cues: the state of the room and Socko’s construction. Not only is the equipment used for this production strewn about with messy cords across the full view of the camera, there is also trash or other items in view in places like underneath the dresser. The cluttered visual cues us to the chaos of the current moment. Additionally, Socko, despite being a big character, is a simple sock on Bo’s hand. This sock even appears to be previously worn. This helps us to understand that Bo, although he has limited resources during isolation, is also ultimately just a man talking to one of his Socks. This need for a musical partner spawns the existence of Socko, reminds us of the deep loneliness within COVID isolation, and denotes potential mental decline with Bo’s character. 

In this segment we get a new look at Bo as a Brand Consultant, speaking to the audience in black-and-white. There is an inspirational score playing in the background as Bo speaks in front of a plain backdrop - documentary set-up style. He first refers to himself as a former comedian. Again we are reminded of the changing times and Bo’s grief of trying on a new identity and reality. In this scene, he is a brand consultant reflecting on the politicization of brand affiliation and transparent exploitation of consumers. The apparent falsehood of Bo’s character in this scene creates discomfort as we recognize the political PR tone from the performances that everyone must put on in their work, personal, or social lives. We are seeing Bo’s customer service voice which for those who were “essential workers” during the pandemic, may resonate. Although This scene does not have content that is vital to the growing narrative and response of grief but it is important to note that this is another opportunity for empathy and connection to the story of COVID that ropes in viewers that may not have related yet. 

The trajectory of this special as an emotional build with a resulting release, requires a delicate pace. In the time so far we’ve had a dense amount of information - especially in the previous song How the World Works. Similar to the break after Facetime with my Mom Tonight, this skit allows us to take a deep breath after a segment that rustles up a lot of potential energy in us. This allows us a small amount of time to process, but intentionally, not quite enough. This lull leaves us to sit confused or in our discomfort just long enough to recognize it before moving on. As we will continue to see, the pace is meant to bring up a continuous building pressure of varied emotion, right up to the point of overwhelm but not over it until it is deliberately cued. 

5. White Woman’s Instagram

We transition into White Woman’s Instagram, a quippy look into stereotypes and self-branding on the heels of explicit company branding. However, the generic white woman character is eventually humanized through a monologue read as a lengthy instagram caption. This humanization is also displayed by the widening of camera angles from instagram post to widescreen, showing us the “full picture” just briefly before returning to the list-poem style lyrics of different things posted on Instagram. 

“Her favorite photo of her mom. The caption says, I can’t believe it’s been a decade since you been gone,” opens the monologue. The term “favorite” is important here as it humanizes us to the idea that this person is multidimensional and, just like us, has favorite photos of her parents. The use of “favorite” connects us to this character’s depth and the idea that they have a wider value-system. In this “caption,” the speaker laments the loss of her mother and all of the things that she didn’t get to share with her, like having her own apartment, her new relationship, and how “it’s got a little better but it’s still hard.” This song and scene has a dual purpose in our connection to our untapped grief. Since many of our exposures to our personal friends’ grief is through social media posts, we recall those quietly as we conceptualize the post that Bo’s character writes. So we are not only relating to the character that Bo builds in his narrative, but we are reminded of the posts that we’ve seen throughout COVID and otherwise where our extended network has lost loved-ones. 

Through hearing earlier about the photos that this speaker posts on her instagram, despite being stereotypical, it gives us a glimpse into who this person is before delivering the harder emotional hit of sharing about her grief. The visual recreation of some of these posts, such as Bo posing with two numbered balloons,“27,” creates a persona that we can connect to. The balloons share a bigger significance, implying that the loss of her mother occurred at only 17 years old. In the final line before the visual shrinks back to instagram post size, “momma I love you give a hug and kiss to dad,” we’re given the context that both her parents have passed. This is followed by another instance of religious imagery. Bo is lying down reading a book with a white blanket draped over him and a light source behind him. The camera’s position behind the book creates a biblical aesthetic of a religious figure. This is noteworthy in conjunction with the idea of the speaker's mother and father joining in heaven. The choral refrain of “Is this heaven? Or is it just a white woman’s instagram?” also continually reframes us into a mindset of the afterlife. 

Following this special, we cut to Bo in a dark room, with his hoodie up, reviewing the recording of the song - the only light in the room is from his laptop screen. Over the faint sounds of the previous song, we hear crickets. Again, we are primed to consider what is happening outside, while we remain Inside. 

Next, Bo performs for us a standup piece with topical jokes and a spotlight. This is another representation of him bargaining with his loss of career and identity that he first wrestles with in Brand Consultant. The dark room with singular spotlight not only reminiscent of traditional standup but also a reminder of his isolation. Although this room set up could have been done where Bo was truly the only object centered in our field of view, we’re able to see his door frame and light switches - a passive reminder of the fact that Bo is performing in isolation in his home. Although the room is clean, this scene adds to the building tension and mental decline as we see Bo become openly frustrated for the duration of his rant. This monologue is simply his reflection of irritation toward everyone talking about everything all the time. We also, in this scene see Bo’s hair the longest it’s been. This helps us track his mental state as leading into anger and low inhibitions. For Bo to sit and rant like this, it seems that he is in a sense losing control. This brief section is followed by another dissociative cut, which gives us no time to process. 

6. Unpaid Intern

The next song, Unpaid Intern returns to the character-based performance that we have previously pivoted to between the behind the scenes energy. This whiplash of the different realities that Bo is bringing us into is part of what moves the story forward and what creates tensions for us as a viewer. This song, incredibly brief and catchy, is still steadily increasing the unhinged energy we are getting from Bo. His “scatting” toward the end is uninhibited and ends with another dissociative cut into a different topic completely.  

Lyrically, the noteworthy pieces are “Since you can’t afford a mortgage you just torrent a porn”…“cause you’re an intern…unpaid!” In line with the discussions of capitalism, these lyrics remind many viewers of the loss of potential in upward mobility and asset security. Although I would argue that younger viewers are not necessarily concerned in their daily life with mortgages, most are familiar with the ever-present buzz of political conversation about whether or not there is hope for home ownership. 

We move quickly into a satirical reaction video where Bo is reacting to a reaction to a reaction to his previous song. This cyclical nature with the repeating of the Unpaid intern creates not only a reflective moment but a disconnect in timing. In addition to the inconsistent lengths of Bo’s hair, cleanliness, and topic - we also have timeline roadblocks that are meant to confuse us in when things were filmed or how much time was between segments. 

In the building tension of the special, this reaction video pushes us (and Bo) further toward overwhelm. He reflects on his own confusion and as we get toward the third iteration of reaction - the self-psychoanalysis that Bo is narrating starts to create chaos. This video becomes a meta-mirror of video reactions where the sound of each video overlaps with the one before, which intensifies until the end where Bo begins to snap by saying, “I want this to stop, I want this to stop, I’m…I’m stopping this.” 

This increasing overwhelm of sensory input and sudden reaction simulates an experience similar to a panic attack. Although a much shorter stretch, this moment represents the “reaction” of Bo to his environment, one of those reactions being panic. 

7. Bezos I

Bezos I is this first of two Bezos-inspired tunes, perhaps acknowledging a topical focus bordering on obsession. There is a level of incoherency in the initial placement of this segment, as we have no specific narrative to tie it to. I believe this segment marks a transition in the special. We move from the exposition of learning who Bo is, where we are, and what we’re watching into a stage where he is officially losing decorum. His decline in sanity is first marked by a fraying of the narrative thread and increasing disorientation. We get more explicit vulgarity in this song than in many prior to it and it ends with a guttural scream from Bo that is cut suddenly. 

The signals of decline are continued after this cut as we see Bo lying on his floor surrounded by equipment and cords. He’s wrapped in a blanket with a microphone laying on the pillow between him and the ground. We see a mirror of depressive symptomatology that we might recognize within ourselves during the COVID lockdown. He has lethargic speech and movement and clearly struggles with motivation. This scene, in contrast with the previous segments, begins to immerse us back into Bo’s world as a reality instead of a performance. Although the initial third of the special was meta, it allowed us to be aware of the performance occurring in front of us. Bo, for the first part of this special, makes sure that we are tied to the reality of his acting, editing, and performance. 

Now, we are watching Bo on the ground and we begin to be immersed into his mindset and its growing chaos. For a moment, we may forget that this was set up, recorded, re-recorded, edited and placed intentionally. We, suddenly, are drawn into both Bo’s world and any personal experience that has mirrored this. 

We are now in the proverbial incline of the rollercoaster. You can almost hear the chk-chk-chk-chk as we ride the uptick of tension and growing emotional fragility. I will tell you once we’ve gotten to the peak. From the opening until unpaid intern, Bo was just checking our seatbelts. 

While Bo is on the ground, he is ruminating out loud about the exploitation of the general public by media corporations. The key to our doors of COVID grief here is the phrase, “Maybe that, as a way of life forever, maybe that’s, um, not good.” Not only does this phrase bring to mind the idea of unending suffering but its vagueness allows us to project the lockdown onto that reflection as well. There are heavy pauses around that specific phrase which gives it room to echo in our mind. If you’ll remember, we saw these techniques in a previous monologue by Bo after Comedy. Not only vagueness as a way for us to project onto the terms, but also the intention inclusion of filler words to present a level of vulnerability and immersion. We forget that he had plenty of time to cut those words out. This is the point where he invites us fully to the world of Inside, but the point is to miss it. The world he built is about to get smaller. We once again hear birds outside, another immersion technique - another reminder. 

This monologue finally ends with, “i’m horny,” which is a deviation from the major tone of the special. However, this moment not only humanizes Bo by reminding us of basic human desires, it highlights one that was neglected throughout COVID. Just in case you forgot - the CDC and other agencies had to initially warn us that COVID was transmissible through all body fluids and give us guidance on safe sex. 

8. Sexting

Sexting may be one of the most visually busy segments we get throughout the special. However, it is worth noting that this segment includes some especially close shots of Bo. Not only does the topic material create a feeling of intimacy with Bo, but the visuals are meant to connect us to his personhood. 

Additionally, when the segment opens, we notice that Bo is wearing a cross earring that is peripherally in most of the close up shots. As Bo’s hair grows, including his beard, this religious imagery increases. 

Throughout Sexting we are reminded of the loss of intimacy in the isolation of COVID. The lyrical sections where Bo is wondering what he should send, it reminds us of the confusion on how to interact with others because of the damage to our social skills. Additionally, our adjustment to purely digital connection was a frustrating time for most. Although somewhat humorous, the lines, “another night on my home, yeah, stuck in my home, yeah, sitting alone, one hand on my dick and one hand on my phone,” are also a sad recollection of isolation. 

The final refrain of these lines toward the end of the song are delivered with overlapping vocals and building chords which creates an ethereal tone which highlights the small bit of religious imagery. I know the reference to religion still seems disjointed but it is a subtle but key piece to how we finally resolve the grief in the special. 

An interesting choice at the end of this song is when Bo licks his phone screen. Although this may be interpreted as an attempt at sexual imagery, I believe it is meant to elicit a visceral discomfort around germs. As each generation’s culture is shaped by the historical context in which they were raised, I believe the generations impacted by COVID will retain a higher level of fear around common germs than others. For example, people raised in the great depression may hoard canned goods for fear of starvation. For us, there is untapped fear around contagion. I have seen people post videos online of times before COVID where they let their children play at science museums. In these posts, they lament how crazy they were before to let their children do that. This, however, is not true as their threat assessment was reasonable at that time. This moment where he licks his phone has never quite read as anything but unsettling to me. With each segment we are building a more overt level of discomfort and tension - not just in one specific emotion but through the overwhelm of any of them that are accessible. 

We cut to a youtuber-esquires outtro following Sexting. This outtro is vaguely threatening, continuing to build on the unsettled feeling of the viewer. While Bo is once again speaking directly to the viewer, it is detached from the specificity of the special and vaguely regards content. In this, Bo is wielding a knife, points it at the viewer, and then sits with a blank stare to the camera in silence for several moments. Hopefully, you see the continuation of the detachment from reality, discomfort, and mental decline we’re experiencing alongside Bo. We are consuming the performance of his mental downfall. This is another segment where Bo is “trying on” an identity other than comedian as he identified in the early parts of the special. 

9. Look Who’s Inside Again 

Look Who’s Inside Again is not produced in the same way as the previous songs. It opens with us “behind the curtain” of the production process where Bo is in the process of recording without any level of production beyond the vocals. We are watching him sitting on the ground of his room and the footage begins with him openly expressing frustration about the recording process, “I took a big fucking breath!” He adds a note to himself within the audio recording and this is the first time that the viewer is seeing his irritation and instability bleed into the production process. 

The utility of this scene is that it connects us to Bo in the process of creating “live” and further immerses us in the theoretically “honest” view of his artistic and mental state. The song laments about feelings in childhood, similarly to How the World Works, this reminds us of our aging and provides a peripheral reflection on mortality. The song also explicitly references the feelings of isolation and feeling trapped. In the lyrics, “look who’s inside again, went out to look for a reason to hide again” the word choice of hide spurs tension in the difference between a choice and a need in isolation. “Now come out with your hands out we’ve got you surrounded,” as a closing line reminds the audience of the ever-present but unnamable threat of outside. 

The transition out of this very clear and explicit reflection of being stuck inside is an eerie scene of Bo watching old videos of himself. Following the references to childhood, this primes us to reflect on our own childhoods and potentially our internet footprint. Many of us have felt the unique mixture of nostalgia and regret of having so much of our childhood documented. 

More recent generations have potentially unnamed grief in the experience of being constantly perceived and recorded. The beauty of childhood photos used to be the fact that they existed, because there was a chance that they might not - the proof of existence was a rarity. This is especially important as childhood is only marked by innocence because no one is paying attention to your mistakes, your cringey decisions, your awkward phases. However, as digital media becomes ever-present, that privacy of childhood is lost. 

With a closeup of Bo’s face the score in the background is not just melancholy but threatening - think about the tone of Transformers movie ads. This eerie and unsettling moment is pinned down by the fact that after all of this time building a viewer-performer relationship with Bo, we suddenly don't know what he’s thinking. 

10. Problematic 

After Bo reflects on his childhood youtube videos, we get a song dedicated to remorse. In this section of music including songs 7-12, we’re getting an increasingly obvious emotional distress from Bo. However, we’re still left to sit in confusion, discomfort, or uncertainty until songs 13-17.  

In Problematic, we see more explicit usage of religious imagery in conjunction with the themes of the song. In this 80s style workout montage, we are actually listening to Bo repeat, “Father please forgive me for I did not realize what I did, or that I’d live to regret it”. Then, while tallying his problematic past behaviors, he drops to his knees and brings his hands together in a form of prayer as he repeats, “I’ve been totally awful, my closet is chock-full of stuff that is vaguely shitty, all of it was perfectly lawful just not very thoughtful at all and really shitty.” We cut to Bo hung on a projected cross made of light on his wall, as repeats “And I’m really fucking sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry.” You don’t need a theology degree to parse out the cruxification that’s happening in front of us. An exceptional visual detail is Bo’s sweat stains in place of blood during this crucifixion. Additionally, the lines, “If I’m gonna catch up, first I gotta fess up” refers to the confessional that Bo is performing for his viewers. 

In line with the 80s workout montage, we are also seeing some very interesting shots of Bo’s v-line and other intimate shots. I could spend a whole paper talking about the sexualization of religious figures in a general context. However, the main thing to note here for the ability to elicit grief at the peak of this special is that as Bo has gotten less dressed and we perceive him as more vulnerable, we become more connected to his character. 

We’ve also got another scene here where Bo has noticeably long hair. Not only does this add to the religious visual, it cues us to consider how he is aged and has grown more distant from his past self and past mentality. In this section of songs 7-12, one of the disorienting features serve the purpose of leaving us wondering how much time has passed. Although we’ve been alongside Bo’s process for the duration of the special this far, we don’t have any cues to how long it’s been - and this is referenced later in Don’t Wanna Know. 

After our religious confession from Bo, we get more process scenes of Bo trying different things with his camera. My favorite part in this is another technique to create immersion: Bo “accidentally,” drops his camera. Then we have a quick dissociative cut scene to a clock that shows the time as 11:58 pm. 

11. 30

Back again with another monologue to the viewer. We finally get some type of cue for process length as Bo tells us he’s been working on the special for 6 months. He states that he wanted to finish “this thing” before turning 30. The use of vague language again allows us to project COVID onto the waiting and hoping for an end. He states, that “the idea of turning 30 still inside of this fucking room, working on this thing alone” and that he “just wanted to avoid that.” The vague language of “wanted to avoid that” is actually a choice toward dismissive language as there is an implication for the decline of his mental health. He responds for the viewer, “you might be thinking […] you radiate such youth.” This segment shows how despite being more lucid than other songs and skits, he is ramping up the immersion and relationship between viewer and performer. We are now part of the conversation as voiced by Bo which is also a detachment from reality to some degree. This discussion of youth is another reminder of mortality and reflection of the passage of time - a key theme throughout this narrative. 

This scene of Bo watching the clock tick over to his birthday is meant to elicit sympathy. Now that we’ve spent the last few songs bonding with the “transparent” image that Bo’s created, we sit with him in silence as he celebrates his birthday in a liminal space of performance to us but also in actuality alone. He says that he’s going to enjoy his 20s which is an interesting choice of active phrasing. It seems that he is making up for lost time in a single moment by encapsulating a decade in a minute. Notice that he didn’t say, “enjoy the remainder of his 20s.” Then he says he’s going to get back to work which as a phrase should cue us to the COVID-era return to work as well as the earlier song where he said he’s going to try just going back to work. Again, at this moment, we hear crickets outside. This is a repeated technique in most of Bo’s monologues as a framing device. 

Then we get a unique performance from Bo in his underwear. Now, there’s a lot of ways we could symbolize this moment depending on the narrative: vulnerability, rebirth after crucifiction in Problematic, or even the connection to a birthday suit. I believe the thing that helps us get to the peak of our grief is the sympathy of Bo’s clear distress in this haphazard party for one in isolation. This is especially powerful for connecting the audience since the length of COVID meant almost everyone celebrated a birthday during the pre-vaccine era. 

Lyrically, what do we get? Interestingly, we get the return of the symbology of the age of 27. “When my grandad was 27 he fought in vietnam, when I was 27 I built a birdhouse with my mom.” Although he’s singing about turning 30, in this lyrics he’s reflecting on both disappointment with his achievements as he’s aged and drawing back to the human connection that was possible three years prior. If you’ll recall, the girl described in White Woman’s Instagram seemed to be turning 27, as well. This may make use of the general public’s association of age 27 with suicide via the 27 Club that artists are inducted into. I believe this is a useful heuristic that Bo is drawing on as the song ends with explicit mentions of suicide. “It’s 2020 and I’m 30, I’ll do another ten, 2030 I’ll be 40 and kill myself then.” 

Then, we get another “behind the scenes” look at production when he says “we’ll do one more,” to break the artifice of us viewing this as being “put together” or polished media. This furthers our immersion into Bo’s experience and his room. 

Another monologue from Bo. This one is unique because instead of talking to us, it appears that he is talking to himself. In the first clip where he begins talking “for the record” that “he doesn’t want to kill himself,” although he is clearly farther into quarantine than when the special started, he’s not as far along as the version of him with which he is speaking. We know this as this recorded monologue becomes projected onto our “current” Bo’s shirt. This symbolically appears to be an attempt to internalize what is being said - dissuading himself from suicide and talking himself off of the ledge. Heartbreakingly, in this “most optimistic” self that is discouraging suicide, he still is pessimistic enough to clarify when he says, “there are people that love you” that “that not true necessarily.” 

Then we get a hammer dropped that is a clear cue for grief and connection: “I’ve had people close to me kill themselves, and I’ll be honest with you, didn’t love it!” Although this special covers a variety of personal losses, this is one of the most explicit regarding loss of life and loved ones. It’s important, throughout this special, to recognize that grief comes from all the losses of COVID, not just loss of life. Loss of safety, loss of connection, loss of freedom, loss of sanity, loss of time, all of these count on the Inside tally of what Bo is stirring up in you before we finally open the valve. 

Although not everyone can relate to suicidal intent or attempts, suicidal ideation as a desire to make the pain stop is surely more widely relatable. Bo touches on this by saying, “If I could kill myself for a year, I’d do it today.” The parallels of death’s permanence and seemingly unending COVID go hand-in-depressing-hand. In the songs and skits from 7-12, we get to know the general trajectory of Bo heading toward rock bottom. In this section we became fully immersed in his physical and mental space. This includes a more invested relationship between the audience and Bo. We feel like we know him through this perceived transparency. 

INTERMISSION 

We get a brief break at intermission to breathe. Bo cleans the camera lens “refocuses” after the breakdown that we just witnessed. We also get another look at a different identity, Bo as a window washer. The cleaning of the lens is also a quick reminder to the audience that there is a camera between us and Bo. However, with such incredible efforts toward immersion, this can make us feel more claustrophobic than disconnected from the piece. Additionally, this pause, in the pacing of the special, prepares us for what will soon be a rapid and overwhelming approach to the peak of the special for our grief. At this point during the first watch, we think we know what’s going on. Obviously, Bo just hit rock bottom right?…right?

12. Don’t Wanna Know

At our return from intermission, we get a song specifically for us as the audience. Not only have we been included in Bo’s conversations, now we’re included in the performance. This ode to uncertainty, Don’t Wanna Know is Bo wrestling with the uncertainty of artistic creation and of COVID. This song can also represent the wider public’s conflict with choosing ignorance as a method of control. In this song, Bo discusses lots of questions that he doesn’t want to know the answer to, but realistically, each of these questions is something that he couldn’t possibly know the answer to.  

This segment reminds us that we are watching as he’s creating and we are the determinants in the reception of his work. Yet unlike other moments where we are disconnected from the art as we are reminded of our place in the audience, this technique brings us further in. Of course we’re watching, but now, with the props and lights and framing faded out - we are standing in Bo’s foyer. For the next section of songs 13-17, our place in the audience becomes more clear. We are merely voyeurs - a reminder of the nature of social media, artistic performance, and in the next few songs: our complete lack of control around other’s mental stability. 

We’re reframed back to vague language to connect us to COVID in the lines, “Or am I all alone?” and “I thought it’d be over by now, but I got a while to go.” For Bo, “it” could be the special, but for us, “it” is more likely COVID isolation. We get another dissociative cut to throw us around again with a quick end on the line, “I’d give away the answer but you don’t wanna kn-” This creates some tensions as it reminds us that by the time we’re seeing this - it’s already complete and we cannot change the ending. Reminders of our lack of control ensure that we feel at the mercy of Bo’s narrative. 

Don’t Wanna Know is followed by a segment that is a new, fully immersive reality. We join Bo as a streamer doing a play through of a new game INSIDE. This gamification of “real” life can be seen as a dissociative symptom, where nothing feels real anymore. Bo narrating himself as a video game character can represent an out-of-body experience. Additionally, streamer Bo is referring to subscribers and people that are not within our reality of viewership. We are watching Bo fully detach from the actuality of his life in this room through an “escape the room” game play.

As we move into the part of the special where what was once implied is now made explicit, we see Bo’s character “weep” for the first time. With our growing empathy to his situation, this is a painful moment that luckily is short lived before Bo’s character walks the perimeter of the claustrophobically small area. The demonstrated idea that there is nothing to do in this “game” but cry is relatable for all viewers. There were so many reasons to cry during COVID and very few options for activities otherwise. Trying to keep yourself busy (to dissociate from the reality of COVID at the time) was the only thing close to reprieve. 

As we get further from the “six month” mark of time Bo delivered in 30, we get another time-skewing phrase, “he’s been in here a while.” Thanks to the dissociative cuts, the varied order of clips of Bo, and the lack of clear day-markers, we don’t truly know how much footage was filmed for this special. We have a growing sense, as we become fully immersed, that we don’t know how long we’ve been here. 

Bo’s character shows some happiness for a brief moment as he plays the keyboard, showing us that his semblance of coping (and identity) has become ineffective — a relatable experience as COVID progressed. Then we close with an unsettling score and the words “day complete.” Surely, this brings to mind the number of days that came and went for each of us during isolation.  

A spotlight follows Bo to bed, showing us that he is in constant performance even when alone. Then there is a cut to an open door with light, which we can assume is a daydream or vision in Bo’s mindset. After the adjusted reality we saw in the video game skit, this moment provides a re-humanization of Bo for the viewer.  

13. Shit

For this general group of songs 13-17, I’m terming them the “clear answers” section. This is where some of our uncertainty is replaced with visceral certainty and clear mental distress. We get confirmation of our worst fears for Bo, even if we saw them coming. In Shit we see Bo in a semi-euphoric and severely disheveled state. This song has an upbeat tone which creates irony for the lyrics which are riddled with self-hatred and mental distress. The higher tempo and negative lyrics can make the viewer feel antsy or discontented. With how it defines the true misery of COVID isolation through a detached and factual acceptance, I understand why this song was so particularly accessible and popular after its release. We see Bo dancing as he sings about how he isn’t showering, he feels useless, and consistently like shit. Interestingly, we get group vocals for a call and response with Bo as a reminder that Bo is alone and possibly slipping into delusion. This song is the most explicit section regarding Bo’s symptomology and it does not let up in the next feature.

14. All Time Low

We get a semi-clothed Bo monologue following Shit. We may be expecting clarification following the previous skit similar to the other breaks he takes where the tone changes. However, this monologue continues the documentation of his emotional distress by describing how he has reached an All Time Low. In addition to being relatable for many who reached new depths of mental health struggles during COVID, this monologue also confirms for the viewer that what we’re seeing is correct — Bo is at rock bottom. Although we had suspicions, this section of the special is the initial drop from the rollercoaster that we were steadily climbing until the intermission. Appropriately, this monologue should make you feel the same gut-dropping g-forces as Bo delivers, “when I’m asleep, I feel alright, but it’s basically from the moment I wake up.” Many may recognize this as passive suicidality and depressive symptomology - some may recognize it from their personal lives. 

In addition to the somewhat expected depressive symptoms, we get a brief song, All Time Low which is describing the symptoms of a panic attack. This song is similar to Shit in that it is short and still somewhat upbeat in tempo and tone. However, this tone compared to the dark lyrics creates an erratic feeling overall. As the speed and severity of what we’re witnessing increases, so does our tension. Every few minutes now we’re being cued to rustle up some of our darkest thoughts and experiences to a beat that’s fun to dance to. This is intentional crazy-making for viewers as we approach the end of the answers. The more overwhelmed we are, which is correlated to the amount of untapped grief we have regarding these topics, the bigger the eventual payoff. 

15. Welcome to the Internet

In accordance with the general vibe of the last two songs, we get Welcome to the Internet — a jaunty polka hit. The tempo increases throughout the verses of this song, with one brief reprieve which feels uncomfortably slow. The tone of the lyrics brings to mind impending doom and the speaker of the song — which is some character Bo has built in relation to the wider narrative — is evil-coded. This speaker of the internet (like the Lorax for the trees) throws a multitude of jarring images and potential trigger-phrases at the viewer. This is meant to be one of the most overwhelming pieces with “a little bit of everything all of time.” So we’re giving, death, sex, therapy, civil rights, bombs, unsolicited sexual images and threats all within the first minute. We also witness, in the slower part of this song, a deeply unsettling maniacal laugh from Bo or Bo’s internet persona. 

By the end of this song, in the wake of everything since Don’t Wanna Know, you understandably feel like there is a shoe that is falling rapidly but it hasn’t quite landed yet. This is important to how this whole special resolves. In case you weren’t aware, human beings cry because of any emotion once it becomes overwhelming. Crying is our body's natural way of regulating emotions that become too much - tears carry stress hormones that help down-regulate us to a calmer place. Bo needs us to be increasingly overwhelmed and he does a masterful job using genre-specific techniques in Polka and intense lyrical themes to bring us to that point. 

We get a more erratic monologue of Bo acknowledging that he might finish the special but that he is no longer planning on doing that. In fact, He’s going to work on [it] forever to avoid having to just live [his] life. This obviously mirrors the rational fears we all felt when realizing that we would eventually have to re-enter society at some point during or “after” COVID. Bo also acknowledges that he’s talking to himself and he has a level of acceptance of the insanity that has become his life. 

16. Bezos II

The return of Bezos looks a little different the second time. After Bo’s monologue of doubling-down into the special to avoid his life, we see him dressed in…something. He’s in some eccentric swamp-jacket and hat combination. There’s also another religious imagery cue where a halo (of sorts) circles Bo’s character. True to the tone of this section of the special though, his halo is red and seems to have satanic undertones. This return of Bezos as a topic cues us to obsession and provides a reminder that time has passed, because we know that we’ve been here before. This song ends abruptly.

We get a brief scene of Bo’s face lit up, the sound of a crowd, and Bo’s expression contorts from neutral to a distressed and crazed smile. The quickening pace of the special becomes truly visceral at this point, as we land for our first opportunity to sit in our feelings. 

17. That Funny Feeling

We get a visual of trees projected on Bo’s wall and the sound of the forest playing in the background. It is upsettingly apparent that these are synthetic sounds that Bo has placed here not for immersion into the topic at hand, but potentially as a way to cope. This is, painfully, another reminder of the world outside that we have been missing. Bo is performing a standup routine, in his underwear, to no one in particular. 

This runs parallel to the previous standup after White Woman’s Instagram. Even passively, we remember a slightly more put together Bo from what feels like ages ago. Instead we see a rough-looking Bo with greasy hair explaining how he’s learned something “funny” that real-world human-to-human tactile contact will kill you. This is, of course, the universal fact we learned together in communal grief of COVID. Bo then ends the standup with a half-hearted attempt at “comedy” making pirate jokes. 

Next, in compendium to the overwhelm of Welcome to the Internet, we get a list-poem style song that details COVID-era specific current events. The chorus repeats, “there it is, again, that funny feeling” which is never named throughout the song. This song replicates for us a slower, yet still overwhelming, barrage of negative events. The tension here is created through the lyrics of explicit crisis juxtaposed to the slow tempo and gentle delivery.  

I believe the feeling is dread or grief. However, it does not need to be named - even in the “clear answers” section - because you can feel it. Bo wants us to feel dread and defeat and our personal grief as explicitly and overwhelmingly as possible going into the next song. This is potentially why the production of this song is the most lucid and coherent of this section: the emotional lyrics do the heavy lifting of bringing us into the headspace that Bo needs. 

We close the song with a look into a full meltdown. Bo is trying to address the audience, but cannot control his outbursts. He slaps his own leg, cannot remain seated, and ends up knocking down his equipment. This is meant to be jarring, upsetting, and emotional for all of us - especially as we’ve connected with Bo. 

18. All Eyes on Me 

Now, we’ve made it. Bo opens with an admittance that he is not well and we watch him weep as we enter the camera into a third space where Bo is performing. The remaining songs 18, 19, and 20, are where we get the payoff. In this order we have: the release of grief, closure, and hope. 

The opening of this song addresses the audience directly as though Bo was on stage at Carnegie Hall, “You guys have been incredible, thank you.” Then there’s an interesting turn, “but just knowing you’re here, you know, feeling you here with me…” This is the first turn toward religion in his word choice: feeling you here with me. Our presence is personally recognized. Then he asks us all, can we do something for him? Can we get our fucking hands up? 

The religious imagery that has been primed throughout the special comes to a head in All Eyes on Me. In church experiences, specifically like youth camp, there are strategies that are used to help you feel the holy spirit or elicit strong emotions. Youth camp relies on sleep deprivation, emotional overwhelm, shame, and music in particular. This special does something incredible and replicates a similar phenomenon from our screens. Through the immersion that Bo has built, we don’t need sleep deprivation because we’ve watched his mental decline and connected to our personal experiences of that. Additionally, he’s managed to overwhelm and disorient us using the dissociative cut scenes, a lack of time awareness, incoherency, and intense emotional connection. We’ve also been primed, throughout the special with the small notes of religious imagery and tones to access any connection we have to this process. 

All Eyes on Me is a worship song that employs the same climactic techniques as spiritual worship to encourage viewers to open the valve of the grief they’ve been repressing. For a total understanding of how this song elicits a release of COVID grief and the beginnings of closure, I have to dip into music theory. A great analysis of this special would have done that for each song but this is not a great analysis, just an obsessive one. First, All Eyes on Me is written in F# (Sharp) Major which denotes triumph or relief, with this thematic and tonal context it includes a resignation and a release of grief. Even the key of the song is meant to elicit an emotional resolve for us. 

Worship songs typically use techniques in their musical composition to elicit strong emotions. Specifically, an appoggiatura is commonly used in religious compositions to stir emotion and create tensions. We find this technique in the vocals in the initial build of the song as we can feel the tension rising. This is not the only section where this technique is present, but it gives you an idea of its utility. Similarly, the score behind the vocals in this song is secondary to the vocal melody which aligns with modern praise songs. 

Worship songs also use simulated intimacy, which we get in multiple points in the song. First, the opener addresses us personally and gives us directives. Second, after the opening of the song, we get Bo’s major disclosure. He delivers a sermon-esque speech about how his mental struggles took his art and career from him for five years. In addition to that loss, he explains how funny it is that he was motivated to re-enter society and overcome his fears in January of 2020, shortly before COVID. And although he still never mentions the pandemic, he says, “the funniest thing happened…” and we’re all in on the joke. 

We again hear an added crowd-track of cheering and laughing. The echo of this places us in a large room, similar to any rooms of worship. In this context, the usage of personal pronouns (I, we, you) to refer to the audience and Bo is a linguistic choice used by many worship songs. The personal pronouns and the directives such as, “get on out of your seat,” that are given to us, personalize it and make it intimate. Bo is cashing in on the relationship he’s developed with us throughout this special in a spiritual way. This is why the moment where Bo looks directly into the camera is so impactful. The intimacy that he’s lent us tells us that we are safe in this moment, to feel what we need, because Bo has already modeled that for us. 

The thematic choice of All Eyes On Me as a worship song is not intended to be subtle, especially as we recognize the lyrics, “get your fucking hands up” which subverts our expectations by the swearing in line with the directive to raise our hands. This allows us to mentally think concert not church at first. However, this is once again subverted with “heads down, pray for me, heads down now, pray for me,” which places us in a spiritual directive instead. 

The beginning lyrics, “Are you feeling nervous? are you having fun?” cue us to reflect on what we might be feeling or what we have felt. “It’s almost over, it’s just begun” not only riles the rhetoric of COVID but warns us that as the isolation is ending, the pain and processing have just begun. Then, we are invited into worship. Our entrance happens here: “Don’t overthink this, look in my eye, don’t be scared, don’t be shy, come on in, the water’s fine,” in the safety that Bo creates for us. This invitation is to our emotional baptism. Then, we get the recognition of our fears and we’re encouraged to accept it, “You say the whole world’s ending — Honey, it already did.” Our worst fears have already come true. Then we get recognition for the loss of control we all felt at the same time as forgiveness for the collective. The next lines acknowledge our collective failure or sins in the context of the initial COVID spike and slowing the curve, “You’re not gonna slow it, Heaven knows you tried.” Punctuated by our final directive, “Got it? Good. Now get inside,” which was the only thing that any of us could do. 

If you somehow manage to maintain a dry eye through the first half of the song, the end half has enough to overwhelm. The overlapping vocals and disorienting visuals lead to Bo’s own hysterical release. 

19. Goodbye

If the special had ended with All Eyes on Me, it would have been insufficient for closure. We opened the valve and had a release of grief but it is easy to get stuck in it. Instead, the next scenes are a refreshing compilation of bright lighting, movement, and productivity. We see Bo tinkering around his house and we get a more lighthearted score. We see Bo watching All Eyes on Me footage which tells us we are beyond it in the timeline of the special, and he closes the laptop. 

Bo says, “I think I’m done,” and shortly after, we see a clean-cut and dressed Bo sitting at his keyboard. There’s resolution for long-term fans of Bo, as his keyboard set-up mirrors the one he used throughout his previous specials and youtube videos. We see him returning to his identity. We get a final production note of “possible, uh, ending song that is not finished yet.” Bo begins to play Goodbye, a beautiful piece that fulfills our need for processing after grief. The song is about moving on and the ending of the special (something important) which allows us to connect to a healthy level of grief. 

Most importantly, the song musically borrows from previous songs in the special and we get a visual montage of each stage of the special. This allows us to get the satisfaction of summary and recall as a way to tell our brains that we have processed the special. By reviewing the previous songs, all tied up with a bo(w), we get closure. The repetition allows us to think that we’ve slowed down and understand all of what has been covered, even if there is still more to be felt or understood. 

Lyrically, we get the return of “call me up and I’ll tell you a joke” as “call me up and tell me a joke” which may be Bo acknowledging humor as a way to cope with his own pain and our inherent need for connection. We get the satisfaction of Bo acknowledging that it is not just us, who need a laugh, but even he needs it when he is in pain. 

20. Any Day Now 

Finally, closure isn’t complete without hope. Although the final scenes are still tinged with fear and vulnerability, with Bo nude in the spotlight, we get an open door and bright light. We get possibilities. 

In the end, Bo steps out of his room into a bright light with the sounds of the day overwhelmingly noticeable. However, instead of having a bright day, we hear an audience clapping. Bo panics, tries to go back inside and is locked out of his home. As we zoom out, we see that we are watching footage of Bo trying desperately to get back inside. Finally, we see him seated watching himself. 

The credits roll with the final song, Any Day Now, playing. Future-focused language, even if vague or uncertain, denotes hope for what is to come. 

A Broader Look 

The reception of Bo Burnham’s Inside clearly demonstrated a deep emotional connection between viewers and the material. Not only are there plentiful reviews and critiques in the internet landscape, but individuals flocked to Tiktok to further personalize the material to their lives. There was even a trend of people rewriting That Funny Feeling to reflect their personal discomfort. I believe this reception was primarily due to the effective way that the special released untapped grief for viewers. 

However, COVID grief does not begin or end with Bo Burnham’s special. COVID grief began for many even before a loss, when things were incredibly uncertain for everyone. Grief began as soon as we became aware of COVID’s impact and continued with repeated loss throughout isolation and recently. In fact, research has developed the Pandemic Grief Scale  in response to the widespread bereavement. Although COVID was universally traumatizing, it presented unique challenges in grief and in personal experience. For those who have lost loved ones during the pandemic, prolonged grief disorder may be a concern. Prolonged grief disorder was recently added as a disorder through text revision of the DSM V. This diagnosis requires that an adult is experiencing deep grief that impacts daily functioning 6 months or more after a loss. For children, this diagnosis requires a timeline of more than 12 months after the loss. Although this is one medicalized way of defining, looking at, and treating grief, there are others outside of the American mental health system. Keep in mind that American culture is not good at grief. Our fast-paced culture doesn’t leave time for grieving, especially with limited bereavement policies. As we stand in a very individualistic cultural mindset, we very rarely have a community to lean on for emotional solidarity. Most formalized grieving processes for individuals are gained through religious or cultural identities besides “American”. If you are in a position where you have a cultural affiliation that has a process for grieving, I highly recommend leaning on those practices in processing COVID. 

I recommend the following exercise in addition to other emotional support such as mental health services, religious, or cultural practices. This is especially helpful for identifying emotional wounds and losses during COVID. This is a place to start, not a solution. In writing, complete the following statements for one individual loss at a time and repeat all statements for any remaining experiences, people, opportunities, or other losses.

1. During COVID I lost ____________. 

2. This was hard for me because ____________.

3. Moving forward things will be different because ______________.

4. I am able to move forward because _______________________.

5. I recognize that I still need ______________________________.

Overall, Identifying grief can be difficult, especially when general grief includes many losses, not just loss of life. Pay attention not only to the things that raise strong emotions related to COVID, but also to the things that you avoid related to the pandemic. In addition, consider how many things you have blocked out of your memory, like the mass graves that were used in the early months of the pandemic. If you avoid thoughts of people, places, and things that you relate to COVID, that may be a sign of unhealthy coping and avoidance. The HEAL model for managing grief may be useful for some. Honor the loss through formalized grieving like rituals, ceremonies, or activities. Journalling, writing letters, sharing stories, or any other structured activity can be helpful. Express emotion in whatever way they appear. Anger is common alongside grief, as is guilt. Allowing yourself the space to process any feelings whether or not you consider them appropriate to the loss is important. Acknowledge obstacles that slow down the process of grieving such as avoidance, denial, wishing for different, or wondering what may have prevented the loss. Live however you can at the moment. One day at a time is the only way to move forward. Not radical, but refreshed.