For the past few days, social media
has been awash in reactions to Bo
Burnham’s new special, “Inside.”
My Twitter and Instagram feeds
are a constant barrage of glowing
reactions to Burnham’s introspective,
90-minute performance art piece. As
I scroll through my Tiktok For You
Page, songs from “Inside” play on
endless fifteen second loops, worming
themselves deeper into the app’s
notorious algorithm the longer I listen
to the lyrics repeat.
When Bo suddenly announced
he had a new special coming out
this year, his fans, including myself,
were ecstatic. After six years without
performing live, no one was sure what
“Inside” had in store. As someone
especially moved by his 2018 film
“Eighth Grade,” I was excited and also
a little terrified. I knew that, no matter
what, the special’s release would be An
Event.
Just hours after “Inside” was
uploaded to Netflix, friends and
family started messaging me about
what a masterpiece it was. And
how weird it was. And how sad and
heartbreaking and hilarious and
troubling it was, which it is. “Inside”
is all of these things rolled up and
crammed into a tiny studio in Bo
Burnham’s backyard.
There is a magnitude to “Inside”
that lets viewers know, from the
first bars of its overture, that this is
not just a momentary internet craze
like “Tiger King” or “Bridgerton.”
It’s meant to mean something to you
and you singularly. It is addressed,
signed, sealed and hand-delivered to
you with a capital Y. And that’s why
I refuse to tell you what I think of it.
There is no denying that “Inside”
is good. Objectively, it’s a creative
tour de force. The song “Welcome
to the Internet” alone could have
cemented the special’s place in 2021’s
cultural history with its diatribes
against technology-induced mania.
Hundreds of thousands of people
have latched onto the special’s
messaging about the normalization
of performance as an aspect of
everyday life rather than something
confined to a controlled setting,
with the most vehement of those
testimonials coming from social
media. As Burnham snidely puts it,
“The outside world, the non-digital
world, is merely a theatrical space in
which one stages and records content
for the much more real, much more
vital, digital space.”
Fittingly,
Burnham
includes
multiple scenes in which he points
the camera in a mirror, capturing
both himself and a reflection of the
audience as we stare back at him; we
are subject to the literal Black Mirror,
the veneer of a screen that’s come
to signal our fear of the future and
ourselves. “Inside” begs us to look
inward. It’s an exasperated response
not only to the absurdity of pretending
Everything is Fine in a near Huxleyan
dystopia (see “Funny Feeling”), but
also to the inability of anyone to
experience genuine self-awareness
without demanding someone bear
witness.
Burnham levels his final challenge
to the viewer in the special’s grand
finale “Potential Ending Song,” daring
them to question their willingness to
perform the passive role of spectator,
one which risks nothing and yet
demands “everything all of the time”:
“Hey, here’s a fun idea, how ‘bout I
sit on the couch and I watch you next
time?” Right now, with all of our
Tiktok and Tweets and half-baked hot
takes we’re doing exactly that: playing
our part.
In return for a spectacular piece of
entertainment, fans of Bo Burnham
and “Inside” have reinforced the
deeply intimate display of total artifice
as consumable content for profit.
It’s the exact kind of breakdown/
trainwreck/horror story we’ve been
conditioned to devour. Like a reality
show about how exploitative reality
shows are, “Inside” has established
itself as an Internet darling despite its
pleas for us to put down the phone and
go outside.
I’ll admit critique was my first
instinct as well. The second I
formed a rational thought about the
special, I felt an impulse to divulge
immediately about it on any platform,
hoping someone might listen and
identify with what I had to say. Like
most members of my generation,
I’ve been raised to believe my voice
matters and that I should be heard.
8
Thursday, June 10, 2021
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
ARTS
I refuse to review Bo Burnham’s ‘Inside’
The Cephalopod Chronicles
Read more at michigandaily.com
Amid the glitz and glamour of the
93rd Academy Awards, an unusual
competitor emerged for the title of
Best Documentary. Created by South
African documentarian Craig Foster,
“My Octopus Teacher” provides a
poignant take on the fragility and
sanctity of life through an unlikely
lens. In his journey through the
Great African Sea Forest, Foster
details the life and times of one of the
ocean’s most precocious and playful
creatures: the common octopus.
In the wake of a personal crisis,
Foster finds himself burnt out
and depressed. On a whim, he
decides to return to his childhood
pastime
of
free-diving.
Among
the towering fronds of kelp, he
encounters a strangely gregarious
octopus. He returns every day to
film and interact with her, forming
a
touching,
unusual
friendship.
Unlike many of its contemporaries,
“My Octopus Teacher” is no mere
educational vessel. While viewers
will undoubtedly gain considerable
familiarity with the peculiarities
of the species by the end of the
documentary, its purpose is far
grander in scope.
Our eight-legged ingenue captures
the heart of not only Foster but the
world through her surprising wit and
indefatigable friendliness. Foster’s
choice to pursue the same animal for
an extended period of time creates
an intimate connection between
the octopus and the onlooker. It’s an
unusual tactic to utilize in a nature
documentary, but only adds to the
quirky charm of the film.
Cephalopods
are
the
most
intelligent species of mollusk, and
the octopus’ situational resilience
serves as proof. We see her hunting
fish using Foster as a human barrier,
using shells and seaweed to conceal
herself from hungry sharks, and even
walking across the ocean floor with
her tentacles. She is able to change
shape and color in order to mimic a
piece of kelp, a rock, or even another
marine
animal.
Her
incredible
intelligence is juxtaposed with her
corporal fragility, as her body is
essentially liquid. On average, her
species only live to be about a year old,
hence she must learn extraordinarily
quickly.
The cinematography is exquisite,
the calming backdrop of ocean
blurred sunlight and kelpy curtains
setting the stage for a vibrant mise-
en-scène
studded
with
aquatic
actors of every shape and size.
Co-directors
Pippa
Ehrlich
and
James Reed intersperse selected
full-shots of the forest with intimate
close-ups of Foster and his octopus
friend. Capturing the vastness of the
sea is both an insurmountable and
overwhelming task, hence they elect
a microcosmic approach to film-
making.
Indeed,
the
documentary’s
greatest strength lies in the sense
of intimacy it cultivates. Foster and
the octopus forge a bond that can
only be described as a friendship; the
tone of the film is akin to that of the
ever-popular dog movie. The octopus
grants him the unique privilege to
explore her ocean world, and become
a part of her life. The occasional shot
of the octopus latched onto Foster’s
arm or chest is unexpectedly tender.
One can’t help but wonder if she
experiences, as Foster puts it, “some
octopus level of joy.”
The anthropomorphization of the
octopus leaves both Foster and the
audience emotionally invested in her
wellbeing. In a nail-biting encounter
with a shark, she is left wounded
and incredibly weak. Foster initially
does not intervene, as he wishes to
preserve the boundaries of natural
processes. However, he has become so
attached that he eventually attempts
to bring her food, hoping to nurse her
back to health. Unlike most nature
documentaries, Foster takes on the
role of observer and participant.
Instead of a detached narrator and a
faceless camera operator, we see his
experience interacting firsthand with
the inhabitants of the kelp forest.
Through his return to the natural
world, Foster rediscovers the strength
and beauty of the wild. Perhaps
more importantly, he finds himself
personally invigorated by the sense
of peace and “octopus joy” the forest
grants him. His initial depression and
disenfranchisement with the world
lessen considerably, and he learns
to enjoy life again. Paradoxically,
his time with the octopus actually
improves his relationships with other
human beings.
The unexpected humanity of the
octopus truly drives the film home.
The lifespan of an octopus grants
us insight into the mysteries of life
as a whole. An octopus doesn’t get
the better part of a century to live.
Everything they learn, they must
learn quickly. The film concludes
with the octopus retreating to her den
to lay her eggs. As her journey comes
full circle, we are left with the sinking
feeling that accompanies nature’s
inevitabilities.
Her life emphasizes the cyclical
nature of mortality; life is valuable
because it ends, and meaningful
because it continues. A few weeks
after her death, Foster is free-diving
with his son when he discovers a tiny
octopus floating amid the waves.
It’s the right species, and the right
size—it could conceivably be one of
her offspring. Even in her death, she
continues to give. Her journey runs
parallel to Foster’s relationship with
his son; parental altruism transcends
the species boundary.
In the film’s conclusion, we see
Foster tear up slightly at the thought
of his cephalopod companion. To
an outsider, the occurrence seems
bizarre, but the arc of the film
inevitably leads to this moment, for
this is not an educational film or a
scientific exposé on the behaviors
of the common octopus — it’s a love
story.
The brilliance of “My Octopus
Teacher” lies in its simplicity.
It’s
extraordinarily
subjective,
extraordinarily human. Ironically
enough, the singularity of the tale
is what makes it universal. For
Foster’s octopus is by no means
standard or commonplace. Rather,
she defies the characteristics of her
species through her social nature,
her playfulness. She is intelligent and
resilient, but so are most octopi. Her
defining traits are those that make
her less like an octopus, and more
like a human. Her defining traits
are those that make her less like a
teacher, and more like a friend.
ANYA SOLLER
Daily Arts Writer
DARBY WILLIAMS
Daily Arts Writer