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