Artifice and the Crafting of Self-Doubt in Bo Burnham’s “Inside”
By: Meagan I Byrne
Tags: Simulation, Documentary, Simulacrum, Bo Burnham, Inside

Author’s note: You can, of course, read this before watching Inside, but I encourage you (if you do) to read it again after.

Still from Burnham, “Inside”

Bo Burnham won’t read this article.

But if he does, it will have already been filtered through a hundred different lenses before it reaches his notice. He cannot come to this article unspoiled. In fact, it could be argued that if he does come then he already knew all of it before he had read all of it. I point this out because this is, in parallel, how I came to watch Inside — filtered through possibly as many lenses, most likely less, but definitely not directed at me personally. When I chose to watch Inside, I already “knew” what would happen — just as Burnham would already “know” what would happen if he was to read this. But this, dear reader, is not how you are coming to this particular piece. You came unspoiled, untainted, unfiltered.

Or did you?

Bo Burnham’s Inside is fake.

It is fake the way a documentary is fake: simultaneously very real and very crafted. Bo wants you to know this and then he wants you to doubt this. Inside asks you to believe; it tells you to doubt everything. It misdirects, it uses expert timing, it tricks you with brilliant sound composition, it tells you the truth when it knows you won’t believe it (the best kind of lie). Bo Burnham would make for an incredible horror director.

Did you know that Bo Burnham did this whole special all by himself?

Except that’s not true.

Still from Burnham, “Inside”

Still from Burnham, “Inside”

Still from Burnham, “Inside”

Did you know that Bo Burnham wrote, directed and performed this all by himself?

That’s probably true.

Or is it? As of writing this, beyond the credits (that very cleverly left a convenient amount of black screen time before Netflix whisked them away to draw your attention to the next shinny, shinny. And why haven’t film worker unions been fighting that?) I have no proof that these things are true or not. I can speculate and conjuncture that at least the first two statements are false, but I cannot know. I doubt myself. If everyone is saying it’s true, does that make it so?

Are they saying that?

Why did I accept so readily the idea of the narrative of “he did it alone,” when I know from my own experience with creating media that this feat is impossible? Why are we so invested in the idea that such a large piece of work could be done alone? Why do we not question it? Why is American exceptionalism so in love with the idea of auteurship? Why do we so readily accept the narrative of the solo genius who can do a great deal of labour alone?

<editor note: Meagan can you put a pithy comment about exploitation of labour under capitalism here?>

Still from Burnham, “Inside”

At first, the moments of artifice in Inside are made to be obvious: he’s not really yelling at a literal sockpuppet representation of the working class to demonstrate how structural violence works. “That’s obviously a bit!” you think, full of confidence. The show continues. Now there’s a new bit, it’s funny because he’s commenting on himself, but also commentary culture. But it doesn’t hit quite as false, quite as scripted as before. But it must be right. He cannot, by the laws of time and space, actually be commenting on himself. But the things he is saying are a little too raw to be faked. Right? More songs and then there’s a quiet moment. He’s turning thirty. He repeats all the things we’ve heard before: the doubt in a personal future beyond your twenties, the unwavering belief that if you’re not great before thirty then why even bother? That nothing you make after will be worth it. It is such a profoundly depressing, but beautifully raw moment that it takes me hours after it’s over to ask myself a key question: “If the youngest person ever to receive multiple comedy specials on Netflix thinks they ‘didn’t make it’ what the hell then does it mean to ‘make it’ before thirty?” But more importantly (and much later) it occurred to me: Did he actually say that or was that only what I thought I heard?

Do you know what I love about Red Letter Media? The way their editing has grown into an amazing artform that mimics beautifully the messiness of experience. But still, it’s artifice. When a loud debate breaks out over another use of messiah narrative in another vanity project; when four or more people are talking over each other defending their different opinions; the audio overlaps as if you were there. But not exactly. It’s subtle, but the editor is always controlling your ear. They are choosing what you hear and what you don’t. Haven’t you thought it was weird that despite the chaos you can hear everything that is said clearly? Don’t you think it’s weird that there is barely any kipple anywhere in Bo’s little apartment? Where are the dried spills, crumbs and footprint smears on the clean floor (barely visible beneath the artful tangle of cables)? Where are the smudges of dirty, unwashed hands on the pristine white walls? Where are the careless remnants of a space lived in and uncared for during a depression lasting over a year? They don’t exist because this is artifice. This is a set.

I have an unfair advantage over most watchers of Inside in that I have a background in theatre set building and lighting. So immediately, in the very first scene, the lighting was a little too staged for my eyes. But as Inside continued I came back to that belief over and over again. Why was I so sure? I could be wrong. I doubted my years of experience. But then there’s The Moment. Bo walks past the camera and turns off the background city noise on his laptop (if it was even diegetic to begin with). In the following seconds before he begins to play the unnatural quiet screams: “This is crafted! This place is not what it claims to be!”

Did you know that the nuclear family structure (as we know it in North America) was never used before, anywhere, prior to the end of WWII?¹ Do you know why? Because it is impossible to properly care for your children when there are only two adults, just as it is impossible for adults to grow old comfortably when they are alone. Child and spouse abuse becomes rampant without an invested and caring community to intervene early and regularly. Do you know that isolation makes for workers who can’t say no?² Capitalism has built and tended it’s crops well. Do you also not have a good relationship with your parents? Isn’t it funny how they can drive us to madness over a Zoom call because “lol, old people can’t use technology”? The song “FaceTime With My Mom (Tonight)” is at once both a lighthearted and deeply concerning piece. You cannot leave the bit without at least a passing thought of “Jesus Christ, what is wrong with Bo’s family?” This is quickly followed by the realization that you were empathizing with him during the song because you yourself have been there. You know your friends have been there. This could only lead me to think, “What the hell is wrong with our families?” It’s only much later that I thought to ask myself, “Was that really the Burnham family dynamic or is he mimicking ours?”

Does it matter?

What is authenticity to art?

Inside is a trauma play. It cannot be anything but a trauma play. And it is one in much, I think, the same way that American Splendor³ (a somewhat documentary and somewhat fictional autobiographical film based on comic artist Harvey Pekar) is a trauma play.⁴ In fact, both works are eerie in their similarities and their contrasting differences. Like American Splendor, Inside both pulls back the curtain, exposing the mistakes and messy emotions of Burnham, while also leaving the question in the back of your mind: How much of this is real? Which part is simulacrum? The xerox of a xerox of trauma, but trauma nonetheless. Are we watching Bo’s trauma? If we thought we weren’t, would we keep watching?

Where Inside greatly diverges from American Splendor is in the choice of the PR’s narrative about its creation. Where the directors/writers/editors of American Splendor defied the exceptionalism narrative, subverting it until there was only the creative collaboration of the collective to point to as “author,” Burnham (or his PR team) embraces the narrative of exceptionalism and embodies it, going so far as to obfuscate that there was anyone else who could have done any work, except of course for Burnham.

Or did they?

You knew many of my points before I made them. It is very unlikely that you read this without it first being suggested to you. It is the paradox of the current social media matrix: All media is simultaneously discovered organically and carefully curated to you (All hail the Algorithm). That is not to say that you cannot enjoy it for the first time or even a second. You should not think that this means there is something wrong with this process. This is how cultural growth functions. We understand by sharing, by having parts of a piece of media “spoiled’’ for us, by seeing something through someone else’s eyes before we see it for ourselves.

Depending on whether you read this article before or after watching Inside, you will notice or grasp different things about both’s form and structure. By talking about it, by sharing, you learn even more. We are by nature a collective, but we are being told to live otherwise. Individualism, the push to experience life in isolation, stunts us. It makes us both yearn for and terrified of a collectively responsible experience. It makes art something to fear because it will tell us what we don’t want to hear (right now).

Inside is art.

Inside is art. It is the ancient art of the jester and of the fool. Like a good jester Burnham makes plain what is and then makes you doubt so that our capitalistic “lords” do not take too great an offence in the pointing out (lest they violently shut down such dangerous rhetoric). “My lords,” his occasional song will exclaim, “do not fear me! Look how I slap my ass for the amusement of all! See how I dance in my underclothes! I am but a stupid jester. I am harmless. I am only a Fool.” There’s a reason Shakespeare used the Fool to speak truth to those in power.⁵ Inside uses memetics to display the power structures of late stage capitalism. In doing so, it demonstrates their artifice, exposing the simulation. We have been placed on a set and then told that it was real. We are in the Truman Show.

The beauty and power of art is that it can show us what we need to see. The beauty and power of comedy is that it allows those below to exert power on those above (or why good comedy doesn’t punch down). It can show us why we are not acting in our nature, but rather against it. Or at least, it suggests the idea to you lest speaking too plainly draws the attention of our capitalist overlords. Inside is art. At least that is how I feel. Watching it brought me the same initial joy and then throat clenching sadness of “Untitled” (Portrait of Ross in L.A.) by visual artist Felix Gonzalez-Torres. Inside is perhaps the most moving (distressing) piece of art I have seen in the last five years.

If you haven’t yet you might be asking: “But should I watch it?”

I cannot tell you that.

I can tell you that you should not watch it when you are fully alone. Artifice may be a type of falsehood, but what it invokes in you will be very, very real. Art cannot affect you physically, except it can. If the simulation causes the symptoms does it matter if the disease is not real? If it is only art, then why am I crying? I do recommend that you watch it on your own or with someone if you both agree to pause when it gets to be too much for either of you. But that’s now, in-pandemic. Maybe in a year, maybe in five it won’t have the same power over us because we ourselves won’t be so very alone. But now?

Do not watch it if you are truly alone, if there is no one you can sit with in the after, and if there is no opportunity for you to be comforted immediately. Please, do not watch this. There will be time later. It is not going anywhere now that it exists. But do you believe me? Maybe my telling you “not to” was the thing that made you want to. Did I know that when I wrote it? Was I sincere or was I manipulating you?

Ultimately, I would like you to walk away from my ramblings knowing this: the act of self-doubt is not inherently bad or wrong to engage in. It is the warning before and the evaluation after you take an action. It is a tool that has allowed us to develop so many good things. The well-timed use of self-doubt and reflection is how we grow and mature mentally. But how much is too much? Is this capacity for self-reflection being manipulated and used against us by the structures of power? Why do we feel so alone when there are so many of us? I don’t have answers, but Inside makes me think about them and that alone was worth the distressing, loud, and subtle experience that is Bo Burnham’s Inside.

Also the music is phenomenal. The dude is basically a Millennial Mozart.