Is it okay to enjoy art that has its roots in suffering? I ask this because, over the past week or so, I’ve been completely obsessed with Bo Burnham’s latest special, Inside. Inside, a sort of one man musical, was written, directed, composed, and performed by Bo by himself over quarantine and, as such, deals with themes of isolation and what that sort of thing can do to one’s mental health. While it’s incredibly smart and funny, Inside is difficult to watch at times, as you can sort of see Bo’s mental decay happen in real time. Despite this, or maybe because of it, I enjoyed Inside immensely. Though, I’m not sure “enjoy” would be the correct word to use here. I’ll get into that later.
So then, suffering. Great art is often a reflection of lived experience, so it makes sense that if you’re dealing with pain that that would then show up in your work. A great example of this sort of process would be something like Kids See Ghosts, the collaborative album from Kid Cudi and Kanye West that details some of their struggles with mental health. Kids See Ghosts acts as a sort of cathartic confessional for the duo, allowing them to break free from their struggles and process their mental states in a positive outlet, the album itself. However, in the case of Inside, it seems that Bo’s mental health is directly correlated with his work on and the circumstances around the special’s production, meaning Inside is both a reflection and cause of Bo’s mental state as production wears on, whereas Kids See Ghosts is simply a reflection of suffering, at least in my reading.
This presents an odd conundrum, as a piece of art might be a result of audience demand. Our desire for a Bo Burnham special causes Bo Burnham to make a Bo Burnham special, right? Well, Bo famously stepped out of the standup spotlight in 2016 after suffering from panic attacks onstage during some of his shows, demonstrating a willingness to sacrifice success in the pursuit of a better mental state. Also, at the beginning of Inside, Bo introduces the special, stating that he hopes that it “can do for you what it’s done for me these last couple of months, which is to distract me from wanting to put a bullet in my head with a gun.” So, it doesn’t seem like Inside was made to appease an audience, rather out of Bo’s own desire to make it. In general, I think we can trust artists not to make anything they don’t want to make, but it’s worth considering nonetheless.
It feels weird for me to comment and speculate on other peoples’ mental health, though, but Bo alludes to it often and makes it the focal point of his work. At the start of the special, Bo sticks to more general comedy, commenting on the nature of humor in crisis on the opening number “Comedy.” He uses “FaceTime With My Mom (Tonight)” and “Sexting” to consider how to keep up with relationships (familial and romantic) in the Covid era. However, as the show reaches its second half, it becomes apparent the toll working on these bits in isolation is taking on him. Tracks like “All Time Low” and “Shit” stand out, as they detail how he’s feeling mentally in no uncertain terms. In the former, Bo talks about how his mental state is rapidly approaching an all time low, breaking into song to say “I get this feeling in my body, way down deep inside me I try not to fight it (Describe it!) Alright. A few things start to happen, my vision starts to flatten, my heart, it gets to tappin’, and I think I’m gonna die.” It seems like the more Bo works on the special, the worse he gets to feeling, and the more he explores that darkness.
About an hour and ten minutes in, there’s a sort of interlude where Burnham contemplates the length of time he’s been working on the special that’s especially difficult for me to watch. “So I’ve been working on this special for a year now, which is a lot longer that I anticipated working on it when I started.” He breaks, slapping his thigh in frustration. “So I’ve been working on…” He drops the mic and walks off camera, knocking over lights and other equipment. There’s a visceral feeling of anguish in this scene that’s kind of scary to see. Throughout my life, in various other circumstances, I’ve had these sorts of breaks, these feelings of guilt or disgust or general uneasiness that make my mind circle around itself in frustration to the point where I can’t even vocalize how I’m feeling without lashing out in anger at myself. I see myself in Bo here, and it makes me sad, yet unalone.
I think this is key to understanding the role that suffering plays in art. Seeing someone relay their suffering lets the audience know that their not alone, or at least it does for me. I don’t think I “enjoy” Inside, as I alluded to earlier, or at least not the parts I relate to the most. I enjoy “White Woman’s Instagram,” “Comedy,” and “Welcome to the Internet” for other reasons, but I relate to Bo’s struggles with mental health and the way in which he presents them gives me something to latch onto. Still though, it seems odd that someone else has to suffer for the sole purpose of making me feel unalone. But I’m not sure that that is the sole purpose. Actually, it’s most definitely not. Maybe I’ve been too self-centered in my analysis of Inside. Bo is going to live his life the way he’s going to live it and we can take it or leave it. He wanted to make this special, as he stated in the beginning. He didn’t make it for me. Inside exists without me and thus there doesn’t seem to be a reason for me not to take what it has to offer.
But I still can’t shake this uneasy feeling that it’s wrong to be entertained by something like Inside. In its final moments, Bo alludes to this by stepping outside the room which he’s spent so much time in. A crowd welcomes him, first with applause, then with laughter as he manically scrambles to reopen the door which has locked behind him. It’s hard to watch the crowd howling as Bo struggles in front of them for their entertainment. This goes on for a while and then the camera cuts to Bo himself, inside his room, watching back the same footage that we were just seeing. He stares for a while, then smiles as if to acknowledge the merit of his work. It wasn’t for nothing, because it meant something to someone. Inside means something to me.