Graphic by Gill Kwok
If you are a teenager or 20-something, chances are you have heard of “Inside,” comedian Bo Burnham’s latest Netflix special. The special, like most of Burnham’s work, is, at its heart, a musical production, addressing themes such as internet culture, stardom, mental health, young adulthood and societal ills through song and interspersed monologues. Filmed entirely in one small room, Burnham chronicles his experience locked inside during the pandemic, singing songs and performing in the same place as we see his beard grow visibly longer. The special’s songs have grown to be pop culture sensations on their own merit, going viral on TikTok and amassing millions of plays on Spotify. But, I think that the most successful part of the special is not its catchy and (sometimes too) relatable tunes, but the monologue Burnham delivers at its exact midpoint.
At 43 minutes and 49 seconds into the special, we see Bo Burnham turn 30. As his clock’s digital display turns from 11:59 p.m.to 12:00 a.m., Burnham delivers a monologue that is markedly somber and sincere. He speaks directly to us, without music or performance, telling us how he wanted to finish the special by the time he reached his 30th birthday, “because the idea of … of turning 30, while still in this fucking room, working on this thing alone, um, that just seemed … I just … I just wanted to avoid that.” Failing to reach his goal, Burnham then breaks into the dismal tune “30,” reflecting on his shortcomings and what he hasn’t been able to accomplish as he exits young adulthood. Although as a teenager — I am far from 30 years old — I think this portion of the special was by far the most relatable, capturing exactly what it feels like to be an adolescent and young adult during the pandemic.
While Burnham turned 30 in 2020, last year I reached another important milestone — 16. Although my birthday was just before the country went into widespread lockdown, I know the pain of spending what is supposed to be an important year of your life inside. Just as I watched Burnham turn 30 alone and isolated, I watched many of my friends turn 16 trapped in their rooms on FaceTime. While other generations got lively sweet sixteens, we got sweet but lifeless birthday zooms. Our dresses were replaced with worn-in sweatpants and dancing replaced with endless rounds of digital Pictionary. We spent the year that is so glorified in pop culture and by adults everywhere inside, in virtual school, only seeing each other through our five-inch smartphone screens.
By filming himself so glaringly alone, turning 30 without pomp or circumstance, Burnham captured the essence of what it was like growing older in 2020. Unlike other years, when turning 16 or 30 were celebrated milestones, for many in 2020, these birthdays were just another day to, as Burnham sarcastically puts it, “get back to work … yay.” These uncelebrated birthdays that Burnham so truthfully captures on camera epitomize the larger reality of what it was like growing older in the pandemic. While progressing through your teens and 20s is always bittersweet, in 2020, the bitterness was much more overbearing. Forced to celebrate our birthdays and progressing through life alone, many of us were led to ruminate on our shortcomings rather than celebrate our growth. Burnham perfectly captures this sense of bitterness that many of us felt, discussing candidly with us how little he feels he has accomplished stuck in quarantine as he exits his young adult years. Although I can’t relate exactly to the emotions that are evoked by watching your friends have kids, I can empathize with the feelings of stagnance and loss that the pandemic year brought on. Teenagers and young adults missed out on so much, from sports seasons, to proms, to graduations, to truly getting to explore the world on our own. With so much of normal life denied from us, it was difficult to progress through traditional rites of passage and feel as accomplished as previous generations. But, as Burnham proves through this portion of his special, my feelings are not unique. In fact, nearly everyone, whether 16 or 30, shares the same sense of loss and stagnation that I and, I’m sure, many of you feel.