Dissect - Dissecting INSIDE (Part 5)

Episode Date: May 31, 2022

Our series long analysis of Bo Burnham's INSIDE continues with "Look Who's Inside Again," "Problematic," and "30" - a sequence of songs that mark the special's definitive turn inward. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

From Spotify, this is Dysect, long-form musical analysis broken into short, digestible episodes. This is part five of our seven-part series on Inside, a music comedy special shot and performed by Bill Burnham over the course of a very unusual year. I'm your host, Cole Cushin. Last time on Dysect, we examined a run of songs and interludes that continued to thread together inside's interrogation of capitalism's relationship with the internet. The songs Unpaid Intern and Bezos One together displayed the inequity of our economic system, further developing this theme first established by Bo and Soco on how the world works. At the end of the episode, we saw the content creator with a knife skit,

which is followed by a new interlude scene where we once again see Bo at work on the special. He sits cross-legged on the floor in front of a keyboard, hits record on his laptop, and begins to perform the song Look Who's Inside Again. Trying to be funny and stuck in a room. There isn't much more to say about it. Can one be fun? when it's stuck in a big fucking breath. Bo stops himself in the middle of his take and frustrated, complains to himself that he took a big fucking breath.

This behind-the-scenes look at Bo creating the special is consistent with the number of interlude scenes we've seen throughout inside thus far. In each successive scene, we've observed how Bo's room seems progressively more cluttered, mirroring Bo's progressive mental decay. But however real these scenes might feel, we have to keep in mind that Bo consciously chose to include them in the film. Like a reality TV show, he's actively building a narrative, perhaps based on real-life events, but assembled in such a way that tells the story he wants to tell. There's always the possibility that it's entirely staged, entirely performed. And this is what makes his complaint about the supposed big breath he took pretty interesting. I've listened to this part over and over, and I cannot for the life of me hear a breath.

Listen again and see if you can hear it. to say about it can one be funny when stuck in it? I'm not sure about you, but I can't hear it. We might just think that Bo is being a perfectionist then, critiquing something only he notices. But then why does he take a huge, incredibly noticeable breath just before starting again? And if he was so concerned about his hearing his breath, then why did he leave this huge breath in the official version of the song that was released

on vinyl and streaming services? In the moment, Boe could have been taking a breath to ensure he has enough air to avoid taking a breath later. But perhaps it's a joke, ironically funny because he just complained about hearing his breath, yet a huge fucking breath is the first thing we hear in the song. And if this is the case, is Bo subtly winking to us here? Was this joke planned just like the rest of his jokes are? Does this mean this entire real behind-the-scenes interlude is as staged, as performed, as calculated as all the other songs and skits throughout inside?

Bo actually has a history of utilizing theoretically insignificant moments like this to draw our attention to the constructed aspect of performance, forcing us to question whether what we're watching is true or fiction, whether a performance can ever be real. In his special What, Bo takes a sip of water while introducing the show, and then, quote-unquote, accidentally drops the water bottle on the floor, which is followed by a pre-recorded song being played while Bo dances around mockingly. Jesus, sorry.

It's a good start. This short song ends, art is a lie, nothing is real. An idea that we should keep in mind as we get deeper into inside's increasingly real narrative. Trying to be funny and stuck in a room. There isn't much more to say about it. Can one be funny when stuck in a room? being in trying to get something out of it Try me

Look who's inside again's first verse is self-referential As Bo describes himself being stuck inside Making Inside. This makes clear why Bo chose to shoot this song as a behind-the-scenes interlude rather than the more constructed, highly edited visuals of all the previous songs. The performative and the real are beginning to overlap,

and as the film progresses, it'll be impossible to tell the two apart. Bo begins the verse asking, Can one be funny when stuck in a room? The question that feels akin to if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around doesn't make a sound. Without an audience,

without that essential human to human reciprocation of joke and laughter, Bo has no way of knowing if his jokes are landing. He has no sense of connection with anyone. He's talking to himself, telling jokes to a camera, perpetually hitting the wall of recorded performance. As implied by the line,

being in trying to get something out of it, Bo is doing his best to entertain himself and find some meaning while forced inside during the pandemic. He's making this special. But as we're beginning to see in his slow mental deterioration, there might be a limit to what we can get out of being perpetually inside, devoid of real human interaction, trying to connect with each other by performing to an imaginary audience through a camera,

an idea with universal implications given inside's general examination of technology, the internet, and social media. With a kid who was stuck in his room, There isn't much more to say about it When you're a kid and you're stuck in your room You'll do any old shit to get out of it. With verse 2, Bo makes a pivotal shift, drawing a parallel between his situation now

And how he got his start when he was 16, Writing and performing songs into a camera in his bedroom. Bo can't help but see his current situation as a full-circle moment, and still doing the same thing he was doing as a teenager, nearly 15 years later, will fuel the quarter-life crisis that comes to a head in the upcoming song 30. As Bo implies in this second verse, his early songs were essentially a way to entertain himself through the boredom of being a teenager stuck in his parents' house. But the crude, insensitive content of these songs is something Bo has since distanced himself from,

a tension that will dominate the songs and scenes that follow look who's inside again. For now, let's hear how Bo calls attention to the fact that he's right back where he started. Wows inside again went out to look for a reason. With your hands up, we've got you surround. Oddly, drums and bass enter during this section, further merging the real and the performative aspects of this scene. And fittingly, Bo here also switches to the third person, as if someone else is observing and commenting on his situation.

He sings, Well Well, look who's inside again. Went out to look for a reason to hide again. Well, well, buddy, you found it. Well Well is typically a phrase used to convey sarcastic surprise, as if Bo being back inside isn't a surprise at all. This likely nods to Bo's fraught relationship with performing in front of an audience, which increasingly gave him anxiety to the point of having panic attacks on stage.

With a reason to hide, Bo did just that after his 2016 special make happy and hasn't returned to the stage since. Then in 2020, the pandemic forced everyone inside, which is likely what the line, Well Well, Buddy You Found It refers to. It was a new excuse for Bo to stay in hiding. But then we hear the section's final couplet. Now come out with your hands up. We've got you surrounded.

Of course, this is what police say to someone hiding inside somewhere, demanding that they come outside. It implies there's no way out. That captivity is inevitable. Now, this line will come to have major significance by the film's end, as it comes back around in its final scenes. But right now, we suspect the line is meant to imply that Bo has not escaped an audience, since he's now invited us inside his home for this new special. However much anxiety an audience brings him, as a performer, he still needs us, and as a result,

he's let the outside inside. He's held himself captive by bringing us into his home, only now his audience is a camera, the audience of no one and everyone, the audience we all carry inside our pockets every day. Recall this idea of being held captive by a camera was introduced in the previous scene, where we saw Bo the content creator holding a knife to the camera while thanking his audience. Like we discussed at length in our last episode,

we weren't quite sure who was holding who hostage, if it was a captive audience, a captive performer, or both. This idea of captivity is also reinforced in the visuals of Lukey's inside again, as we noticed that Bo's recording equipment quite literally has them surrounded, a visual motif that will recur with increasing intensity throughout the remainder of the film.

Fittingly, just as Bo acknowledges that he's surrounded, look who's inside again suddenly ends on a somber minor forecourt, as if he surrendered. Look who's inside again strategically functions as a transition point in Inside's narrative. Until now, the majority of the songs and skits have been Bo commenting on and spoofing the world around him, He's been inside, analyzing what's outside. Now, Bo will begin to analyze what's inside, what's inside the house, what's inside of him. This shift inward toward introspection is something that Bo talked about as a result of the pandemic. In a rare 2020 interview with the Happy, Sad, Confused podcast,

Bo spoke about how prolonged isolation ended up turning into a very psychic time for him. It's also just like a very psychic time. It's a very, I found it to be very interior psych, and that's tough for me. I mean, that's just like, that's not totally easy to deal with because I'm just like, I'm the guy that, you know, is already kind of shut in in his head. And now that I'm like encouraged by the government to be in my own head, that feels like it's not the ideal. As Inside continues, a large, bright, circular light of a projector emerges on screen,

accompanied by ominous low notes played on a synthesizer. There's a bluish hue to the light, and as the scene progresses, we see Bo's sitting alongside the light watching whatever is being projected. His face is at once concerned, graved, and slightly horrified, yet he doesn't look away. In fact, he doesn't even blink. And just as the synth plays its lowest, most forbidding note, the shot switches to the wall, revealing what Bo is watching. He's watching himself, which we've seen him do a number of times while working on the special. But the Bo he's watching now is 16. performing My Whole Family in his bedroom.

It's his very first YouTube video. It's his performance origin story, the performance that started at all. The ominous feeling of this scene is likely inspired by Bo's actual feelings about this video. Here he is on NPR's Fresh Air, preparing to listen to My Whole Family with host Terry Gross, an enlightening interaction that helps display

Bo's relationship with his teenage work. Why don't we hear what I think is the first song that you posted, which is... which is my whole family is that the first one. Yeah, sure. So it's called My Whole Family or My Whole Family thinks I'm gay. And you posted this in 2006, but your micing technique wasn't great. So your piano.

I would say basically all of my technique wasn't great, my technique for subtlety or writing or performing. But yeah, let's go with the mic technique. My whole family thinks I'm gay. I guess it's always been that away Maybe it's because of the way That I walk makes them think I like boys

I had the headphones off And I was in a full body sweat So I didn't hear most of that Oh boy Did people misinterpret it and think Like that guy's homophobic I don't know that it's not You know what I mean? I don't know that it's not

I don't defend my 16 year old comedy at all And like I have a lot of material from back then that I'm not proud of and I think is offensive and I think is not helpful. But also I can't regret a bit of it, you know, because I deeply believe in the butterfly effect and I'm so grateful to be here right now. I do not think my intention was homophobic, but what is the implicit comedy of that song? If you chase it all the way down, I don't think it's perfectly morally defendable. It's pretty clear that Beau doesn't stand by his teenage work.

the concern horror of watching My Whole Family projected on his wall. The ominous music that scores this scene helps convey Bo's horror. But if we listen carefully to the notes being played, we realize that they're actually directly pulled from My Whole Family. To show exactly how Bo did this, let's first hear the piano introduction of My Whole Family. Now let me isolate the chords here, removing the rhythm and just playing the chord sequence. If we strip these chords down to just their bass or root notes, it sounds like this. Now compare this. with what we hear the synth play during the projection scene, is the same exact note sequence

just played in a different key signature, which is what's called transposition. Just like Bo is haunted by My Whole Family, the music of My Whole Family is reappropriated to create the feeling Bo has while watching My Whole Family. It's self-symbolic of how he feels about his old, problematic work in general. And the reason Bo transposed it to a new key, the key of G minor, is because that's the key of Inside's next song, Problematic.

Suburbanite, a tiny town in Massachusetts, overwhelmingly white. I went to church on Sundays in a suit and a time, and spent my free time watching family guy. I started doing comedy when I was just a sheltered kid. I wrote offensive shit, and I said it. Problematic is an uptempo, 80s-inspired electronic pop song, featuring a pulsating synth bass and driving electronic drums. Thematically it picks up where both Look Who's Inside Again and the My Whole Family Projector

scene left off. The first verse provides Bo's origin story. He explains how he's a sheltered, white suburban kid making family guy inspired comedy songs in his bedroom. He then sings, I wrote offensive shit and I said it. Father, please forgive me for I did not realize what I did or I'd live to regret it. Despite these lyrics being dramatized for satirical and comedic effect, it does feel like they come from a place of sincerity. As we heard in his interview with fresh air, Bo does not attempt to defend his past work and does not stand by it, and he's taken this stance every time his past work comes up in interviews. You know, I started at 16, and then so like the person you are at 16, 19, 21, 25, you know,

so it's like this conversation that's really kind of piqued these last couple years about like whatever it means, whatever you call it cancellation, whatever, whatever, accountability, whatever that is. Like, I think it's the thing that younger people my age and younger really have been wrestling with for a while, which is because like our lives and like the roadmap to the person we currently are is just accessible online. And it's like, and it's like an embarrassing roadmap for most of us. I know for me it really is. Like it like I wish I could have some like spotless over that just was just like totally self-contained and like told a coherent, you know, moral story. But it just isn't.

That's sort of been like my, yeah, my whole life has sort of just been like creatively like putting stuff out to be like, no, no, no, sorry. Sorry for everything I said before. Actually, I mean this. Sorry for everything. Actually, I mean that. And it's like the hope is that we can allow for that change, one, but that also it doesn't, but also that when people ask for that change, people don't get so defensive because it's like comedians especially, I think it happens with older comedians. They're just so defensive about this stuff and like so defensive about reexamining their previous work.

And it's just like, I mean, like things are changing. And comedy ages like milk, it just does. It just like, you watch like a comedy from the 90s, you're like, Jesus Christ. Like, you go like, wow, I did not realize how actually insane some of this was. Despite problematic's first verse being at least rooted in sincerity, Beau adds another layer to the song with its second verse, which comments directly on the first. I want to show you how I'm growing as a person, but first,

I feel I must address the lyrics from the previous verse. I tried to hide behind my childhood. that's not okay since I started singing this. The verse two, Bo critiques his own apology, which seems to mirror the cycle of Bo's reaction to the reaction skit, where each loop of self-analysis revealed a deeper underlying motivation for his performance. Recall that at one point Bo, the reactor said, I'm so worried that criticism will be levied against me,

that I levy it against myself before anyone else can. And I think that, oh, if I'm self-aware about being a douchebag, it'll somehow make me less of a douchebag, but it doesn't. Self-awareness does not absolve anybody of it. anything. This same self-critique is exhibited in the two verses of problematic. Bo attempts to get ahead of criticism of his past work by criticizing it himself in verse one. But then in verse two, he acknowledges the self-awareness does not absolve him of anything, singing, I tried to hide behind

my childhood, and that's not okay. My actions are my own. I won't explain them away. The structure of these two verses also seems to mimic a cycle we've come to see often in celebrity culture. A celebrity will get called out for doing something wrong, either presently or in their past, and publicly apologize. That apology will get backlash for not being sincere or acknowledging the issue correctly, and the celebrity will then apologize for their apology, often regurgitating the criticism they received as a way of showing that now they really get it, that this time they're really sorry. Boe underscores this latter point by singing, I've done a lot of self-reflecting since I started singing this song. I was totally wrong when I said it.

there's only so much self-reflection that can be done in that amount of time, calling her attention to how often these public apology cycles are just desperate attempts to save their career, often written by a legal or PR team. They aren't actually sorry, they're just looking for the right words that will garner forgiveness to avoid cancellation. And even if the apology comes from a place of sincerity, there's an inherently performative aspect of a public apology just by the nature of it being public. And this performative aspect seems to explain the visuals during problematic. With warm, smoky lining, Bo is seen shirtless working out, drenched in sweat, but also obviously trying to look sexy. Once again, Bo the celebrity has found a way to center

himself while supposedly apologizing to a marginalized community for offending them. The fact that Bo is working out seems to be a play on a celebrity doing the work to be a better person, to work it out. Yet his attempts to make this work look sexy show that even apologies will be curated to show the celebrity in a favorable light. Bo has been playing with these performative celebrity dynamics ever since the song comedy, when Bo portrayed himself as a white savior celebrity here to heal the world with this special. But also recall that Bo's inclination to help was actually grounded in sincerity. By mocking himself in his own special, Beau showed he was self-aware enough to understand there were also personal motivations behind

his work, and to not acknowledge those and only present himself as selfless would be disingenuous and manipulative. And Bo seems to be doing something similar here on problematic. We know Bo is horrified by his old work, but he also understands that it helped him get to where he is now. So attempting to totally erase that past, yet still reap the benefits of it, somehow seems even more problematic. And as he alludes to in the song's chorus, that's the bet he's made, and he's prepared to lie in it. At any point, he's ready to be held accountable. Bo's willingness to be held accountable might be why, for the most part, Bo has kept all those old videos online. However much he's evolved,

and grown, his past is his past, and perhaps an authentic public example of growth is actually what we need more of, as this experience of immortalizing every stage of her life is now the new normal for kids growing up on the internet. And I'm happy to be an example of someone that failed out loud publicly in a certain way and was hopefully able to evolve and get past that. And I do worry that kids don't have that freedom anymore. They don't have the freedom to fail out loud because a huge part of being anything, not just being creative, is failing and trying things

and feeling in the dark and going, oh, that's a wall, okay, I don't go past the air, you know, but like, and there are some stoves on, you know what I mean? I'm just stretching metaphors left. No, I get it. You get burned. It's like, you're gonna fuck up.

You're gonna say some wrong shit, and you have to be able to atone for that. If you're a kid, you have to be given the... No, the fear of seeing entire lives, out because a mistake is revealed. Yeah, especially if it's a kid, a 17-year-old. As problematic continues, we reach its bridge, where we hear a distinct turning point in the song's musical tone. Until now, the song has been in the key of G minor, which has a darker tonal inflection, adding to the track's intense driving quality befitting of workout music. But with the bridge,

everything suddenly drops out and we hear a new soft keyboard instrument. It plays a chord progression in the song's relative major key, E-flat major, a much softer, warmer key signature. This tonal shift is matched by Beau's lyrics, which feel to me much more sincere than the comedic tongue-and-cheek lyrics of the song's first half. And I've been totally awful. My closet is chalk full of stuff that is vaguely shitty. All of it was perfectly lawful, just not very thoughtful at all, and just really shitty. And I've been totally awful. My closet is chalk full of stuff that is vaguely shitty. Oh, just not very thoughtful at all And just re-ending

And I'm really fucking sorry Bo's admission of his past work Being awful and inconsiderate crescendos into a straightforward apology In between these long-held sorries We hear background vocals that sing If I'm gonna catch up, first I gotta fess up Catchup here seems to imply

Catch up with the times With the new cultural norms and standards of what's appropriate and acceptable This adds a new layer to why Bo is working out throughout this video. To catch up, he'll have to run faster. He'll have to be more fit to fit than new times. Interestingly, the most sincere feeling section of problematic is contrasted with its most over-the-top comedic visuals. Bo shows us his nipples, sexually inserts a water bottle into his navel, and his dance moves reach an absurd pinnacle. He also drops to his knees

and sings to the heavens above, implying that he's seeking God's forgiveness. And precisely when he sings, I'm really fucking sorry. We see Bo crucified on a silhouette cross projected on his wall. It's peak white savior martyrdom, dying for his own sins as opposed to humanity's sins. It also recalls the way some celebrities use God as a prop in their appeal for public apology, remarketing themselves as a god-fearing, church-going individual who is doing the spiritual work to change. These visuals seem to undercut Bo's apology, once again displaying Boe's extreme self-awareness. He can't help but to mock his own public apology, knowing all too well that despite being grounded in its sincerity,

it's inherently performative, and there's no way of getting around its performative aspect. It's as if he's saying, yes, I'm sorry, but also don't feel sorry for me. Don't give me brownie points for this apology, because at the end of the day, I was the one who fucked up, and I shouldn't be praised for apologizing. Now, after problematic, we see a new interlude scene before hearing Insides' next song 30. This interlude scene is one of the coolest, most important scenes in the entire special. We're going to unpack it all right after the break. Welcome back to dissect. Before the break, we reached the end of the song Problematic,

which is followed by a new behind-the-scenes interlude, where we see both setting up a shot for what appears to be the problematic video that we just watched. He fiddles with some lights and smoke machine, adjust his camera's aperture, all the while looking into his field monitor for a visual preview of the shot he's constructing. He picks up the field monitor to move it closer to him, and in the process accidentally pulls the camera it's attached to. The camera is on a stand, which begins falling to the ground, but Bo at the last second realizes what's happening and catches the camera at the last minute. This interlude continues to serve as a constant reminder of the poignant aspect of this film.

Bo is never letting us get too immersed into the special without calling attention to its construction, as the process of its construction is a large part of its narrative and its central theme. And with these interlude scenes progressively showing Bo's slow deterioration while making this special, the camera falling feels symbolic of Bo falling apart, slowly unraveling. This is seemingly confirmed with what we see next, as inside cuts to another interlude scene where we see Bow on a stool in the center of the room, and we hear the chirping of crickets, implying that it's nighttime. There's another slightly taller stool next to Bo,

and on it sits a digital clock that reads 1158, two minutes till midnight. Bo holds a mic and begins to speak directly to his audience, his camera. So I've been working on this special now for six months, and the whole time I've had a goal in mind, which is I wanted to finish this thing before I turned 30, because the idea of turning 30 while still in this fucking room working on this thing alone

that just seemed I just wanted to avoid that so this scene mirrors the monologue we heard near the beginning of inside where we saw Beau talking into the same microphone in front of his mirror alongside his camera There he let us know that he was making this special alone, and now he's back to update us on how it's going.

When he says, I've been working on this special for six months, we see a brief one-second clip of Bow setting up equipment, his hair and beard much shorter than it is now. We actually saw this same shot in the very beginning of the film, in a montage of Bo setting up and testing equipment just before his mirror monologue. And if we're taking Bo at his word here, we can do some math in order to put a timeline on the creation of Inside. Bo's birthday is August 21, 1990, which would mean this scene was filmed on the night of August 20th, 2020.

If he has truly been working on the special for six months, that would take us back to around February 20th, about a month before pandemic lockdowns hit the United States. He lets us know that his goal was to finish the special in six months, before he turned 30, because he couldn't imagine still being stuck in the same room, working alone. There's a bit of frustration and dejection in his voice, perhaps because he knows he's a long way from that goal, seeing how we're only 40 minutes into what will become an hour and a half film. But the truth is, I turn 30 in less than a minute.

So I'm just going to sit here and enjoy my 20s and then get back to work. Beau sits in silence for several seconds, and when the clock strikes midnight, the opening moments of the song 30 begin to play. Now there's a few really cool things we have to acknowledge about the clock striking midnight before getting into the song 30. As we've been noting throughout our analysis, Inside seems to be following the traditional three-act story structure used in most films. Act 1 is set up or exposition.

It introduces the protagonist, their relationships, and the world they live in. We saw this play out mostly in the song content and the scenes around it. It introduced our protagonist, Beau, his world, the inside of this room, and his relationships, are none, he's alone. Traditionally, after these elements are established, what's called a dynamic or inciting incident occurs, which confronts the main character. We saw this play out in the first half of the song, Comedy, where both established that the fate of the world was endangered due to climate change, incoming equality, systemic oppression, and the other stuff. The end of the first act is then signaled by the protagonist's attempts to deal with the inciting

incident, known as the call to adventure, where the main character accepts their call and their journey begins. This played out in the second half of comedy when Bo was satirically called by God to heal the world with this comedy, specifically to make the special we're currently watching. Thus we reach Act 2, also known as Rising Action. This is where we see the protagonist attempting to resolve the problem initiated by the inciting incident. As the second act progresses, it becomes more and more difficult for the main character, hence the term Rising Action. We saw this in the first handful of songs and videos Bo made for this special, FaceTime with my mom, How the World Works, White Woman's Instagram,

unpaid intern, and Bezos 1. These were Bo's initial attempts to heal the world with comedy. And typical of the beginning of the second act, things went relatively smooth. But little by little, we began witnessing Boe starting to decline in each interlude scene, when he shone behind the scenes creating the special. The stakes were then raised even more overtly when Bo shifted his attention inward, with Luke who's inside again and problematic.

Now, in the middle of the second act, there's often something called the midpoint or the mid-act climax, which marks a major turning point in the story and dramatically changes the trajectory of the protagonist's journey. Author of the book's screenplay, Sid Field describes the midpoint as, quote, an important scene in the middle of the script, often a reversal of fortune or revelation that changes the direction of the story. An event occurs wherein the character cannot give up his pursuit. It is a no turning back point.

The bridge has been burned behind him, and he can only move forward. forward. Often, this is manifested as a ticking clock, unquote. Did you catch that? A ticking clock. Exactly what we see next to Bo as he waits for the strike of midnight. And it turns out this turning 30 scene is a textbook midpoint, a reversal of fortune, changing the direction of the story. Where before Bo was attempting to heal the world by making this comedy special, clearly a satirical premise, this midpoint scene dramatically shifts inside's narrative trajectory. Now the question that will consume the rest of the special is, will Bo actually finish the special? Will he make it to the end? Or will his mental health deteriorate to the point where that is no longer possible?

This narrative shift from satire to an authentic personal struggle formalizes the thematic shift we observed at the beginning of this episode, when Bo stopped looking so much at the world outside and began looking inside, looking in himself. Now, as implied by the name, a midpoint typically occurs halfway through the story, though this is much more of an approximation since placing a plot point exactly at the halfway point, to the second, or even to the minute, seems nearly impossible. To achieve that, you'd have to continually alter the first and second halves of the film in the editing process to ensure that your midpoint always remain exactly in the middle. For example, say you made a small edit in the first half of the film that ended up shortening

it by a few seconds. In order to keep your midpoint exactly midway, you have to then make an equivalent edit somewhere in the second half of the film so that both halves remain equal. This seems impossible, right? Surely no one is this tedious and detailed-oriented, right? Well, wrong, because that's exactly what our boy Bo Burnham did. Inside is 87 minutes and 38 seconds long, which makes its halfway point 43 minutes and 49 seconds. And it's exactly at 43 minutes and 49 seconds that the clock strikes midnight. Inside's midway plot point occurs exactly midway through the film, to the very second.

The perfect symmetry of Inside is not only reflected in this perfect divide of its running time, but it's also seen in the track list. Inside contains 20 songs, and 30, the first song after the midway point, is Track 11, meaning that the first half of Inside contains 10 songs, and its second half contains 10 songs. And so with the Turning 30 at Midnight scene obviously representing a pivotal narrative, thematic, and symbolic shift in Inside, we move forward with an understanding that this is a new beginning of source. This might be why Bo chose the clock striking midnight on his 30th birthday to mark this moment, since midnight literally marks the beginning of a new day, and a new decade in Bo's life.

It's also likely why we see Bo in his underwear performing the song 30. He's in his birthday suit, or at least as close as he can be without the video becoming distractingly explicit. But given this new beginning idea, we can also look to the actual beginning of the film and recognize that Bo seems to be intentionally mirroring that beginning with this new beginning. recall that the first song on Inside was Content, where we heard Bo sing, Going Back to Work is exactly what Bo says in his midnight monologue. In fact, it's the final thing he says. Get back to work.

Also recall that the song Content was very likely referencing the Queen's song I Want to Break Free, which we observed as a fitting phrase for someone stuck inside. Now, taking a closer look at the production of the song 30, we realized that Bo has done precisely the same thing here. Let's listen to a back-to-back comparison of 30 with Queen's 1984 song Radio Gaga. I used to ride my bike, I used to wake up with a smile and go to bed at night with a dream. Now I'm turning 30. Musically is an obvious match.

The tempos are nearly identical. Both are in the key of F major, feature the same exact first two chords, and use the same main instruments, piano, an arpeggiated synth, and similar drum sounds. And just like 30 mourns the loss of Bo's 20s, Radio Gaga mourns the loss of the radio to television. This kind of reappropriation of a reference song's subject is something Bo has been doing all special long, from content's nod to I Want to Break Free, unpaid intern's nod to 16 tons, Bezos 1's nod to Obsession, and now 30's nod to Radio Gaga. But the fact that Bo references Queen in the first song of the film's first half,

and now in the first song of its clearly divided second half, feels like an extra-intentional move, accentuating this idea of a new beginning even more. We can even find more evidence that Beau was inspired by Radio Gaga by studying its music video, which begins with a square visual aspect ratio. But then just over two minutes into the song, the aspect ratio suddenly widens to full frame, which is triggered by the song's post-chorus. Then after the post-chorus is complete, it slowly shrinks down to a square aspect ratio again. recall we saw this exact visual flourish in the song White Woman's Instagram,

which began with a square aspect ratio to resemble the original Instagram photo format, and then widened a full frame in the song's bridge before slowly shrinking back down to square once the bridge was complete. Now, thematically, the majority of the song 30 mourns the loss of Beau's 20s. He reflects on his life so far and constantly insults himself for not accomplishing much more than making a birdhouse with his mom. It expresses the type of anxiety a lot of us has. when hitting such major age milestones, feeling like we should have accomplished or experienced more by this age,

which can often result in something that resembles a midlife crisis, revealing yet another possible layer to the midway point that 30 symbolizes. I used to make fun of the boomers in retrospect a bit too much. Now all these fucking zoomers are telling me that I'm out of touch.

Oh yeah. Well, your fucking phones are poisoning your minds, okay? So when you develop a disassociative mental disorder in your late 20s, Don't come crawling back to the page. Here in the song's second verse, Bo describes how he used to make fun of his elders, the boomers or baby boomer generation.

And notes that now the tables have turned, that as a millennial, he's being made fun of by Zoomers, another name for Generation Z. But his comeback is what's the most interesting, as he addresses them directly saying, well, your fucking phones are poisoning your minds, okay? So when you develop a dissociative mental disorder in your late 20s, don't come crawling back to me.

His resentment is obviously comedic, but I do think his direct address of a dissociative mental disorder as a result of using your phone too much needs to be acknowledged, since that's exactly what we see happening to Bo throughout inside, and something that will only worsen as the film goes on. He's speaking from direct experience, and while we've used past interview clips of Bo discussing dissociation to reinforce this theme, 30 marks the first direct reference within inside itself. He even says in your late 20s, which is exactly Bo's age range when he began work on the film. 30 ends with a brief outro, where Bo plays with the numerical sequence of tens or decades, until finally

joking that when he turns 40, he's going to kill himself. It's a dark note to end on, but ever self-aware, Bo clarifies the lyric in the scene that directly follows 30. I just want to say for the record that I do not want to kill myself, okay? I don't want to kill myself and I'm not going to kill myself. And if you're out there and you're struggling with, you know, suicidal thoughts and you want to kill yourself, I just want to tell you, don't, okay? Can you not, please?

Bo clarifies that he doesn't really want to kill himself and tells us that if we're thinking about killing ourselves, don't. He says this while sitting against an all-white backdrop, talking directly to us. But as soon as he says don't, the scene suddenly changes. Now a recording of a bow that was just talking to us is a projection overlaid directly on top of another bow, who's now watching himself. This new bow is clearly months older than the first bow, as his hair and beard is visibly much longer. The projector is set up in such a way that the younger bow shows up clearly on the older Bo's white t-shirt, perhaps the most obvious visual symbol for Bo's dissociation thus far in

the special. Because the older bow looks visibly more exhausted and disillusion, the overall effect of this scene gives the impression that the younger Bo is talking directly to the older bow, that younger Bo is telling Older Bo not to kill himself. But Older Bo seems generally disinterested or unconvinced, and even checks his phone a few times while watching himself. Just don't, all right? Fucking quit it with the... But really, don't kill yourself. You don't want to because there are people that love you. That's not true necessarily, but there could be people that love you in the future.

And just don't. I've had people close to me kill themselves. And I'll be honest with you, didn't love it. Didn't love that. So just don't. The Younger Boe's attempt at a suicide prevention PSA becomes progressively weaker as he struggles to find a valid reason not to. In terms of its narrative function, this scene ups the stakes of the film, as the talk of suicide

combined with seeing a clearly dejected older version of Bo, plants the seeds that suicide might actually be in the cards as he struggles to finish the special, isolated and alone with only his camera, where watching recordings of himself is the closest thing that resembles human interaction. And this cliffhanger of sorts leads us right into the film's quote-unquote intermission. We see the word intermission in huge all-caps letters that fills the length. of the screen. After a few moments, we see Bo come into frame wearing a workman's uniform. He's blurry and out of focus, as is the rest of the room behind him. He kneels down directly in front of the camera and begins distributing soapy water on what appears to be the camera's lens,

though in reality it's likely Boe set a large piece of glass in front of the camera to create this effect. Interestingly, it's the glass or the lens that's in focus, forcing our attention away from Bo and directly to the glass or lens itself. He continues cleaning the lens before using a squeegee to remove the soapy water. In a film published on a digital streaming service, the intermission here is clearly theatrical, as one can very easily pause the film anytime to go to the bathroom or take a break. Instead, this intermission feels like another symbolic reminder

that what we're watching is a constructed piece of media. In a way, it reflects the end of the opening mirror monologue, where the camera slowly zooms into itself until our screens become a black mirror, drawing our attention to the dynamic of camera and screen, audience and performer. Also, placing this intermission directly after his mention of suicide might be a way of communicating that we shouldn't take his suicidal ideation too seriously, that he is, in a sense, playing a character,

that the version of Bo we see on screen is dramatized, perhaps rooted in personal experience or feelings, but exaggerated for dramatic and narrative effect. Here's Bo talking about this very dynamic in an interview during the Make Happy tour. Me on stage is still a character. It still kind of is. It is me as a performer. So for me as a performer, them liking me or not is life and death.

The good thing is in truly in my real life, I have strong personal relationships and stuff that I, that fulfill me to the point where I don't totally 100% need this. So I'm saying I'm much more dramatic. It's funny that like I do something crazy and funny and people are like, ha ha ha, he's kidding. And then I do something a little dark or whatever. and everyone's like, this is him, this is absolutely him, you know.

Both are exaggerations of something. Throughout this intermission scene, we hear an original score that features a synth bass playing single low notes, outlining a four-core progression. Recall that we just heard a very similar four-court progression played by a synth bass when Beau watched himself perform My Whole Family, and that the chords being played mirrored the chords of that song. Also during the intermission scene,

we hear a high melody played by what sounds like a synth, imitating a vibraphone, and it's actually playing the melody from the song content. Recall we heard this melody from content played by a more authentic sounding vibraphone during the content creator with a knife interlude scene. So thank you, and also keep watching, because there's a lot more content where that came from. Alright guys, see you later! It's here we realized that the score behind the intermission scene is actually hybridizing the My Whole Family scene with content and the content creator with a knife scene,

an extremely ingenious way to musically reflect exactly what is happening at this point in the special. Bo's life, emotion, and experience are becoming the content, perfectly setting the stage for the remainder of inside, where this interplay between Beau's experience making the film and the film itself eventually becomes synonymous, and we won't be able to tell what's real or what's constructed, what's real life, or what's content. Of course, this is itself a reflection of all of us, as our personal lives increasingly integrate with our constructed digital presentations of self, and distinguishing between the two becomes all but impossible. How are you feeling? Do you like the show?

Are you tired of it? Never mind. I don't want to know. Are you finding it boring? As Inside continues, Bo addresses us directly in the song Don't Want to Know, further drawing our attention to the relationship between the performer and audience, camera and screen. He asks us directly how we're feeling and whether or not we're enjoying the special. We'll try to answer those questions and a whole lot more as we continue our line-by-line, scene-by-seeing analysis of insight. Next time on Dysect. Today's episode of Dysect was written and produced by me.

If you enjoyed today's episode, please tell a friend about the show or share on social media. It really helps. Additional analysis by Camden Ostrander. Audio editing by Kevin Pooleer. Theme music by Bureaucratic. All right, thanks everyone. Talk to you next week.