Bo Burnham's Make Happy - Part One

Age: 29 years, 8 months, 17 days

Author's Note: This essay series is built on the assumption the reader has already watched the comedy special it's written about.
  I believe comedy is an odd art form because the result of the performance is dependent on the audience. The reaction of the crowd can influence the experience of an individual audience member.
  Normally, if I’m watching a comedy special and a joke doesn’t get a laugh, I’ll feel uncomfortable even if I believe the joke was good. When I watched Bo Burnham’s 2016 special Make Happy, the opposite was true. Any time the audience laughed or applauded, I was distressed.
  For as long as I can remember, my self-worth was based in the feedback of others. I liked being an engineer because my peers said I was great at it.
  Additionally, I avoided things I wasn’t confident I’d get a positive response from. This defined the way I talked to people. I wouldn’t say anything I thought might upset anyone. My lack of authenticity wasn’t based in saying things I didn’t believe, but avoiding talking about many things I did.
  Near the middle of the special, Bo sings a song about pandering in modern country music. For me, the relevance of the song is in two moments that precede it. Immediately before the song he discusses country music:

“I believe some of the greatest songwriters of all time are country artists. Dolly Parton, Willie Nelson, you know. And if you’re writing honestly, that is art, and I would never bash that. Um, the problem is, with a lot of modern country music, what is called stadium country music, the sort of Keith Urban brand of country music, is that it is not honest. It is the exact opposite of honest.”

  The bit that immediately precedes the “pandering” song is one where Bo pretends he’s going to adlib something, but it was clearly planned. After the song he talks about himself:

“How does he do it? How does he pretend to do it? How does he remain contrived? I’m not – I’m not honest for a second up here.”
  When I started writing, I only allowed one person to read something I wrote while they were physically in front of me. I was comfortable sharing my work with him because I knew I could keep his opinion of what I wrote separate from my experience of writing.
  Because I wasn’t concerned about feedback, writing became a place where I could step away from the world and be honest in a way I never was in normal conversation.
  After the “pandering” song, Bo discusses how celebrity lip syncing on late night talk shows is the death of culture and expresses frustration about how audiences deserve better.
  This is immediately followed by a dick joke that has no relevance to the rest of the special. The audience laughs. He then states, "the show is a series of discrete bits," but doesn't say they're disconnected. Before moving to the next bit, he says, "God, if you don't get that," in a tone that sounds defeated.
  Writing without immediate feedback affected the way I spoke to people. The more I wrote, the more honest I became while talking to people. I spoke with more freedom, told more jokes, and increasingly enjoyed having conversations.
  I made mistakes, but I realized there’s no way for me to go through life without saying something regrettable. Taking risks, making mistakes, and seeing nothing terrible happen allowed me to separate my sense of self-worth from the way people reacted to what I said.
  There are moments in the special where it seems like Bo baits the audience into laughing at a bad joke. The special is shot in New York, and he insults Alabamans for not knowing what electricity is. When the audience laughs, he responds that Alabama was genuinely nice.
  After this, he does a simple dance while making a dumb face and the audience laughs again. He responds, “yea, you like that,” with a body language I perceive as dejected.
  Four months ago, I gave a speech at my best friend’s wedding. Although the speech was a performance, it was written beforehand. Before the wedding, I knew the speech was great because of how I felt reflecting on a friendship I’m grateful for.
  I gave the speech and the response was overwhelmingly positive. I got a standing ovation and several people said it was great. This was the first time I received highly positive feedback for my words.
  Throughout the special, Bo responds to the audience’s reaction to what he says. In the beginning, after he gets the audience to say they can divide by zero, he asks them to not be Pavlovian.
  Hearing the audience laugh in Make Happy was distressing because I believe Bo didn’t want any of the laughs. The entire special comes across as Bo begging the audience to make him earn it.
  It was nice to receive a standing ovation, but I know what people heard at the wedding wasn’t what I was trying to say. At one point, the audience laughed at something I wasn’t joking about. I’m not mad at the audience, but this laughter makes the positive feedback feel less real.
  I don’t believe Bo hates the audience for laughing at the jokes in the special. Although the audience’s reaction is an important part of any comedy show, Make Happy feels completely individual. I imagine a hypothetical:

Bo started performing at a young age, and hearing people laugh at his jokes gave him a sense of self-worth. He tells himself he has value because of his ability to come up with clever things that make people happy. Then, he begins to figure out they don’t care about what he says. They just like the way he says it.

When he realizes this, he builds an entire comedy show to see how contrived he can be and still get a laugh. He tells jokes about multiple inauthentic forms of entertainment, but then turns around and tells jokes that rely on those forms of entertainment. When he performs this show, every laugh he receives proves things are bad as he believes they are.

The show isn't a test of the audience. It's a test to see if he's getting the laughs for the reason he wants to. He tells the jokes because he needs the laugh to feel ok about himself, but immediately hates the laugh because he believes he doesn’t deserve it.

  I can’t prove the last three paragraphs are true, but it’s what I imagine. For me, watching this special is witnessing someone realize the reason they believed they have value was never real.
  He ends his live performance on an autotuned and instrumental “Kanye rant”. I believe the last few minutes of the rant are the only moments in the special where he’s being completely honest. There’s a moment where he addresses the audience:

“My biggest problem is you. I want to please you, but I want to stay true to myself. I want to give you the night out that you deserve, but I want to say what I think, and not care what you think about it. A part of me loves you. A part of me hates you. A part of me needs you. A part of me fears you. I don’t think I can handle this right now.”
  Since the wedding, I’ve wanted the same positive feedback in everything I say. When I tell a joke, I crave a laugh. But when I get a laugh, I immediately question if it’s real. I know the laugh I got at the wedding wasn’t real.
  When I was speaking freely, I learned when I’m at my best, no matter how many people are around, the only person I’m talking to is myself. Since the wedding, I’ve only spoken to an audience.
"I know very little about anything, but what I do know is that if you can live your life without an audience, you should do it."
-Bo Burnham, Make Happy