Lucy Myers24 October 2018
Bo Burnham’s Eighth Grade operates as a sort of time capsule. It takes the cringeworthy, the devastating, and the dizzying and doesn’t polish them. It simply presents their uncomfortable, brutal, visceral essence. In doing so, it becomes an authentic illustration with a real, honest beating heart.
You can remember when he used to sit there amongst the eucalyptus trees and the brown dirt. Coffee in that old white mug, words of some society or organisation faded from the ceramics and from your memory too. The air of your backyard entering his lungs becoming his heartbeat, slow and steady and sure.
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