This is Bo Burnham. He’s twenty-two years old. He’s a male, and he looks like the genetic product of a giraffe having sex with Ellen DeGeneres. He has a gigantic head and tiny nipples. He’s isolated himself over the last five years in pursuit of comedy. And, in doing so, has lost touch with reality. You’re an asshole, Bo. You hear me? You think you know better than me. You think you know better than everybody. You will die alone, and you will deserve it. But in the meantime, you may as well tell those silly jokes of yours. See if that helps.


He and I have a very symbiotic relationship, the way we think. Just in terms with him, I’m not saying I’m talented, but he really pushes for thing to be, like we could be doing a classical haunted house film but he would really push it and say ‘We have to do something different, we’ve seen a séance sequence thousands of times before, we need to make it different’. When he pushes me to do that, it’s great because he brings out the best in me and I try to do the same for him as well.


Happy Birthday Leigh Whannell! (1/17/1977)

I’m a bit of a wimp. Real life scares me. Bills scare me. I hate when you forget to pay a bill, and then they send you one with the scary red lettering, saying “final notice” or whatever. I hate roller coasters. I’m very easily scared, and I think that’s why I’m so interested in writing horror films, because I can easily tap into my own fears.


“You want me to help you? Well what makes you think I will?”

“You don’t want him wasting away in there, either.”

AU: In which Adam’s mercy killing wasn’t Amanda’s idea


“For me, the only thing that matters is being passionate about the story. It could be a story about a psychopath on the loose, a ventriloquist doll or a tofu salesman who discovers that his thumb has superpowers; it doesn’t matter. If the story keeps me awake at night, then I’ll do it.”

Happy 38th Birthday, Leigh Whannell! (1/17/1977)


Everything worth anything is both terrifying and beautiful.